Five, ten, fifteen seconds—­then Hotham gave a sharp cry.

‘Got her.  Got her, by the living jingo!  Oh, good shot, Williams!’

As he spoke a dull shock made the whole hull of G2 quiver.

‘Hurrah!’ shouted Ken, and the cheer was echoed by a score of voices.

‘Struck her just aft the engines,’ exclaimed Hotham jubilantly.  ’Settled her hash all right.  Gad, they’ve got pluck.  They’re still shooting.  Ah, did you hear that, Carrington?’—­as the submarine quivered again slightly.  ‘That was a shell.  It struck the water not ten yards away.’

‘But that’s the last,’ he continued.  ’She’s cocking her bows up.  Phew, the whole bottom’s knocked out of her.  There she goes.  She’s sinking.  Poor beggars, they haven’t time to get out a boat, and we’ll never reach ’em in time to save any of them.’

‘Her stern’s under.  Bow’s straight up in the air!’ He paused a moment.

‘All over,’ he added quietly.  ‘She’s gone.’  Commander Strang’s voice rang out from farther aft.  Ken felt the vessel rising, and a few moments later a slight swaying told that she was on the surface.  Up went the hatch, and the terrible clatter of the petrol engines replaced the deep purr of the dynamos.

‘I’d give a finger to be on deck,’ said Ken to Roy, and for once Roy did not jeer.  He merely nodded, for he knew how desperately anxious Ken was about his father.

Ken had not long to wait.  A few minutes later, an order was passed for Carrington to go up, and Ken darted up the steel ladder like a lamplighter.

Outside, he found the sun gone, the sky covered with clouds, and a threat of rain in the cool air.  But it was not the weather he thought of.  His eyes were at once fixed upon a large steamer about two miles off to the southward.  Clouds of sooty smoke were pouring from her funnels, and a yeasty wake trailed away behind her.  Taking warning by the fate of her escort, she was doing all she knew to escape.

‘Will she beat us?  Will she get away?’ Ken asked anxiously of one of the gun crew.

‘Will she spread her little wings an’ turn into a waterplane?’ replied the man with a grin.  ’Bless you, soldier, she couldn’t do more’n fourteen knots when she come out o’ the builder’s yard, and that’s two more’n she’s going now.  You watch an’ see how far she gets away.’

A very few moments’ watching was enough to convince Ken that G2 was overhauling her prey hand over fist.  Within less than a quarter of an hour a mile of the steamer’s lead had gone.  Another five minutes and the distance between the two was barely twelve hundred yards.

‘Hallo, they’re getting gay!’ remarked the big bluejacket, as rifles began to spit and bullets to throw up little jets of spray around the rushing submarine.

Presently one clanged against the conning tower itself.  Commander Strang gave an order, and a little row of bunting ran up on the tiny mast of the submarine.