He contrived as often as he could to be in the conning-tower; but Körner and the quarter-master were usually at the periscopes, and Max could only watch the two men, hoping, always hoping, that they would discover no sign of the expected liner. By their hardly suppressed excitement he knew that should she be keeping to her usual course and time, she was already due.
Suddenly Lieutenant Körner ordered "diving stations." The tanks were filled—the vessel was submerged, and she sped through the dark depths at the fullest speed of her electric motors for about a quarter of an hour, when she again rose. Telegraph signals were rung. The torpedo tubes were charged.
"Is it the Ruritania?" Max panted. He saw that the moment had come.
"Yes. Quick! Get down into the torpedo chamber."
Instead of obeying the command, Max Hilliger snatched his loaded automatic pistol from his belt and leapt like a maddened animal at the commander.
"Stop!" he shouted. "Stop! Touch that lever and I will shoot you!" He flung himself forward, but a blow from the quarter-master's fist struck him in the face and he wheeled round, lost his balance, and fell. The pistol dropped from his grasp. His brain reeled, yet half consciously he heard the command given: "Fire!" He felt the vessel give a jump as the torpedo left its tube. From somewhere far away he heard a deep, dull explosion. Then, as a second torpedo was discharged, he came to his fuller senses.
"It is done!" cried Lieutenant Körner with an exultant laugh as he drew back from his periscope.
Max Hilliger had risen to his knees. He had seized his fallen pistol and now he levelled the weapon at the commander.
"God forgive me," he murmured. "But it is less than you deserve."
And with that he pressed the trigger, firing point blank at a spot beside the Iron Cross on his companion's breast.