through with their great, white, fanlike blades, till first one then the other picked up and steadied relentlessly upon a toy-boat shape that swam the swells about midway between the Assyrian and the destroyer off the port bows.
Simultaneously the quickfirers of the latter went into action, jetting orange flame. In the searchlights' glare, spurts of white water danced all round the submarine. A mutter of gunfire rolled over to the Assyrian, abruptly silenced by an imperative deep voice of heavier metal—which spoke but once.
With the lurid unreality of clap-trap theatrical illusion the U-boat vomited a great, spreading sheet of flame. …
Someone at the rail, near Lanyard's shoulder, uttered a hushed cry of horror.
He paid no heed, his interest wholly focussed upon that distant patch of shining water. As his dazzled vision cleared he saw that the submarine had disappeared.
Unconsciously, in French, he commented: "So that is finished!"
Likewise in French, but in a woman's voice of uncommon quality, deep and bell-sweet, came the protest from the passenger at his side: "But, monsieur, what are we doing? We turn away from them—those poor things drowning there!"
That was quite true: under forced draught the Assyrian was heading away on a new course.
"They drown out there in that black water—and we leave them to that!"
Lanyard turned. "The destroyers will take care of
