The telegraph indicator remained untouched. With undiminished speed H.M.S. Tremendous held on, under the propelling force of turbine engines of 30,000 indicated horse-power.
A midshipman, standing by the side of the officer of the watch, had been keeping the submarine under observation by means of his telescope.
"By Jove, sir!" he exclaimed. "There's something wrong there. The white flag's down, and two fellows in mufti have leapt overboard."
"Torpedo on the port bow, sir!" sang out half a dozen lusty voices in chorus.
"Hard-a-port, quartermaster!" ordered Bourne.
The spokes of the steam steering-gear revolved quicker than they had ever done before. Listing heavily to port, the Tremendous turned with a rapidity that belied her huge bulk and apparent unhandiness. A double track of ever-diverging foam marked the progress of the deadly missile. Another followed almost in its wake, both torpedoes travelling at the speed of an express train.
For four seconds all on board who watched these messages of death stood with bated breath. Then a general roar of relief went up as the two "tinfish" glided harmlessly past the ship, the nearest at a distance of less than twenty feet, and parallel to the new course of the battleship.
Half a dozen quick-firers spat viciously. A 6-inch, two of which for some obscure reason the designers had placed on the main deck abreast of the after 15-inch guns, added to the din. A chaos of smoke, flame, and spray marked the spot beneath which U77 had lurked to launch her cowardly and treacherous bolt.
"That's blinded her, at least," thought Bourne.
He knew that even if the hidden submarine had escaped injury, a minute at least would elapse before she could be conned into a position to discharge another torpedo. That minute would be enough for his purpose.