"Up helm, quartermaster," ordered the sub. "We'll have to lure her a bit."
The felucca was turned until she lay on a northerly course. Almost immediately afterwards the U-boat altered helm, until she was running in the same direction as her prey, but without making any effort to decrease the distance.
"Hanged if I like that at all," soliloquised Nigel. "Looks as if she smells a rat. 'Bout ship," he shouted. "Down helm."
The "Georgeos Nikolaos" tacked and lay close hauled in exactly the opposite direction to the course she had previously taken. The U-boat followed suit, but still refused to close. She flew no ensign, hoisted no signal—merely "marking time" on the felucca.
"What's she fooling about like that for, sir?" asked Mr. Gripper. "Is she funking it?"
"It's my belief that she's suspicious of something," replied the sub. "She's waiting till the sun is a bit higher. At present it's right behind us. Shouldn't be surprised if she started to shell us."
"It's a tidy range for our quick-firers," remarked the gunner dubiously. "Ten thousand yards; wonder if her guns are effective at that distance?"
A moment later the screech of a projectile was heard overhead, followed by the detonation of the U-boat's gun. The shell, striking the sea nearly a thousand yards beyond the felucca, ricochetted four or five times before finally disappearing beneath the surface.
The gunner gave a low whistle.
"That's some shot, Mr. Gripper," observed Nigel.