"Jolly well worth it, though. I've never seen a destroyer pass so close, on her 'lawful occasions'," answered Adrian, quoting a certain well-known story; "nothing can take that from one."
The drumming faded away down wind, and the Romilly pair settled again to wait for the slow-coming dawn, when suddenly Adrian gave a whoop--a positive wild Indian screech.
"Oh, I say, Crow, look--look! Of all the crowning luck, this is----"
Moving over the "face of the waters", over the black tossing waste, was a ladder of dazzling white light. It searched in miles, it searched in inches, like some living, busy, sensing creature. Christobel thought of the fingers of light in the "Martians", that hunted for the victims. It was thrilling. Dumb, dazed, they watched the brilliant feelers creeping over the water.
Crow hardly breathed; she was standing, just petrified.
Suddenly Adrian slammed his hand down on the tiller.
"They're looking for us!" he cried. "Great Scot! Of all the----"
"Oh, but, Addie, how could they have----"
"My good girl, do you suppose anything escapes the Navy? The look-outs saw our little bit of a blink; they want to know who we are--they know everything--they are simply It."
Adrian's rhapsody was cut off on his lips; the dazzling feeler had found them. It rested on the white yawl, and stayed. He waved his arm wildly; Crow waved both arms. The Countess sprang to her feet, shielding her face with her sleeve, and the white light glinted upon her golden hair plait.