secretly intending
to miss no chance of sinking a British merchantman that should be
unlucky enough to cross its path.

It was with a feeling of chagrin that I perceived it would be useless
to send any message to Lord Bedale of what was in preparation. On
certain subjects the British people are deaf and blind. They believe
that all foreign statesmen are as high-minded as a Gladstone, and all
foreign officials as scrupulous and truthful as the Chevalier Bayard
himself.

Captain Vassileffsky continued,

"Our men are badly scared by reports of the Japanese plans. It is
supposed that they have torpedo boats lurking in the English ports.
Hull is said to be full of them."

"Why, Hull?"

Vassileffsky gave me a wink.

"Hull is the great fishing center. Whole fleets of traders come out
from there to the fishing banks in the North Sea. We are going to
stir them up a bit."

The outlines of the plot became every moment more clear.

"On what pretext?" I asked.

The Russian answered me without noticing that I was not so well
informed as himself.

"Oh, we shall find pretexts enough, you bet. For one thing, we shall
signal them to clear out of the way, and when they have their trawl
nets down and can't move! That will be lively. There will be a
collision or two, I shouldn't wonder."

"But isn't that against the rule of the road?"

Though not a seaman, I had always heard that a vessel in motion is
bound to avoid one that is at rest. I knew, moreover, that a
steamship was bound to make way for a sailing vessel.

Vassileffsky cursed the rule of the road.

"It will be a question of evidence," he exclaimed. "My word against a
dirty fisherman's. What do you say?"

I pretended to be thoroughly satisfied. Still, knowing what I did of
the Russian character, I had some hope that the Captain was boasting
in order to impress me, and that he would not really dare to run down
a British vessel within reach of the shores of England.

Our conversation was interrupted by a gun.

As the report died away, a junior officer ran down the companionway,
helter-skelter, and burst into the cabin.

"Something's up, sir," he cried to his commander. "They are signaling
from the Admiral's ship."

Vassileffsky darted up the steps and on to the bridge, and I
followed.

The Baltic fleet presented a striking spectacle. Every vessel was
busily reporting the signals from the flag ship, the launches were
dashing to and fro, and there was every