The Sub brought his binoculars to bear upon the vessel in question. She was quite five miles off and apparently on a course practically the same as that of the Complex.
In spite of the purposely slow speed of the latter, the Complex gained rapidly on the stranger, and presently Cavendish saw that she was not making way and that she was flying the N.C.—the international signal requesting immediate assistance. The glasses also revealed the information that the vessel was a tramp, flying the Red Ensign and bearing the name Holton Heath—London on her counter.
In response to a message from the officer of the watch, Captain Meredith was quickly on the bridge.
"No wireless from her?" inquired the owner.
"No, sir."
"H'm, that's remarkable, very. Action stations. We can't afford to take risks of this description.... Signalman?"
"Sir?"
"Stand by with the International Code flags," continued the Skipper. "Don't be too smart in making the hoists. Ask 'em what's wrong."
Stealthily the crew went to action stations, allowing no chance of their presence being visible to anyone on board the Holton Heath. Leaving Carr and Cavendish on the bridge, Meredith went below, made his way for'ard by means of the specially provided armoured alley-way, and gained the fo'c'sle conning-tower.
Meanwhile, the Holton Heath had made her number correctly and had given the information that her main-shaft had been broken. Could she be taken in tow?