"We'll let them go," decided the skipper. "They can tell their pals of the convoy that their second journey is for nothing. Besides, under forthcoming conditions, we have no room for prisoners of war."
"There's another bloke, sir," sung out one of the crew. "He's pretty nigh done for, I'll allow."
The Lieutenant-Commander looked in the direction indicated. A fourth member of the complement of the ill-starred unterseeboot swimming listlessly and aimlessly. He was apparently in the last stages of exhaustion, and although his plight was observed by the men in the canvas boat, either they were too callous or too stunned by the after-effects of the catastrophe to attempt to row to his assistance.
"Is there plenty of water, Mr. Crosthwaite?" asked the skipper.
"Plenty, sir."
"Easy ahead," ordered Huxtable. "Stand by with a line, men."
Slowly the submarine approached the drowning man. Too much way would not only be a detriment to his rescue, but would hazard the safety of the vessel.
Two coils of rope were hurled at the luckless German, but although both fell almost within arm's length of him he made no effort to grasp them.
"Good heavens!" ejaculated Farnworth, "he's blind."
"He's going!" shouted a man. "If he gets his head under the oil he'll never come up again."