Dave, not having taken his eyes from the faint streak on the water, called for highest speed and a complete turn. Then, ordering the rays of the searchlight to play over the water, Darrin sent the "Grigsby" racing, bow-on, toward the spot from which he judged the torpedo to have been launched. In the meantime Dalzell's "Reed" had turned her prow in the same general direction, steaming slowly after the "Grigsby."
"The Hun can't be located," Dave confessed, a few minutes later. "That chap is like most of the other Hun submarine commanders. He'll launch a torpedo by stealth, but as soon as he knows the destroyer is after him he hunts depth and runs away."
Dave's next order was to send a wireless message, warning all mine-sweepers and other craft that an enemy submarine had been discovered in that location.
Though no word had been passed for Lieutenant Fernald, that executive officer, awakened by the bump and the abrupt change in the destroyer's course, hurried to the bridge.
"Did you get a good rest, Fernald?" Dave queried, half an hour later.
"Fine, sir."
"Then I am going to the chart-room to rest for a while. I got chilled dozing in that chair. Set the bell going in the chart-room if I'm wanted."
Then Dave slept on, without call, for a few hours, well knowing that Lieutenant Fernald could well fill his place. The first signs of dawn awakened Darrin. He sprang up, reaching for the bridge telephone.
"All secure, sir," reported Fernald, from the bridge.
Dave therefore delayed long enough to make his toilet—a none too frequent luxury aboard a destroyer in the danger zone. Then, fully refreshed and ruddy, Darrin drew on his tunic and over that his sheepskin coat. Placing his uniform cap on his head he stepped out on deck before the sun had begun to rise up above the sea.