"Any more survivors?" asked Denbigh. The mere movement of his facial muscles caused him exquisite pain, for his face was scorched and blistered. His hair and eyebrows had been badly singed. Altogether he looked a pitiable scarecrow. It is only on the stage and on the cinematograph screen that heroes preserve an unruffled appearance.
"No," replied the mate. "Not one, after the fellow you brought in. Did you know who it was?"
The sub shook his head, then winced, for the action sent a thrill of anguish through his body.
"Unter-leutnant Klick," continued Armstrong in answer to his own question. "He's still unconscious. We dare not move him to the boats. His skin is literally peeling off all over his body. Shall I have you sent down the river, old man? The chief petty officer is now in charge. Is he to withdraw the rest of the boats?"
"No," replied Denbigh with sudden firmness. "No; by no means. We'll wait until we can send volunteers to find traces of our fellows. Have the sea-planes passed over yet?"
Armstrong replied in the negative.
"How are the other Germans?"
"One is practically fit. The other is suffering from shock."
"Then send the fit fellow to me, please."
The man was brought to the boat. He was one of the Pelikan's firemen. Questioned in German he replied without hesitation. The fire had been started, he declared, not by the raider's crew, but by bombs dropped by British sea-planes. There was an action, but he and half a dozen more worked round by the two banks until they were almost cut off by the flames. He had reason to suppose that both the British and the German forces had been overwhelmed by the onrushing flames.