Waist deep, Swaine waited until the glass observation-discs in his helmet were unscrewed. He was breathing heavily, and his red woollen cap was damp with perspiration.
"Well?" inquired Harborough. "Found it?"
Swaine shook his head.
"Found something," he replied, "but not the Fusi Yama."
His gaze fell upon Claverhouse.
"Say, Alec, dear old thing," he continued. "Weren't you the guy who bombed a P-boat, in mistake for a Fritz submarine?"
"Yes," admitted Claverhouse; "but I missed her, thank Heaven."
"Next time you go up you'd better take me to spot for you," resumed Swaine. "I guess I might be able to distinguish between the Fusi Yama and a wooden two-decker. Fact, sir," he declared, replying to Harborough's unspoken question. "It's the wreck of a frigate or something of the sort. Couple of centuries old, I should imagine. She's lying hard over on her starboard side. Amidships she's practically broken in two. Her foremast is still standing, but the main- and mizen-masts are half buried in the mud; water-logged and held down by the weight of the metal-work, I suppose."
"Didn't go on board?" asked Beverley.
"Not much," replied Swaine emphatically. "Looked too jolly rotten to my liking. I'd tackle it if I had a chum down with me."