Presently the sub glanced aft. As he did so he gave a low whistle of surprise.
"By Jove, Mr. Gripper!" he exclaimed. "Look at the ensign."
He pointed to the Greek flag. In the excitement of the strafing operations it had not been struck and replaced by the White Ensign.
The warrant officer shrugged his shoulders.
"A mere detail, sir," he remarked.
"Fritz isn't in a position to protest," continued the sub, with ominous truth. "Main point is we've done the job neatly this time."
No further remark was made on the matter. Farrar was thinking now of other things—of the doomed transport with the band of heroes on her decks. Unable to do more to save life, for the lives of those already rescued would thereby be endangered, the officers and crew of the felucca were unwilling spectators of the last throes of the torpedoed vessel.
With the propeller running under the action of the partly throttled motor, the "Georgeos Nikolaos" was just able to keep pace with the far-flung line of boats. The latter, unable to run before the vicious seas and equally helpless to make headway, were riding to hastily constructed sea-anchors, which had the effect of keeping the boats' heads on to the waves.
On the transport men were hard at work knocking together rapidly made rafts—a frail chance, for even if the planks escaped being entangled in the rigging of the sinking ship, there was the terrific sea to contend with.
"She'll be gone in another quarter of an hour," declared Mr. Gripper.