"I hope we're not steaming into a nest." The captain frowns and picks up the telephone. "Anything more?" he asks.
"Still getting signals, sir; same as before; same direction and distance."
Down to the bridge through a speaking-tube, running from the top of the forward basket-mast comes a weird voice.
"Bright light, port bow, sir. Distance about 4,000 yards." (Pause.) "Light growing dim. Very dim now."
From other lookouts come confirmatory words.
"Dim light; port bow."
"The light has gone."
"It's a sub, of course," murmurs an officer. "No craft but a submarine would carry a night light on her periscope. She must be signalling." A thrill goes through the battleship. In a minute the big steel fighter may be lying on her side, stricken; or there may be the opportunity for a fair fight.
The captain sends an officer below to the detector and changes the course of the ship. Every one awaits developments, tensely.
The wireless operator enters the chart-house.