He was a big, strongly-built man of about thirty-three, clad in an old—a very old—suit of uniform, a muffler, sea-boots, a pair of binoculars, and his own inborn modesty.
After him came the navigator, an R.N.R. Lieutenant, lovingly clasping the gyro compass repeater to his bosom, and muttering imprecations the while on the coil of electric cable which trailed up after him like a spider’s web.
‘Phew!’ he said, sniffing the air. ‘Dark night.’
The captain glanced quickly fore and aft.
‘All ready, coxswain?’ he queried.
A burly figure now loomed up on the now crowded conning-tower.
‘All ready, sir.’
Raymond leant down and pulled a lanyard, and a bell rang below in the control room.
‘Sir,’ boomed a voice as a face appeared in the circle of the hatch.
‘All ready below?’