At the same moment power was switched off the electric engines, and the petrol motor broke into life with an appalling racket.  The long, cigar-like vessel trembled under the increased power.

‘Can’t we go up on deck?’ muttered Roy who had joined Ken.

Ken shook his head.  He knew that this was impossible, yet all the same it was intolerably irksome to remain below without being able to see or take a hand in what was going on.

More orders, and presently the submarine came to rest, and lay, with hardly a movement, on the surface.

Williams turned and beckoned to Ken, and next moment Ken had his eyes glued to the binoculars.  In the circle of sea thrown on the mirror, the first thing he saw was an untidy looking tramp, her rusty plates showing as she rolled slowly to the slight sea.

Aboard her all was wild excitement.  Turkish sailors were hurriedly launching boats.  Ken almost fancied he could hear the davits squeal as the boats were hastily lowered to the level of the sea.  Evidently the men were in a desperate fright, for seldom had Ken seen the slack, leisurely Turks move with such speed.

We ain’t hurrying ’em,’ said Williams in Ken’s ear.  ’We’ve give ’em twenty minutes.’  Here, let your chum have a squint.’

Ken made way for Roy, and as he did so there was a shout from aft.

‘Commander wants Carrington.’

‘You lucky beggar,’ cried Roy, but Ken was gone like a flash.

‘Get along up on deck, soldier,’ said a bluejacket. ‘’E’s up there.’

Ken was up the ladder almost before the man had finished speaking, and swinging out through the hatch dropped down on to the narrow deck beneath.

There were four men on the deck, namely Lieutenant Strang, his second in command, Sub-Lieutenant Hotham, and two who stood by the gun, a 12-pounder which had been raised from its snug niche in the deck, and was pointed full on the steamer.

The latter was nearer than Ken had thought, and by this time it seemed that her whole crew were in the boats, and the ship herself entirely deserted.

‘Ah, Carrington,’ said the commander.  ’You’re the man who talks Turkish.  I can’t quite make out whether the skipper of this old tub thinks his boats can make the shore or whether he wants a tow.  Ask him, will you?’

The Turkish skipper, a greasy-looking ruffian, was in a boat close by.  He was gesticulating wildly.

Ken at once hailed him, and asked the necessary question.  The man burst into violent speech.

Ken listened, and there was a smile on his face as he turned to the commander.

’He’s only swearing at us, sir, and asking what right we have to sink his ship.’

‘Tell him he’d better inquire of Enver Bey,’ was the grim reply, and Ken faithfully repeated the remark, only to hear a volley of curses called down on Enver’s head as well as on his own.

‘He can’t do anything but swear, sir,’ said Ken.