Then suddenly a broad white finger of light shot up over the horizon on the port bow, cleaving the darkness with an eerie suddenness.
Boyd rang the bell.
‘Tell the captain that a searchlight is visible from the enemy coast,’ he called to the messenger in the control room.
A minute’s pause, the light wavered, steadied, and went out.
‘Captain says all right, sir,’ came the voice up the hatch.
‘Thank you,’ replied Boyd, relighting his pipe and settling down on the stool again.
The boat sped on through the darkness. Somewhere away ahead, as evidenced by that broad beam of light, lay the hostile coast towards which the lean, grim-looking craft was racing as fast as Heaven and Hoskins could make her go.
A brawny stoker rose for a breath of air like some giant seal, and, in deference to the officer, took his stand on the other side of the bridge. He was followed by the signalman, and the two men lit their pipes and conversed in low tones.
Not much room up here for four men; the little bridge was crowded now.
When they had gone down, Boyd rang the bell again and muttered the magic words, ‘food and cocoa,’ to the face that appeared in the circle of light below, and presently a hand shot up out of the hatch bearing a steaming mug which he hastily relieved of its burden.