A hasty glance round the cabin revealed the presence of three revolvers in a rack. Jerking back the chambers Sylvester discovered that they were fully loaded. Deftly he extracted the cartridges from two of the weapons and put them in his pocket, grimly reflecting that there was a time, not so very far distant, when the mechanism of a revolver was a mystery to him. Not that he never wanted to know "how it worked," but because he had a horror of the sight of firearms of any description.
The three revolvers he slipped into the outside pocket of his great-coat, since the pistol would not fit the holster from which he had taken the automatic to give to his chum.
Stepping from the cabin into the cockpit the Moke waited until his eyes grew accustomed to the comparative darkness of the night; then he turned abruptly and addressed the coxswain.
"Any craft in sight?" he asked.
"No, Herr Major," replied the man.
"That is good," rejoined Sylvester. "I want you to steer due west."
For once at least the petty officer hesitated to obey orders. His illustrious passenger had authority, but whether a German military officer could issue peremptory instructions to an Austrian petty officer was a proposition that gave rise to doubts in the coxswain's mind. If he disobeyed, the consequences might be serious, if on returning to Trieste his superior upheld the German's action. That was one of the many curses that the hated Teutons' lust of world power had laid upon their none too enthusiastic Allies. On the other hand, if he complied with the military officer's behest, he might be "hauled over the coals" by his own superiors.
"Due west," repeated the Moke sternly.
The coxswain looked up into Sylvester's face. His flabby features turned a ghastly greyish hue, his beady eyes were almost starting from his head. Drops of perspiration on his bulging forehead glistened in the starlight; his teeth were chattering audibly.
"Pardon, Herr Major," he stammered; then like a weak-willed individual under mesmeric influence he put the helm hard over.