"It's a fish!" declared the girl, as with a trail of phosphorescence a huge object darted under the keel and disappeared in the darkness. "That shark."
"Or another one," rejoined Peter. "There's one blessing: it isn't a whale. Chup rao!" he called out to the jabbering lascars.
In two or three minutes the awakened members of the boat's crew had relapsed into slumber. Peter swung the boat back on her course, and handed the tiller to the girl.
"I'll have a cigarette, if you don't mind," he said.
"And one for me, old thing, while you are about it," added a bass voice from the stern-sheets.
"By Jove, Preston, I thought you were sound asleep," remarked Peter, as he placed a cigarette to the Acting Chief's lips.
"Keeping an eye on you, old thing," retorted Preston, with brutal candour, then in a lower tone he added.
"Don't say a word to the girl, but I believe we've sprung a leak. Hear that? It's not the water lapping the boat's sides. It's water trickling in fairly fast. Put a lascar on with the baler. That ought to keep it under until we can see what's wrong."
"Right-o," rejoined Mostyn.
He began to make his way for'ard, moving cautiously past the tent in which Mrs. Shallop was breathing stertorously. But before he could get to the nearest of the three Indians a wild shriek rent the air.