"Yes," Dave had flashed back.
"Good luck to you!" came heartily from the English launch.
"Thank you," was Darrin's final response.
The searchlight of Dave's launch was swinging busily from side to side, searching every bit of the water's surface that could be reached.
"If the submarine comes up, Runkle, you may be the first to sight her," Dave smiled to that seaman, who stood beside him.
"Aye, aye, sir; if I sight that craft I won't be mean enough to keep my news to myself."
"I wonder where Dalzell is," thought Dave. "What is he doing in this night's work?"
As for Ensign Dave, his every nerve was keyed to its highest pitch. Outwardly he was wholly calm, but he felt all the responsibility that rested upon him to-night, as did every other officer who commanded a launch from either fleet.
Searchlight and naked vision were not enough. Almost constantly Darrin had his night glass at his eyes.
Suddenly, as the light shifted over the water, Dave thought he caught sight of something unusual.