"We'll stand easy," remarked the skipper to his augmented group of officers. "We're safe enough for the present, only it's a wicked waste of valuable time. As soon as it gets dark we'll ascend and cut the blessed thing adrift."
Half an hour later the officers were sitting down to a hot meal cooked on an electric grill. The repast over, Lieutenant-Commander Huxtable turned to his companion and coolly suggested a hand at bridge.
Dick took a hand with the three executive officers of the submarine, but his luck was out. He could not concentrate his mind upon the game. His eyes were constantly wandering. Almost every minute he glanced at the clock, the hands of which appeared to move with exasperating slowness.
"Come, come!" exclaimed the Lieutenant-Commander. "You'll be cleared out if we go on playing for another hour. Pull yourself together, man."
But the encouragement was thrown away, for although the three submarine officers played with the greatest enthusiasm, Dick made a sorry show.
"Hanged if I can play, sir!" he declared. "I wonder how you can, with that mine alongside."
"You'd soon get used to it," replied the Lieutenant-Commander. "I don't mind admitting that we all feel a bit jumpy at first, but it passes off. But it's after sunset. We'll see what we can do directly we've finished this round—your deal, partner."
The game over, the Lieutenant-Commander returned to his post in the conning-tower. He was hoping against hope that during the interval the buoyancy of the mine might have been sufficient to break the already rotten rope, but on flashing a powerful electric torch through the glass of the scuttle the formidable cylinder could still be discerned.
The order was given to weigh, and under the action of an electric winch the cable came home fathom by fathom until the anchor was once more housed in the recess provided. No longer held, the submarine was drifting backwards in the steady current.
"Blow auxiliary tanks."