Captain Whittinghame remained on deck. He was pondering over the fate of his rival, Reno Durango, and wondering whether he could safely assert that the last of the tasks he had set out to perform had been satisfactorily accomplished. He had witnesses ready to affirm on oath that they had seen the Mexican's flying-boat being hurled to destruction. Could it unquestionably be taken for granted that the stolen plans of Submarine "M I" were no longer in existence to prove a menace to the admittedly superior construction and organization of the British submarine service?
The rapid approach of the coming day disturbed Vaughan Whittinghame's reveries.
The vessel whose navigation light Dacres had picked up had altered her course and was steaming quite two miles to windward of the practically helpless airship.
By the aid of his glasses the captain could see that she was a tramp of about eight hundred tons, and in ballast, for she rose high out of the water, while the tips of her propeller blades could be seen amid the smother of foam under her rudder-post. There was nothing about her to enable Whittinghame to determine her nationality. Her single funnel was painted a dull black without any colouring bands.
Even as he looked the tramp starboarded her helm. The dawn had likewise revealed to her sleepy watch on deck the presence of the disabled airship. She was on the point of steaming down in the hope of earning a salvage job.
"No use, my friend," quoth Vaughan.
The next moment he burst into a hearty laugh, for the tramp began to circle as if to resume her former course. The acceptance of his muttered advice to a vessel a mile and a half away tickled his sense of humour.
"Hulloa! What is the move now, I wonder?" he exclaimed. He might well evince curiosity, for instead of holding on to her former course, which was practically due north, the tramp was slowly turning due east. Even as he watched, Whittinghame could see that the cascade of foam under her rudder had vanished. She had stopped her engines.
Apparently the vessel was still carrying too much way, for again her propellers churned up the froth, this time for less than half a minute. Men were hanging over her port side and lowering ropes.