"Feeling better?" asked the Lieutenant cheerily.
The other stared at him with lack-lustre eyes and made no answer.
"You must try and get on your pins," said Lawless encouragingly. "Come on, now, I'll help you."
The man seemed to make a feeble attempt to use his limbs, and with a great effort Lawless managed to prop him against the taffrail. By this time Cassidy had brought up the seaplane, and together they succeeded in transferring their charge to it and placing him in the rear seat. This done, they cast off from the derelict and the Lieutenant started the engines. As he did so he gave a backward glance at the ship.
"She's going!" he cried, and as the seaplane started to rise there came a roar from behind, and the Nimrod, parting amidships, disappeared beneath the waves in a dense cloud of smoke and steam.
"That is the narrowest squeak I've ever had," he murmured.
He glanced at the petrol gauges, and saw that the tanks were nearly empty. There might be enough left to carry them another ten miles, but certainly not more. And, sure enough, in a few minutes the engines began to slow down, and there was nothing for it but to volplane to the surface. Their sole chance of rescue now lay in being picked up by some passing steamer, for, though the wireless apparatus could receive messages, there was no power to transmit them.
"Keep a bright look-out, Mike," said Lawless. "The sooner we're picked up the better, for I sniff bad weather coming."
By now the fog had almost disappeared before a freshening sou'-westerly wind, and the sea, so smooth and oily a short while ago, was now whipped into choppy, foam-crested waves.
It was not long before the Lieutenant's prophecy of coming bad weather began to be fulfilled. Afternoon had now given place to evening, and a hazy moon, frequently obscured by black, threatening clouds, hung in the sky. Before darkness had quite set in they were in the midst of a gale which became more and more violent every minute.