The Start was abeam just as the sun was setting. The Ibex gave that dangerous headland with its treacherous overfalls a wide berth, and shaped a course to pass seven miles to the south'ard of that nightmare to cautious mariners—Portland Bill.
It was a warm, almost balmy night. The thick clouds, acting as a blanket, totally obscured the stars, but kept the temperature remarkably high for the time of year. All the same, after having shared a meal on deck, the two chums were glad to don oilskins and mufflers before undertaking their long vigil.
"Aren't you funky of going into the motor-room with that?" inquired Broadmayne, as Rollo appeared from an examination of the oil gauges of the automatic lubricators, his features glowing in the glare of a lighted cigarette.
"Goodness—no," replied the other, with a laugh. "Haven't you ever seen a fellow shove a lighted cigarette into a full tin of petrol?"
"Haven't and don't want to," replied the cautious Sub.
"Well, it's not the petrol; it's the petrol fumes that are the danger," continued Vyse. "There's far more danger from the fumes in an empty petrol can than there is in a full one. The motor-room is well ventilated and there are trays to catch any drops from the carburettors, so you see I am careful.... Aren't the engines going beautifully? Eight hundred revs., and hardly any vibration."
For the next two hours the two sat perched on the low bulkhead on the after side of the wheelhouse, Vyse occasionally touching the wheel to correct the vessel's slight tendency to fall off to starboard.
"We ought to spot Portland Light very soon," he remarked. "That is, unless there's local fog about."
"I'll look," said Broadmayne, unstrapping his binoculars.
Steadying himself with legs set widely apart, the Sub stood erect upon the roof of the wheelhouse.