"By Jove, Holcombe!" observed the lieutenant-commander to his sub as they stood upon the bridge and kept the torpedoed cruiser under observation by means of their binoculars, "the old hooker looks like fetching home after all. She doesn't appear to be listing much more. Wonder where Barcroft has bundled off to?"
"The Blimp did jolly well, sir," remarked Holcombe. "Only I can't quite make out why she didn't pulverise the U-boat."
"Nor can I," agreed Tressidar. "I'd dearly like to pull Barcroft's leg over the business, only he might retaliate by asking how we came to miss the strafed Hun with our depth charge. Hullo! there's the Blimp—still strafing something, I believe."
The airship, almost invisible against the grey sky, was about ten miles astern. Two faintly muffled reports indicated the present nature of her business.
"Any wireless from 144A?" inquired Tressidar of the telegraphist.
"No, sir."
"Then get a message through. Inquire if any assistance is needed."
It was five minutes later, by which time the Blimp was lost to sight, that the reply came through.
"No assistance necessary. Mine-laying sub-marine properly strafed this time."
The lieutenant-commander and the sub exchanged glances.