CHAPTER V
OVERHAULED
"I believe we're on a fool's errand," remarked Fielding to the midshipman.
They were on the bridge; Drake had turned in. It was now two bells of the middle watch (1 a.m.), and the Frome was still heading westward as fast as her motors could impart power to the three undamaged propellers. Beyond the rhythmical purr of the engines, the "swish" of the water as the destroyer's knife-like bow cleft the waves, and the mournful slatting of the signal halliards against the mast, hardly a sound was audible.
"Why, sir?" asked Cardyke, lowering his night-glasses, and stepping behind the shelter of the "storm-dodgers."
"Why—because I think we are. We ought to have overhauled our quarry hours ago—certainly before sunset. With lights out, they might easily alter course, and let us run by them like a blind man past a notice to trespassers. What's more, we're right out of the beaten track. All up-Channel traffic will be heading for St. Catherine's light, and we're well to the south'ard of the Start by now.
"It's a cool bit of work, snapping up a ship almost in sight of Portsmouth, and in the English Channel, too," remarked Cardyke.
"Yes, and it's the audacity of it all that gives the beggars a chance of success. But what can be the object of a tramp lumbering along with a disabled cruiser in tow? She'll be spotted at sunrise, mark my words; but I'm afraid the Frome won't have a look in. Well?"
The monosyllable was addressed to a seaman who had scaled the bridge-ladder.