Darrin did not reply. Outwardly calm, but with muscles set and every nerve tensed to the tingling point, he stood almost on tip-toe, grasping the forward rail, peering ahead and to either side.
But at least one German captain had caught him, so far out of line, for, from the starboard watch, forward, came the brisk warning:
“Torpedo, sir, on the starboard bow!”
In the same instant Dave had seen it. The trail was racing to meet the “Logan” well forward.
Not risking even the delay of a shouted order, Darrin reached for the lever of the bridge telegraph and set the jingle bells in the engine room a-clatter. His quick order threw the propellers into reverse and then full speed astern. At the same time he swung the bow around.
Had he tried to zigzag it is doubtful if he could have escaped. Had he gone straight ahead the torpedo would have hit him just below the waterline.
As it was, the missile of destruction passed by a scant dozen feet from the “Logan’s” bow.
This was the single instant of safety for which Darrin had worked. Now, he ordered speed ahead, and swung around, sailing straight to the spot where he believed the enemy to be.
By the time he was at that spot nothing was to be seen of the undersea boat. Submerging to greater depth the wily Hun had glided away to safety.
“Now, what does that German fellow mean by holding down our record in that fashion?” Dan demanded, wrathfully. “He’s no sportsman, not to take a chance.”