“Not with the power we’re using,” said Evans. “He’ll get us by hydrophone first. At thirty-six knots we’ll make a noise he can hear a good way off.”
Ten minutes passed. Then the man at the radio-compass voice-tube reported, “Bearing three degrees,” and a moment later the wing boats each reported a bearing taken on the same signal of the enemy. In a second the executive officer was plotting the bearings from the new base line.
“Corking fix! They damn near meet in a point,” he said to the skipper and Evans who were close behind him.
“The blighter hasn’t changed course yet,” said Fraser. “I don’t believe he’s heard us.”
The new fix showed that probably the submarine was still traveling northwest at about the same speed as before. But now her distance was barely thirty miles.
After this no more radio signals were heard. Had she heard them racing toward her yet? If so, she would soon be submerged, and they must find her by hydrophone. By this time the three ships had squared their scouting line and were tearing through the water at thirty-six knots.
For fifteen minutes they rushed on through the darkness, holding their line in perfect order, but hearing no sound and seeing no sign. The suspense grew. The submarine could not now be more than twenty-four miles away. Fraser again called the other ships by radio phone, and ordered them to close in till within two miles of him.
“How far off could he hear us coming at this speed?” he asked of Evans.
“If he stopped to listen, he’d hear us all of thirty miles, if he has the gear I think he has. But I trust he has had no intimation of our coming, and hasn’t stopped to listen. Running at eleven knots he might not hear us till we’re within fifteen miles or less.”
“When he does he’ll submerge and do his damnedest to fool us,” said Fraser.