“Rather!”
“I can sympathize with you,” continued Raxworthy. “I’ve had some. How did they get you?”
“I’m the third officer of the S.S. Supreme.”
“ Supreme? Artful swine! They cut out the three middle letters and left a Chink name: Su-me. Well, go on.”
“We were bound from London to Yokohama,” continued the third officer. “Native crew, but I don’t think they are in league with the pirates. It wasn’t in my watch, but the second afterwards told me that a junk sent out distress signals. Our Old Man slowed down. The junk had an engine, and directly we’d lost way she ran alongside and poured a hundred or so of armed Chinamen on our deck——”
“Hang on a bit,” interrupted Raxworthy, who during the recital had been watching the pseudo Su-me through his binoculars. “They’ve slung someone else into the ditch. . . . By Jove! He’s splashing like blue blazes! Must be a shark about. Make a good spurt, my lads!”
They had to pull the best part of a mile before they got to the third man. Raxworthy’s surmise was correct. There were sharks in close proximity, swimming in gradually closing spirals around the spot, for the man’s splashings were becoming less active.
“Keep it up!” shouted the midshipman.
He caught a glimpse of the swimmer’s wide open eyes and the horrified expression on his face.
Raxworthy drew his revolver. It was a tricky business firing the weapon. The jerky motion of the whaler and the fact that he had to stand up and fire well over the heads of the men made it even hazardous. He purposely fired wide, the bullet ricochetting a good twenty feet clear of the man.