scientist with a reputation in the football-field. The Torpedo
Lieutenant, quiet, gentle-mannered, fastidious in his dress and not given
to overmuch speech. The Engineer-Lieutenant, whose outlook on life
alternated between moods of fierce hilarity and brooding melancholy,
according to the tenour of a correspondence with a distracting Red Cross
nursing sister exposed to the perils of caring for good-looking military
officers in the plains of Flanders. Lastly, the Captain of Marines; he
was the musician of the Mess, much in demand at sing-songs; editor,
moreover, of the Wardroom magazine, a periodical whose humour was of a
turn mercifully obscure to maiden aunts. A first-class cricketer and
racquet-player, a student of human nature with a tolerance for the
failings of others that suggested a strain of Latin blood, and a Marine
with an almost passionate pride in the great traditions of his Corps.

Such were among the occupants of the anteroom when Thorogood entered the
crowded room and crossed over to the door leading to the Wardroom where
the Marine waiters were laying the table.

"Tell the Messman I've got a guest to dinner," said Thorogood to the
Corporal of the Wardroom servants.

The Young Doctor, who was leaning against the overmantel of the stove
warming himself, crossed over to Thorogood with an expression of
portentous solemnity on his face.

"James," he said, and laid a hand on the other's shoulder, "before you
get busy on the wassail-bowl, my lad, I should like to remind you that
the boat's crew will commence training for the Regatta at 7 A.M.
to-morrow. No fatheads wanted. Enough said."

The Gunnery Lieutenant looked up from a game of draughts with Double-O
Gerrard, the Assistant Paymaster. "Who've you got dining with you,
Jimmy?" he asked. The introduction of "new blood" into a Mess, even for
the evening, is generally a matter of interest to the inmates.

"An old uncle of mine," was the reply. "He signalled from the Flagship
that he was coming to dinner. I don't know what he's doing up here."

Mouldy Jakes, who was sitting on an arm of the sofa watching the game of
draughts, looked across at Thorogood.

"Sir William?" he asked. "Is that man of mystery up here? What's he up
to?"

"Don't know," replied Thorogood. "Dirty work, I suppose."

The Young Doctor assumed an expression of rapture. "What!" he cried, "my
old college chum Sir William!" Then with a swift change of mimicry he
bent in