Promptly the steamboat's signalman made her private number. The destroyer acknowledged, and the danger was at an end. Circling and easing down, the British war-ship approached within hailing distance.
"Portchester Castle's steamboat and prize, eh?" shouted her Lieutenant-commander. "You're lucky to have collared their torpedo-boat. We've been on the look-out for her the last week. Can we render any assistance?"
Osborne considered. It was still a long way back to the Portchester Castle. Already the wind was rising, and the sea, hitherto calm, promised to become at least choppy before very long.
"Will you relieve us of our prize?" he asked.
"Certainly," was the reply. "We'll tow her into Lemnos."
Admirably manoeuvred, the destroyer came close enough to enable a line to be thrown to the prize's fore-deck. To the line was attached a stout wire hawser, the end of which was made fast to the torpedo-boat's for'ard bollard. Half a dozen sailors from the destroyer boarded and took possession of the capture, while Osborne and his men returned to the steamboat. The lashings securing the latter alongside the prize were then cast off, and in less than ten minutes the destroyer and her tow were swallowed up in the darkness.
"That's a load off my mind," soliloquized Osborne, as speed was increased to fifteen knots. By this time the leak had been temporarily plugged, the water that had made its way into the fore-cabin had been ejected, and there was every chance of the steamboat making a quick run back to her parent ship.
"Where be the dawg, sir?" enquired one of the steamboat's crew. "I can't see 'im nowheres aboard."
"Laddie!" exclaimed the Lieutenant. "Where are you? Come here, old boy."
There was no response. In ordinary circumstances Laddie would be within a paw's length of his master. Even though the animal might be sulking after the Lieutenant's admonition (and the dog was not given to sulking), the mere utterance of his name would bring him bounding to his master in an ecstasy of delight.