The two guns spoke almost simultaneously. By the aid of the "tracers", thin wisps of smoke from the soaring projectiles, it was quite easy to follow the flight of the shrapnel shells. Both burst seemingly close to the enemy air-craft. The observers in the armed merchant-cruiser could see the delicate smoke-wreaths from the detonating projectile being riven by the rush of air from the swiftly-moving machine. For a few seconds the aeroplane appeared to falter; then steadying herself, continued her flight undamaged.
Ten seconds later a bomb crashed into the sea, exploding with a terrific detonation within fifty yards of the Portchester Castle's starboard quarter. It was near enough to send a shower of spray completely over the ship's poop, while fragments of metal rattled against her steel sides.
Again a shrapnel shell burst overhead, but so far from the target that Osborne involuntarily exclaimed, "Rotten shot"; but, the instant after, "anti No. 2" succeeded in making the aeroplane side-slip for nearly a hundred feet before it recovered and circled in order to regain a favourable position for dropping more explosives.
Instinctively Tom Webb edged nearer the chart-house, but only for a moment. Captain M'Bride and Lieutenant Osborne were standing rigid and apparently unconscious of the danger. Their example, coupled with the fact that if the bomb did hit the bridge there would not be sufficient fragments of the chart-house to fill a pint measure, steadied the Sub's nerves. Many a time he had been in danger of being blown sky-high by mine or torpedo. He had grown used to such perils; but the unprecedented possibility of being pulverized by an enemy that could be seen had been responsible for his unpremeditated effort to gain a useless shelter.
Meanwhile the Portchester Castle, having been given the fullest use of the helm, was swinging to port. As she did so, the second bomb fell where her bows would have been had she held on her course.
"That was a near one, Osborne," remarked Captain M'Bride calmly, as he wiped the spray from his eyes, for the cascade of foam had fallen inboard, some of it flying over the elevated bridge. "This chap is a sticker for business. See, he's making another circle."
At that moment a man rushed up from below, and, leaping over the stanchion-rails, disappeared beneath the waves. Osborne and Webb hastened to the end of the bridge, but the suicide never appeared again.
It was the Greek, who had been detained on board pending his trial for treachery in connection with the thwarted attempt upon the non-existent petrol depot of Akhissareli. According to custom, all prisoners are released from cells when the vessel goes into action; and, profiting by this circumstance, the Greek, terrified by the crash of the guns and the explosion of the bombs, had escaped execution by order of a court-martial by choosing a voluntary death.
"He's cheated the hangman," remarked Osborne. "But what's the next move?"
The officers' attention was again directed towards the hostile air-craft. The biplane had swung round, in order to make yet another attempt to bomb the war-ship.