"Where are you off to, you blithering idiot?" shouted the young officer.
In a couple of strides he overtook the Hun, gripped him round the waist, and carried him on deck. Then, to his surprise, Devereux found that the kapitan's face was streaming with blood. A sliver of lead from the bullet that had demolished the lock of the cell had struck him in the right eye, completely destroying the optic nerve.
"Can't say I feel sorry for you," thought the sub-lieutenant, recollections of the cold-blooded cruelty of the Hun vividly in his mind. Nevertheless, still holding the injured skipper, he leapt overboard, whither the rest of the boarding-party had preceded him.
Strong as he was, Devereux had a hard tussle to swim to the submarine. Caught by vicious eddies, swirled to and fro like a straw on the surface of a mountain torrent, he was almost exhausted when hauled into safety.
Giving a glance over his shoulder as he was assisted to the deck of his own craft, Devereux saw that the Kondor was making her last plunge. Throwing her bluff bows high in the air, she disappeared in a smother of foam and a pall of black smoke mingled with steam.
Then, to his surprise, upon going aft to report to his commanding officer, Devereux found Huxtable shaking, like a pump-handle, the hand of one of the men he had rescued.
"By Jove!" exclaimed the astonished Devereux. "Blest if we haven't----! Why, it's Sefton!"
"Guilty, m'lud!" replied that worthy.
"And Crosthwaite--he wasn't on that hooker?" asked Devereux anxiously.
"No, thank heaven," replied Sefton fervently. "He's still in hospital. This is my young brother. I've got to blame him for this business, the young rascal. It was a narrow squeak for the pair of us."