"How should I?" responded Hans Furst with a grunt. "Something that has upset your apple-cart."
"He's taking the vessel back to Ostend," announced Krauss. "It's madness. To say nothing of the danger of mines, it's putting our heads into a noose. With Wilhelmshaven and Heligoland dead under our lee, why does he persist in making for Ostend? The boat is hardly seaworthy; we are short of food, and yet——"
A petty officer, stooping to avoid the overhead gear, thrust his head and shoulders through the oval aperture in the transverse bulkhead.
"Herr Kapitan wants you, Kaspar Krauss," he exclaimed curtly. The seaman wiped his hands on a piece of cotton waste, looked into the burnished reflector of a lamp to assure himself that his cap was on straight, and hurried along the congested alleyway.
"Wonder what he wants me for?" he thought. He had done nothing as far as he knew to merit either praise or censure. It was somewhat unusual for a kapitan to summon a seaman. Orders would be generally communicated through the medium of a petty officer.
Ober-leutnant von Preugfeld was sitting on a camp-stool on the after-part of the deck. Behind him stood Unter-leutnant Eitel von Loringhoven, while at his side were three men rigidly at attention.
The U-boat was running awash, the conning-tower being occupied for the time being by the chief petty officer.
Kaspar Krauss felt far from comfortable. The sight of the three motionless wooden-faced seamen—comrades of his—heightened his discomfiture.
"See here, you swine!" began the amiable von Preugfeld, curtly acknowledging the man's salute. "You were slow—abominably slow—in executing orders. What have you to say?"
Krauss moistened his dry lips, trying vainly to recall the incident to which the ober-leutnant referred.