Sant of the Secret Service: Some Revelations of Spies and Spying. William Le Queux

in navigation had brought him to the surface earlier than he intended, for obviously it was his duty to remain submerged until he was sure his work was done.

      Be that as it may, it was his last mistake. As the grey whale-back of the submarine rose above the water the gun of the Athabasca spoke. The first shot was over, the second short. Before the third was fired we had also bobbed up suddenly, and the U-boat found herself the target of two antagonists.

      There could be only one end to such a fight. Almost simultaneously the third shot of the Athabasca and our first rang out, and both shells found their mark. One struck the conning-tower fair and square, blowing it clean away; the other crashed into the upper part of the hull, tearing a huge gap, and in a few seconds the enemy vessel had sunk with all hands, leaving only a flood of oil on the heaving surface of the sea to show where she had disappeared.

      Next day I was on the Sud Express for Paris, while Madame Gabrielle, whom I had recalled by wire, followed me a few hours later.

      From Hecq in Paris I learned the full sequel of our adventure. No news of the affair ever leaked out to the public. But it appears that, owing to the discovery of the plans from Kiel in possession of the submarine’s captain and our wireless messages, French destroyers and British submarines, operating together, had within twelve hours cleaned out the pirates’ nest, sinking four more submarines and taking nearly sixty prisoners, most of whom are now behind barbed wire in Wales.