He heard distinctly the creaking of winches, and knew that the boats were being lowered.  His worst suspicions were true; the ship was actually sinking.

This lasted only a few seconds.  Ken Carrington was not the sort to yield weakly to panic.  He pulled himself together, and felt for the switch.

It clicked over, but nothing happened.  The shock of the explosion had evidently thrown the dynamo out of gear.  Then he remembered the little electric torch which he always carried, and in an instant had it out of his pocket, and switched it on.

He flashed the little beam across the floor, and its light fell upon the wooden grating over which he had stumbled in his first rush at the enemy signaller.  This lay alongside the bath.  It was about six feet long and made of four heavy slats nailed on a framework.

It took Ken just about five seconds to lay down his lamp and heave up the grating.

Short as the time had been since the first shock of the torpedo, the ship was already beginning to list heavily.  The floor of the bathroom now sloped upwards steeply to the door.

The grating was very heavy, but in his excitement Ken swung it up as though it had been no more than a feather.  Balancing it, he charged straight at the door.

The end of the grating struck the woodwork with a loud crash, but the result was not what Ken had hoped.  Hinges and lock remained firm.  One panel, however, was cracked and splintered.

He retreated again to make another attempt.  But the list was growing heavier every moment.  It was all he could do to keep his feet.  Ugly, sucking noises down below told him that the water was rushing in torrents into the hold of the doomed ship.

There was no question of making a second charge.  Balancing himself as best he could opposite the door, he pounded frantically at the cracked panel, and at the third blow it broke away, leaving a jagged hole.

But this was not large enough for him to put his head through—­let alone his body.  His one chance was that the key might still be in the lock.

Small blame to him that his heart was going like a trip-hammer as he dropped the useless grating and snatched up his lamp.

The list was now so heavy that he had to cling to the door, as he thrust his arm through the gap.

A gasp of relief escaped his lips as his fingers closed on the key.  It turned, but even then the door would not open.  It was wedged.

Ken made a last desperate effort, and managed to force it open.  As he clawed his way through into the passage, the sea water came bursting up through the floor of the bathroom behind him.

Somehow he managed to scramble along the passage, and up the companion to the mess deck.  There was not a soul in sight, and the ship now lay over at such an angle that every moment it seemed as though she must capsize.

Up another ladder.  He was forced to go on hands and feet, clinging like a squirrel.  Then he was on the boat deck, in a glare of white light flung on the sinking ship by the searchlight of a British cruiser which had rushed up to the rescue.