"Go on talking—anything," he whispered. "These two Fritzes are trying to do a bunk. Let 'em have a run for their money; we'll see some fun."
Merridew and his companion waited until they saw the dark shadows of the Germans flat along the deck; then, each taking up a rifle, the watchers followed, keeping under cover afforded by the chart-house.
Right aft crept the two Germans until they halted and peered over the taffrail as if measuring the distance between them and the shore. Then, with a few coils of main-sheet, they took a turn round a belaying-pin and silently lowered the free end of the stout manilla rope into the water.
Slowly one of the Huns wriggled on his stomach upon the slightly-rounded top of the taffrail, then, grasping the rope, he began to make his way down hand over hand, his companion watching his progress.
Merridew distinctly heard a splash in the water. It was not the noise of a man swimming.
"Sharks!" he whispered, and opened the cut-off to the magazine of his rifle.
The German dangling at the rope's end heard it too, for he uttered a guttural "Achtung!"
The other fell, just below the rail, tried to regain the deck, but the task of swinging himself round and over the projecting taffrail was beyond his powers. As he hung desperately to the rope he prevented his companion's efforts to climb back. Both started to shout for help.
Bawling for the rest of the duty watch to turn out, Merridew and Fontayne ran aft. A strange sight met their eyes as they leapt over the taffrail.
The Germans, gripping the rope with the tenacity of terror, were swaying to and fro in their efforts to put as great a distance as possible between them and the swirling water, while clearly visible in the bright moonlight—as they darted in and out of the dark shadows cast by the Titania's projecting counter—were two enormous sharks, their white bellies glistening in the silvery light as they turned to snap at the tempting bait just above their reach.