"There, about a hundred yards off. By Jove, it's a ship."
"It is, by smoke!" admitted Rollo.
"No lights. She's not making way," continued the Sub, speaking more to himself than to his chum. "Strange—decidedly so. Abandoned, perhaps."
"Listen!" exclaimed Vyse. "Voices."
Without replying, Broadmayne seized the paddle and commenced to propel the dinghy in the direction of the mysterious vessel. For mysterious she undoubtedly was. No ordinary craft would be lying without way and showing no riding-light. Smugglers, perhaps, but to Gerald Broadmayne it meant shelter—any port in a storm.
It was slow work. Ten minutes' frantic work with the scull brought the dinghy close under the strange vessel's starboard quarter.
"Nothing in sight, sir!" exclaimed a deep voice.
"By Jove! she'll be forging ahead in half a shake," thought the Sub, and, throwing down his oar, he hailed the unknown craft: "Ship ahoy! Throw us a line!"