This was somewhat unusual, for off this part of the African coast shipping gave the land a wide berth on account of the dangerous and unlighted Lazarus Shoal. The Canvey was, in point of fact, standing in closer than prudence demanded, although in order to carry out her instructions to watch the coast in the event of the Bronx City having run aground, she had to run a certain amount of risk.
"What do you make of her?" asked Broadmayne of the yeoman of signals, as the stranger's hull drew above the horizon.
"Flying Yankee colours, sir," replied the petty officer, after a prolonged look through his telescope. "There's a double-barrelled tally on her bows, though I can't make it out yet. She ain't 'arf 'opping it."
A few minutes later, for the two vessels were approaching each other at an aggregate speed of twenty-eight knots, the yeoman of signals exclaimed:
"Crikey, sir! She's the Bronx City!"
Dispatching a messenger to inform the captain, Broadmayne levelled his binoculars upon the approaching vessel. As far as he could make out, there was nothing wrong with her outward appearance. Her bows were certainly not stove-in; which, considering she had claimed to have rammed and sunk the Alerte, was what the Sub had a right to expect. Her wireless aerials were in position.
Just as Lieutenant-Commander Raxworthy gained the bridge, a three-flag hoist rose to the foremast head of the Bronx City: INM—Chased by a privateer. Then, before the Canvey could display the answering pennant, the code flag over the letter E, signifying that the following words were in plain spelling, fluttered in the breeze.
"ALE——"
There was no need to complete the name.
"Sound off 'Action stations'!" ordered the owner.