“What rotten luck!” growled Madden.
Smith reached his good arm to the float. “Had it all my life in little things, Madden, but the Panther—that torpedo——”
“Boat ahoy!” called Farnol Greer suddenly.
Leonard looked about and saw that the Panther had laid to, a good two miles distant, and two of her cutters were coming back to pick up the survivors. A blue-jacket on the sharp bow of the little vessel waved an arm at Farnol's cry, and presently the rescuing party was alongside. Caradoc went up first, then Farnol, Malone and Madden, who automatically clung to his tin canister.
The sailors from the warship were chattering excitedly over the miraculous preservation of the Panther.
“If that tug had been 'arf a second later,” declared one, “she'd 'ave 'ad us, Sniper, sure—to th' port, there, Bobby, there's another chap kickin' in th' water.”
One of the sailors had a roll of bandages, and he now moved over to Caradoc and stooped over the wounded man.
“You're pinked,” he said in a tone of author-
