against the brilliant sky. As it was too small for his naked eyes, he resorted to the binoculars once more. Caradoc was doing the same thing.
“W'ot is it, sir?” inquired Malone anxiously.
When he had focused his glasses, Madden made out two fighting tops—steel baskets circling steel masts, thrust up menacingly over the slope of the world.
“W'ot is it, sir?” repeated Malone uneasily.
Just then Madden's eye caught the flag at the peak, as it fluttered under the drive of the distant ship. It was the black cross on the white ground, with the dark upper left quarter of the German navy.
Caradoc took down his glass at the same time.
“They've been using the wireless,” he stated evenly, “to run us in a cul de sac. I might have known German cruisers were close around.” He looked steadily at the distant fighting tops, then turned to Galton.
“Steer due north, quartermaster.”
After a moment, he said to Malone:
“When you go below, send me up coffee and a biscuit.”
