peninsula of Greece or up Malta way. Here they haven't more than
'demonstrated' about the mouth of the Gulf for two or three months. They
know jolly well that if they once come inside, no matter if they do sink
a ship or two, that it's a hundred to one--between sea-planes, 'blimps,'
P.B.s, and destroyers--against their ever getting out again. There's
just a chance that they may try it this time, though, for they must know
how terribly short the whole Salonika force is of petrol, and what a
real mess things will be left in if they can pot even one of the two or
three oilers in this convoy. You'll see a merry chase with a kill at the
end of it if they do, I can promise you, for the convoy is beyond the
neck of the bag even now, and if a single Fritz has come in after them,
the string will be pulled and the rest of the game will be played out
here in the 'bull-ring.'"

The captain had just started telling me how the game was played, when
the W.T.[A] room called him on the voice-pipe to say that one of the
ships of the convoy had just been torpedoed and was about to sink, and
shortly afterwards a radio was received from the C.-in-C. ordering the
flotilla to proceed to hunt the submarine responsible for the trouble.
Then the officer commanding the division leader flashed his orders by
"visual" to the several units of the flotilla, and presently these were
spreading fan-wise to sweep southward toward where, sixty to a hundred
miles away, numerous drifters would be dropping mile after mile of light
nets across the straits leading out to the open Mediterranean.
Northeastward, where the rising sun was beginning to prick into vivid
whiteness the tents of the great hospital areas, several sea-planes were
circling upwards; and southeastward, above the dry brown hills of the
Cassandra peninsula, the silver bag of an air-ship floated across the
sky like a soaring tumble bug. The hounds of the sea and air had begun
to stalk their quarry.

[Footnote A: Wireless Telegraph]

"It's a biggish sort of a place to hunt over," said the captain, as the
_Spark_ stood away on a course that formed the outside left rib of the
flotilla's "fan," and took her in to skirt the rocky coast of Cassandra;
"and there's so many in the hunt that the chances are all in favour of
some other fellow getting the brush instead of you. And unless we have
the luck to do some of the flushing ourselves, I won't promise you that
the whole show won't prove no end of a