"Nothing in sight yet," he announced.
The next instant the Ibex trembled under a violent shock. For the moment she seemed to lose way. Broadmayne, thrown off his balance, pitched forward, falling at full length upon the coach-roof over the motor-room. There he lay, grabbing at the low brass railing, until, feeling a bit dazed and shaken, he made his way aft.
"What's up?" he inquired breathlessly.
"Hit a bit of wreckage, I think," replied Rollo. "Gave her a bit of a biff. You're not hurt? Good, I thought you'd stove-in your deadlights, old man, by the way you fell."
His anxiety relieved concerning his chum, Rollo Vyse's next thoughts were for the yacht. As far as he knew, the Ibex had not fouled either of her propellers. Evidently her forefoot had thrust down the submerged object sufficiently to enable the cut-away stern to clear.
"Hang on to the wheel a jiffy while I go below and have a look round," he said; and, picking up an electric torch from a rack in the wheelhouse, he dived below.
He was gone some time—nearly a quarter of an hour. When he reappeared, he reported that the boat was not making any water beyond a slight trickle through the stern gland of the starboard propeller.
"I think she must have given her prop. a bash," he added. "There's an unusual noise as if the shaft isn't running true. You can't hear it from here."
"There's Portland Light!" exclaimed Broadmayne, as four pin-pricks of white appeared on the port bow. "Rather close in, aren't we?"
"Indraught, perhaps," replied his chum. "We'll stand out a bit. South eighty east will do."