A tense silence fell upon the boat's crew. Through the mists came the unmistakable thud of a vessel's propellers, but whether from north, south, east or west the baffling atmospheric conditions gave no clue.
Then the subdued sound ceased abruptly.
"Give a hail, lads!" exclaimed Wakefield; but before the bowman could stand and give vent to a bellowing "Ahoy!" the skipper countermanded the order.
"We'll put a stopper on the hailing business," he remarked, without giving any further explanation. "Ah, there it is again!"
"Nearer this time," announced Meredith. "Voices, too."
"Too jolly guttural for my liking," added Wakefield. "It's a Fritz surface cruising. We'll lie doggo."
"Wish they'd push along out of it," said the stroke in a low tone. "We want to get another move on."
These sentiments were shared by the rest of the boat's crew. Every man knew what detection meant. A machine-gun turned upon the boat, or perhaps a bomb thrown with the whole-hearted generosity that Fritz was wont to display towards a boat-load of helpless seamen.
"Silence!" hissed Wakefield, holding up his hand to impress upon the men the necessity for absolute noiselessness.
A minute passed in breathless suspense. Although the unseen craft had again switched off the ignition, the plash of water against her bows was distinctly audible.