there were beads of wet all over his face. Otherwise he seemed little
the worse for his long vigil. In his eyes, however, was a new anxiety.

"Another five miles," he confided, "should see us in clear weather."

"Steamer's still following us, isn't she?"

"Sticking to us like a leech," was the terse reply. "She is not out of
any American port. She must have just picked us up. She isn't any
ordinary cargo steamer, either, or she couldn't make the speed."

"I've worked it out by your chart," Crawshay declared, "and it might
very well be the Blucher. I don't think I made the altered course wide
enough, and she might very well have been hanging about a bit when she
struck the fog and heard our engines."

The captain lit a pipe. "I am not in the habit, as you may imagine,
of discussing the conduct of my ship with any one, Mr. Crawshay," he
said, "but you come to me with very absolute credentials, and it's
rather a comfort to have some one standing by with whom one can share
the responsibility. You see my couple of guns? They are about as
useful as catapults against the _Blucher_, whereas, on the other hand,
she could sink us easily with a couple of volleys."

"Just so," Crawshay agreed. "What about speed, Captain?"

"If our reports are trustworthy, we might be able to squeeze out one
more knot than she can do," was the doubtful reply, "but, you see,
she'll follow us out of this last bank of fog practically within rifle
range. I've altered my course three or four times so as to get a