Down below the passengers were sleeping more or less soundly in their bunks. Most of the crew were also asleep in the forepeak. From the depths of the engine-room came the muffled, barely audible sounds of men still hard at work, under the tireless and energetic supervision of Chief Engineer McBride.
Terence had barely been on duty for ten minutes when Wilcox, the junior wireless operator, mounted the bridge ladder.
"Something rather important," he drawled. "Guess Captain Ramshaw ought to be informed."
He handed Aubyn a slip of paper, and without waiting further backed slowly down the ladder.
"Quartermaster!" exclaimed Terence.
"Sir?"
"Stand by, will you? I am going into the charthouse."
The man saluted. Aubyn entered the screened compartment and shut the door. Here by the aid of the electric light he was able to read the momentous message at which Wilcox had hinted.
"That fellow ought to have been an undertaker's mute!" he ejaculated under his breath. "Fancy hardly turning a hair over a thing like this."
For the wireless message was one that had stirred the British Empire, nay, the whole of the civilized world:—