‘I thought as much,’ Captain Carrington answered quietly.  ’Then it is up to us to stop it.’

Ken glanced quickly at his father, but there was not light to see his face.  It was Morgan who voiced his thought.

‘We shall bring the fire of all the batteries down on us,’ he said.

‘Of course,’ Captain Carrington’s voice was calm as ever.  ’Starboard another point, Morgan.  Ken, call Dimmock.  He’s an ex-gunnery lieutenant, and can handle the 6-pounder.’

‘I’m here already, sir,’ came a voice out of the gloom.  I saw the light, and guessed what was up.’

‘I can help, father,’ said Ken.  ‘Ah, and here’s Roy.’

All three sprang forward to the gun.  It had already been loaded and a dozen spare shells were ready alongside.

‘This is luck,’ said Roy in a gleeful whisper, as he ranged himself alongside the gun.  He, like the rest, was perfectly well aware that the first shot they fired would bring down on them the concentrated fire of all the batteries on both shores, and that their chances of escape were hardly worth considering.  But this did not weigh for a moment, if they were able to strike a blow for the Empire.

The revolutions were increasing, the launch moved more rapidly down upon her quarry.

‘Three barges!’ exclaimed Roy.  ’Big ’uns, too!  I say, there must be tons of stuff aboard.  Jove, won’t the Turks be sick?’

‘We must get the tug first,’ said Dimmock, who, though a man of forty, was as keen as a boy.  ’If we can slap it into her first, we can deal with the barges at our leisure.’

As he spoke he was squinting along the barrel, his right hand busy with the sighting screw.

‘Hang this fog!’ he muttered.  ‘I can hardly see what I’m shooting at.’

The launch was now within little more than a hundred yards of the tug which was puffing noisily along, her string of barges tailing heavily down the current, and her crew utterly unaware of the hidden danger gliding down upon them through the fog.

‘I’m beastly rusty,’ continued Dimmock.  ’Still, I hardly think I can miss her at this range.’

As he spoke his finger pressed the electric button, and the gun barked with that ear-splitting crack peculiar to the 6-pounder.

The tug staggered and rang like an iron drum.

‘Not much miss about that!’ cried Roy triumphantly.  ’You must have got her slap in the boilers.’

‘No, it was too high,’ said Dimmock in a discontented tone.’  This gun jumps a bit.  Sharp there, with that other shell.’

Roy slipped it in as though it were a toy, the breech-block snicked to, and five seconds later a second report roused the echoes.

‘That’s better,’ said Dimmock, as a flash of flame rose from the midships section of the tug.  ‘Ah, there goes her funnel!  She’s a goner.’

He was right.  The tug swung round to the current, and, with engines stopped, drifted idly down the Straits.