Allowing the men to "stand easy," Terence made his way to the office of the admiral commanding the Forth division of the auxiliary cruisers. On sending in his card he was received by the admiral in person.
"We've had no news of the 'Strongbow' for the last three days," said the admiral. "She is now forty-eight hours' overdue."
"Has anything happened to her, sir?" asked Terence.
"There is no saying. On Tuesday we received a wireless from her, reporting all well and giving her position. From that hour till now there has been a complete blank. Of course, she may have had to stand by a prize, and if her wireless has broken down her silence is explicable. However, I wish you to say nothing about the matter. Send your men to the 'Sailors' Home' and report yourself here at noon. Remember to leave your telephone number at the office as soon as you have completed your hotel arrangements, so that, if necessary, we can send for you."
Terence carried out these instructions and resigned himself for a disquieting wait. Something serious, he argued, must have befallen the armed merchant-man. He was somewhat reassured when, on giving his men orders to proceed to temporary shore quarters, the prize crew expressed astonishment neither by word nor gesture. His peace of mind would have been greatly disturbed, however, could he but have heard the men discussing the "Strongbow's" non-appearance amongst themselves.
Upon making his third call at the office Terence was again received by the admiral. The sturdy old officer's face was grave.
"I'm afraid it's a case, Mr. Aubyn," he said. "The 'Strongbow's' hopelessly overdue. I have just reported her to the Admiralty as regarded as lost. You had better proceed on leave, and I will notify Whitehall accordingly."
Terence almost reeled out into the street. The blow had temporarily unnerved him. Not one thought did he give at the time to the fact that Raeburn and he had been almost miraculously preserved from sharing the fate of their gallant comrades: his whole mind was centred on the appalling disaster.
He mentally pictured the old ship ploughing along in that terrific gale. A staunch vessel such as she was would have made light of the climatic conditions. It was fairly safe to conclude that she had been sunk either by a mine or a torpedo—and sunk so suddenly that there had been no time to send out a wireless call for aid. The state of the sea, he knew, would render it impossible to lower the boats even had there been time. Out in the wild North Sea, miles from land, and with no means of recording her end in the course of duty, the "Strongbow" had vanished utterly.
He thought of his comrades. The cool and collected Captain Ripponden; Commander Ramshaw, one of the very best; Lymore, taciturn, yet a man who set duty on a high pedestal; slow and deliberate McBride, and more than a dozen others. All of them, tried comrades in stress and storm, had given up their lives for their country. Only Raeburn and he were left—and Raeburn incapacitated for further service afloat.