He ported his helm. The other vessel did likewise. Each now showed the other her red and white navigation lamps, for on rounding Cape Cornwall the Alerte had rehoisted hers. There was no danger of collision, but the two would pass far too close to Captain Cain's liking.
Suddenly the dazzling beam of a searchlight leapt from the stranger's bridge. For fifteen seconds—no more—it played upon the Alerte, throwing masts, funnel and upperworks into strong relief. Then it vanished.
"Destroyer!" exclaimed Pengelly.
"Let's hope she's satisfied," rejoined Captain Cain grimly, as he blinked at the sudden transition from the brilliant electric light to the darkness of the night. "No, curse her! She's turning."
A flashing-lamp began its preparatory blinks from the destroyer's bridge.
"What ship is that?" it inquired.
"Reply Memnon of Bristol," ordered Cain, addressing the signalman, who with ready presence of mind had fetched the Aldis flashing lamp from the chart-room.
The destroyer's response was a curt invitation to stop. "I'll send a boat to examine your papers," added the message.
"By thunder you won't!" muttered Captain Cain, ringing the engine-room telegraph for "Stop." "All hands below as sharp as greased lightning," he ordered. "Mr. Pengelly, warn the duty men to prepare for diving stations. I'll be with you in a brace of shakes."
Both the destroyer and the supposed tramp were losing way; the former, owing to her heavier displacement and narrow beam, having to reverse her engines in order to prevent herself overrunning the Alerte.