"I'll fetch it for you," volunteered Sefton.
His companion looked at him in astonishment.
"I mean it," continued the sub. "We won't be in action again for quite ten minutes, unless those Huns take it into their heads to alter course--which I don't fancy will be at all likely."
He pointed to five faint objects scurrying farther away through the patches of haze. They were German light cruisers, which, having had a taste of the salvoes of the leading ships of the First Cruiser Squadron, had thought it prudent to sheer off.
"Then look slippy, old bird," said the other. "I'm rather keen on getting the thing; I'd go myself if I were not here on duty with a capital D. I'll pass the word for the covers to be left open for your return."
Gaining the shrouds, Sefton descended cautiously, for already fragments of exploding shells had cut through several of the wire strands, and had played havoc with the ratlines.
Gaining the fore-bridge, he descended the ladder to the superstructure, and, passing in the wake of the trained-abeam turrets, reached the only hatchway leading to the main deck that had not been closed with an armoured lid.
'Tween decks the air was hot and oppressive. The confined space reeked with cordite fumes. Through the brown haze a streak of yellow light played upon the deck--a beam of sunlight entering through a jagged shell-hole in the ship's side.
Farther along, a party of sick-bay men were lowering a stretcher through a hatchway. On the stretcher was strapped a wounded petty officer, one of whose legs had been shattered below the knee.
The man was struggling violently, and expostulating in no mild terms. Ignorant of his terrible injuries, he was insisting on being allowed to return to his station and "have another smack at the Huns".