"Off wi' 'em, then," said Cap'n Silas shortly. "I'll hide 'em. Blanket a-piece will serve till they'm dry."
The two chums were in the final stages of disrobing when one of the hands tapped on the skylight.
"She be hailin' us to come alongside, Cap'n," he announced.
"Pretty kettle o' fish you've made," he exclaimed. "Pirate, you say she be. Well, 'tain't no use us kickin'. We'll drop alongside of 'er, an' they can search till them's tired. They'll never find you. Down you go. Keep clear of yon propeller shaft."
Gingerly the chums gathered the loaned blankets about them, toga-wise, and dropped down upon the ballast. The trap-door was replaced and the coco-matting relaid. In utter darkness the fugitives crouched, listening to captain stamping about before going on deck.
Soon the Fairy's motor started, but the shaft gave no sounds to indicate that it was revolving. Then came the clank of the pawls of the windlass, as the cable came home, link by link. The gentle purr of the engines increased to a loud, pulsating roar. The clutch was engaged, the propeller shaft began to revolve—perilously close to Vyse's feet it sounded—and the lugger began to forge ahead.
She had not been under way for more than three minutes when the motor stopped and her stout hull quivered as she bumped alongside the Alerte.
"Now what's going to happen?" thought Broadmayne. "The blighters are coming on board."
There was a terrific din on deck. Men were stamping and running about, heavy weights were dumped down, the hatch-covers over the hold were thrown back.
The Sub could hear men's voices as they shouted to each other, but the motor roar intervening between them and the fugitives prevented the Sub hearing what they were saying.