I call up Krapohl and point out to him my calculations. We have another good look through the glasses, compare maps; they agree.
The fellow is following no route whatever.
In the meanwhile we had approached near enough to make the steamer out distinctly. The twilight of the June evening is so clear and bright that we can observe her with the greatest accuracy. She is a fine steamer of medium size, and carries a neutral flag, while her hull is painted in the colours of her country.
In the middle of the hull is a long double name which we cannot, however, read.
Suddenly Krapohl cries:
"Good heavens! how is it that she is flying her flag so long after sunset? Is it mere chance, I wonder? And what does that extraordinary coat of paint on her hull signify? She is a suspicious looking craft."
I am forced to agree with him.
The apparently aimless course of the steamer fills me with amazement. It is not usual to take a sea-trip on the North Sea for amusement in the middle of this world-war!
We consider what is to be done. As yet the steamer has not sighted us; she continues her mysterious course, and by this time lies a little astern of us.
I decide nevertheless not to submerge, as our courses must soon diverge.