"Give it up," he declared. "All the same——"
"Dash it all, I've tumbled to it," interrupted Dacres. "You were that curly-headed Sea Scout I met at Haslar Creek three or four years ago. I believe you were the means of enabling me to get a yacht off my hands."
"And incidentally the means of getting me my commission," added the ex-Tenderfoot. "And Osborne is on board too. There he is: officer of the watch. If it hadn't been for the experience we gained on board the old Petrel, I don't suppose we would have been here."
"Then the little yacht did some practical good work after all. I told you so, Billy," said Dacres, addressing his companion. "Yes, thanks very much," he added, in response to the Sub's invitation. "The loan of a dry kit and a good meal would be very acceptable. It's nearly——"
"Submarine on the starboard bow, sir!" roared the mast-head man, his words unmistakably clear in spite of the howling of the wind.
The Portchester Castle began to turn in obedience to a quick movement of the helm. Hoarse orders were shouted from the bridge and taken up by the bos'n's mates in other parts of the ship. But the warning came too late. The armed merchant-cruiser reeled as with a terrific explosion a torpedo "got home" just abaft her engine-room.
CHAPTER XIV
Submarined
Of what happened during the next few minutes Sub-lieutenant Tom Webb had but a hazy confused idea. The reverberations of the tremendous detonation were straining his ear-drums almost to bursting-point. Wreaths of pungent smoke, caught by the vicious blasts that eddied over the deck, obliterated everything from his vision and made him gasp for breath like a drowning man. His brain seemed benumbed by the concussion, his legs were on the point of giving way until he almost unconsciously grasped a guard-rail within arm's length.