Denbigh, having taken a compass bearing of the entrance of the lagoon, nudged his chum, and they began to retrace their steps. Moving as rapidly as their sense of caution would permit, they again skirted the searchlight station and picked up the telephone wire trail in the woods beyond.
"We must not forget the time," cautioned the Irishman.
"By Jove, no!" replied Denbigh. As a matter of fact he had. The excitement of their discoveries had banished all thought of anything else. Even the perils of their return journey to the Myra had been lightly brushed aside. "Hang it all, there's that confounded mist again."
At a distance of a quarter of a mile from the searchlight position the path bent obliquely towards the lagoon. Here the trees grew right to the water's edge, the cliff at this point being roughly twenty feet above the sea.
"What's that?" whispered O'Hara.
A cable's length from shore, and just visible through the mist, was a large indistinct shape. At first sight it looked like a small island thickly covered with coco-nut palms.
"The cunning blighters!" ejaculated Denbigh. "That's the Pelikan."
It was the raider. Her masts and funnels were decked with branches; the whole tops of trees festooned her sides. The outlines of her bow and stern were concealed by trailing masses of vegetation. Viewed from seaward, against the tree-clad hillocks, the Pelikan could not be distinguished from her natural background. A short distance along the shore there was a gap in the line of cliffs. Here a boat was lying, with her crew standing about on shore.
"They're expecting someone," whispered Denbigh. "Let's move."
Not until the subs were a safe distance from the shore did they exchange opinions.