The Submarine Hunters

Meanwhile, alarmed at the non-appearance of the young heir to Killigwent Hall and his guest, a party had set off to search St. Mena's Island.

Just as the boat's keel grounded on the beach of Half Tide Cove, the German submarine slipped quietly through the blurr of misty rain, and under cover of darkness headed towards the mouth of Bristol Channel.

CHAPTER IV

The Awakening

"Dash it all! What am I doing here?" muttered Ross Trevor drowsily, as he opened his eyes.

For the moment he quite imagined that he was in his dormitory at school, and that by an oversight the rest of his chums had left him in bed. The suggestion was strengthened by the sound of gurgling water, as if the bathroom tap were running. Then he became aware that everything was pitching up and down. Once before he had experienced a similar sensation—when he had had a violent headache following a slight touch of sunstroke.

It puzzled him, too, that he was almost in darkness. Somewhere without, and partly screened by some projection, an electric light was burning. The reflected rays were just sufficient to enable him to take stock of his surroundings.

No, he was not back in the school dormitory. True, he had a headache, but that would not account for the actual motion. He fumbled, his fingers came in contact with a curved board that served to prevent the occupant of the bed—or, rather, bunk—from falling on the floor.

Almost mechanically he rolled out, and stood supporting himself by grasping the ledge of the bunk. The swaying, due partly to dizziness and partly to an unaccountable see-saw motion, would have thrown him to the floor but for the assistance afforded by the side of the bunk.

Gradually he became aware that there was a similar sleeping-place immediately beneath the one he had been occupying. Someone was lying there, breathing heavily. There was sufficient light for Ross to recognize him. It was his chum Vernon.

Just then a bell clanged noisily. The sound of running water was outvoiced by the loud din of machinery in motion. A wave of hot air that reminded the lad of the atmosphere of a Tube station wafted past him. The whole fabric trembled under the powerful pulsations of the mechanism.

With his legs trembling through sheer physical weakness, Ross hung on grimly. He wanted to shout, but no sound came from his parched tongue. He was bewildered. It seemed as if he were in the throes of a terrible nightmare, and that he would awake on finding himself falling into a bottomless abyss.

The reflected light was obscured as a broad-shouldered man made his way along the narrow corridor in which the bunks were placed. As he did so he caught sight of the lad. Without a word he seized Ross in his arms, not roughly, but nevertheless unceremoniously, and lifted him back into the bunk. There was something so peremptory in the action that Ross lay still and closed his eyes. All his will power seemed to have deserted him.

"Make a dash for it, old man!" exclaimed a muffled voice that Trefusis hardly recognized as his chum's. "Make a dash for it. Don't let them collar us."

It was Vernon rambling in his sleep. The words were sufficient to give Ross a key to the hitherto baffling problem.

Like a flash he recalled the episode of their adventure on St. Mena's Island. He remembered himself being held in the grasp of the powerful Ramblethorne until unconsciousness overcame him. He was still a prisoner, but with the qualifying knowledge that he was not alone. Vernon Haye was sharing his captivity, wherever it might be.

"We're afloat then," he muttered. "What has happened?"

Moistening his lips, Ross leant over the side of the bunk and called his chum by name. His voice sounded strangely unfamiliar. He could only just hear himself above the clamorous noise of the engines.

It was not long before another man appeared at the end of the corridor. As he did so he switched on a lamp almost above the lad's head. For a few seconds Ross was temporarily blinded by the sudden transition from artificial twilight to the intense brilliancy of electric light.

"So! You are now awake, hein?" asked a guttural voice. "How you vos feel?"

"Rotten!" replied Ross emphatically. His reply was brief and to the point. It summed up his sensations during the last ten minutes.

The man laughed.

"So you look. You better soon will be. You know where you now vos?"

"On board a ship," answered the lad. He was still hoping against hope that his questioner was anything but a German. There was a small chance that he had by some means been picked up at sea by a Dutch or a Swedish vessel.

The man's announcement "put the lid on" that possibility.

"Sheep—goot!" he chuckled. "German unterseeboot—vot you vos call submarine. No danger to you boys if you yourselves behave. Much to see—ach! plenty much."