"Stop!" exclaimed Aubyn authoritatively.
"Dies still Zherman sheep," protested the skipper.
The match flared, shielded from the wind by the partly clasped hand of the man who was holding it. In obedience to a further order he began to apply the light to the rocket.
Terence whipped out his revolver. Hitherto, realising that a premature display of the weapon might result in a volley from the hostile pistols, he had kept the weapon out of sight. Now that the crew were practically cowed that danger was over.
The seaman hesitated only for a brief instant, then ignoring the levelled weapon, bent over his task. One of his comrades chuckled derisively.
Taking a quick yet steady aim the sub. pressed the trigger. The heavy ball went true to the mark, severing the rocket-stick and causing the rocket to fall over the side. Luck more than good management had enabled him to hit a target the thickness of a lead pencil on a dark night, with only the flicker of a match to assist his aim.
"If any man attempt to go below I'll wing him—tell them that," said Terence sternly, addressing the master. "Order them to fall in on the starboard side."
All sign of resistance having disappeared the crew, ten in number, formed up at the place indicated, while Aubyn drew his cigarette case from his pocket and smoked.
It was not an act of bravado on his part. Now that the crisis was over he had an uncontrollable craving for a cigarette. So he smoked contentedly as he awaited the return of the "Lonette" and her consort.
He had not long to wait. Already grey dawn was breaking. The wind had dropped, and the short steep waves had subsided into a sullen roll. Long before the two motor-boats came into view the purr of the engines and the muffled roar of their exhausts could be distinctly heard in the still morning air.