“Under our own power?” he inquired, turning around and staring at the smokeless funnel.
“No, we're being towed.”
“Towed! Towed!” exclaimed Smith in a weak voice. “What's towing us?”
“We don't know, sor,” replied a cockney.
There was a silence in which Caradoc stood tall and cadaverous as a ghost. “Am I dreaming this, Madden?” he muttered finally. “Did you say we were being towed?”
“That's right.”
“What's towing us—not—not the dry dock—don't say the dry dock's towing us!”
“We don't know, sor,” repeated the cockney.
“Where are we going?”
“To be killed, sor.”
Caradoc moved slowly over to the rail and sat against it near Madden.
“A cool breeze,” he murmured gratefully.
The American was lost amid the wildest speculations as to the mysterious agent that had the Vulcan in tow. He was trying to think logically, but found it hard in that atmosphere of terror. The utter weirdness of the whole affair defied analysis. The towing of the Vul-
