"Those colours may be an English trick," said the kapitan. "I'll carry on."
"By Jove, old man!" he whispered to his chum. "It looks as if we are dished this time. We were a little too premature in chipping the Old Man."
In an hour the pursuing craft had closed to slightly less than a mile. Still she made no attempt to open fire. There were, in fact, no guns visible.
"Hoist our proper colours," ordered Kapitan von Riesser at length. "It will be all the same in another twenty minutes' time whether we use our own ensign or any other."
The Black Cross ensign was run up. Its appearance was greeted by a prolonged blast on the stranger's siren, then from the extremity of the pursuing craft's bridge a man began semaphoring.
Although skilled in semaphore, neither Denbigh nor O'Hara could understand the message. The British system differs from the German, which again varies with the French and Spanish. Yet, peculiarly, the officers and men of the Pelikan could read the signal with ease.
Grave, anxious looks gave place to smiles, while one of the crew began to cheer—a demonstration that the kapitan quickly suppressed.
Von Riesser had now ascended the bridge. Still suspicious he ordered the torpedo tubes to be charged and the engines to be reversed.
Directly the overtaking craft noticed the falling off of the liner's speed her decks were black with humanity, and the air was rent with cries of "Hoch!" Then came the strains of "Deutschland uber alles", in which the Pelikan's crew joined lustily.
"Good heavens!" ejaculated Denbigh. "What does it all mean? There's a small German colony afloat."