"And what sort of place is Makoh'lenga?" asked Tiny.
Van der Wyck was on the point of answering the question when he leant against the rail and stretched his leg to full length.
"Sort of cramp in my artificial foot," he explained apologetically. "You may think that's an absurd thing to say, but it's a fact. Sometimes I feel sensations just as if my foot were still there. Once, I remember——"
A rending of wood, a stifled exclamation, and a warning shout from Tiny Desmond, and then a heavy splash. A portion of the rail had given way under the pressure of the Afrikander's bulk. Unable to recover his balance, Van der Wyck had fallen overboard.
Colin knew that the man was unable to swim. He rushed to the side and looked down to the phosphorescent water, then with Tiny's shout of "Man overboard!" ringing in his ears, Colin hurled a lifebuoy over, and, regardless of the consequences, almost immediately took a header into the sea.
The Huldebras was doing between sixteen and seventeen knots, which meant that she was forging through the water at the rate of nine yards a second. Consequently Sinclair was hurled obliquely against the surface with terrific force.
Well-nigh winded and swallowing a liberal quantity of the Atlantic, he came to the surface without any rational idea of how he had got "in the ditch." He realised that he was overboard, and that the Huldebras seemed miles away. The blaze of light from her scuttles and portholes was receding rapidly. Something floating on the adjacent water in the ship's wake a good fifty yards away and clearly visible in the starlight attracted his attention. It was the white-painted lifebuoy he had hurled overboard.
Instinct prompted him to strike out for it, and as he swam laboriously—for his limbs, owing to the force with which he had struck the water, seemed almost devoid of action—his reasoning powers began to resume their normal functions.
He remembered Van der Wyck falling overboard. Where was he? To Colin it seemed as if hours had elapsed since he dived, although actually less than a couple of minutes had passed.
Swimming stolidly, Sinclair gained the lifebuoy. It was with a sense of thankfulness that he gripped the rounded, canvas-painted surface. He even suffered the rebuff of a sharp blow on the head as the lifebuoy dipped and capsized under the one-sided weight of the swimmer. Then with more caution, Colin rested one hand lightly on the buoy, and looked for the unfortunate Van der Wyck.