"Strange sail bearing N.N.E. seven miles: No. 0916 will proceed and investigate." This was the reading of a signal hoisted on the Fleetwing within four hours of the destruction of the submarine.
The sea-plane carrier and her convoy had now entered the southern limits of the AEgean Sea. Broad on the port quarter could be discerned the rugged outlines of the Grecian peninsula, while ahead were the distant Cyclades, a veritable jumble of small islands, most of which are well-known names in ancient history, when Greece was Greece—a resolute and hardy nation compared with which the modern Greek nation is as clay in relation to steel.
It was now towards Milos, the nearmost of these islands, that a small felucca-rigged craft was making. Had she held on her former course, which was N.N.W., she might not have aroused the suspicions of the Fleetwing's officer of the watch; but on sighting the lofty hull of the sea-plane carrier the felucca had promptly hauled to the wind. That in itself was a strange manoeuvre, since the wind was in a quarter that enabled her to have a leading breeze on her former course.
"Let her rip!" ordered Osborne, addressing the motor engineer-artificer. "We want to get this job over before dark, if possible. I suppose," he added in an aside to his chum, "it's only another wild-goose chase."
"We're generally lucky," rejoined Webb the optimist. "However, I shouldn't think that yonder craft is likely to cause trouble. My word, isn't she footing it!"
The last sentence referred to the patrol-boat, which was now cleaving the tranquil waters at a knot above the contract speed. Her powerful motors had been running sufficiently to enable them to be "tuned up" to perfection. She was overhauling the felucca hand over fist.
Upon seeing the unwanted motor craft approach, the sailing vessel, knowing that escape by flight was out of the question, fell off on her former course, at the same time hoisting her colours. By the aid of their binoculars Osborne and Webb made the simultaneous discovery that the felucca was a Greek—or at any rate that was the nationality she wished to assume for the present.
"By Jove, they're heaving something overboard!" declared the Sub. "I distinctly saw splashes under her counter. Wonder if they are mines?"
"I'm sorry for those fellows if that is the case," said Osborne grimly. "At any rate, if we don't follow in her wake we're safe enough. Other questions dealing with the matter will be tackled later."
Apparently the crew of the felucca were particularly anxious for the objects they had thrown overboard to sink; for, finding that a couple of almost waterlogged bales were floating astern, one of the men leapt overboard and slashed furiously at them with a knife. Then, his task accomplished, finding that he could not overtake the sailing craft, he struck out for the distant shore.