It were tedious to relate Reginald’s adventures during the next two years—­how time and again he baffled the cunning devices of the German naval scientists—­how he invented a pivotal billiard-table for use on drifters in rough weather and perfected an electro-magnetic contrivance by means of which enemy submarines were inveigled into torpedoing themselves without warning.  All this and much else is accessible to the formal historian; besides, Reginald tells people himself.  We will hurry on to the grand exploit.

It occurred shortly after he was appointed to a post on the British Naval Mission at Athens.  He had left England little more than a month when the Sea Lords became uneasy.  Trouble broke out among the torpedoes and there was no one to set matters right.  Paragraphs began to appear in the Press.  The result was an urgent wireless message to Athens recalling Reginald at once.  There was to be no delay.

“Are you prepared to start immediately?” asked the Vice-Admiral, when he had briefly outlined the situation.

Reginald saluted briskly.

“I don’t quite know how you’ll go,” continued the Vice-Admiral.  “We haven’t an armed ship sailing West for a week.  There’s a little Greek trading steamer leaving for Marseilles to-morrow morning, but I’m afraid you would find her very incommodious.  Would you care to risk it?”

“I start in the morning, Sir,” said Reginald tersely.

The Vice-Admiral seized his hand and wrung it warmly.

When Reginald came down to the harbour and saw the craft on which he had undertaken to embark he was seized with a sudden faintness.  Even the toughest seafarer would have thought twice before venturing beyond the breakwater in such an unsavoury derelict; and Reginald, be it remembered, had only once in his life made a sea voyage, and that in the peaceful security of an ironclad.  His heart quailed beneath his Commander’s uniform.

However, setting his teeth and consoling himself with the thought that she would undoubtedly fall to pieces before they could leave the harbour behind, he went aboard.

The master, an unprepossessing but exceedingly polite child of the AEgean, was overwhelmed at the prospect of carrying a British Naval Commander as passenger.  He saluted wildly; he gesticulated; it was too much honour.  Would his Excellency the Commander accept the use of his poor state-room—­ yes?  Would he undertake the navigation of this so dangerous voyage—­no?  Ah, but he would seek his so expert advice in the sudden perilous moment—­good.  Reginald bowed nervously.

At first all went well.  Except for the atmosphere of the state-room, which was richly tinged with a mixed odour of mildewed figs and rotten pomegranates, and the uncomfortable feeling that, unless he trod delicately, the decks would crumble away and deposit him in the bosom of the Mediterranean, Reginald was fairly happy.  A ready wit and a dignified bearing combined to cloak his lack of seamanship and kept the skipper in a fit state of humility and awe.