"Message, sir; wireless," replied the man, laconically.
"H'm!" grumbled Fielding, taking the slip of paper. "The admiral wants to know our position, I suppose. That will mean a recall, and a wigging for not carrying out orders. I wish we'd crippled the wireless for a few hours. Take this, Cardyke, and see what it's all about."
The midshipman took the paper, and entered the little chart-room. The next instant he was by the sub.'s side.
"She's at it again," he exclaimed. "Here's an urgent call for assistance from ss. Yosen Maru, lat. 50-2-14 N., long. 3-45-9 W., steaming NNE.1/4E. Requires urgent assistance. Pursued and fired upon by large unknown vessel. How's that?"
"Forty miles off, and a general call will bring a dozen vessels to her assistance," replied Fielding, gloomily. "Cut below and inform Drake."
Cardyke bounded down the steep ladder, and made his way to the wardroom. The lieutenant was awake in a moment.
"We've been tricked," he exclaimed. "But we'll be in time yet. Pass the word for Mr. Black."
Drake was soon on the bridge, and the Frome's course was altered towards the position given by the Yosen Maru. As soon as Black, the gunner, came on deck, orders were given to clear for action.
The wireless operator repeatedly called up the vessel in distress, which was known to be a Japanese liner bound for London. But beyond the first call for aid no message came from the threatened vessel. The ominous silence told its own tale.
With the spray flying in cascades right over the fore-bridge, for the wind was now dead ahead, the Frome thrashed her way through the darkness. An hour and a half passed, then—