Fifty yards on the starboard bow was a black object resembling a short spar floating vertically, yet the object had movement, for a streak of foam marked the resistance of the water to its progress.
It was Aubyn's first impression of the periscope of a submarine, and a German one at that.
With admirable presence of mind Waynsford had decided to ram the lurking peril. Evidently the commander of the submarine had realized his danger, for the periscope was sinking.
Aubyn held his breath as the heavy hull of the trawler passed immediately over the spot where the periscope had disappeared. He waited for the dull grinding sound as the vessel's keel ripped through the comparatively thin steel hull of the submerged vessel—but he waited in vain. True, there was a slight tremor—nothing more.
"I believe we hit her," exclaimed Waynsford. "Did your hear anything?"
Aubyn was obliged to confess that he had not. The prize crew crowding to the side looked for signs of a successful issue to their effort.
"Oil and bubbles," declared the sub. in charge of the "Pixie." "She's done for."
Waynsford, far from being convinced, ordered one of his men to heave a mark-buoy overboard and mark the spot where the periscope had been last seen, at the same time a code signal was hoisted indicating the fact that a hostile submarine had been rammed.
Quickly the destroyer arrived within hailing distance, and Aubyn was able to see what steps the Navy took to combat the unseen foe. Slowly the "Lawley" circled round the mark-buoy, paying out over her stern what appeared to be an exaggerated string of sausages—in reality a "necklace" of guncotton ready to be fired by means of electricity.
"Prize ahoy! you're much too close," sang out the bronzed lieutenant-commander impatiently.