surreptitiously at Crawshay. "Four degrees south," Crawshay
repeated softly.

The night wore on. Every ten minutes the message was sent. Then there
followed a brief silence, spent generally by Robins with his head
drooped upon his clasped arms; by Crawshay in unceasing vigil. Just as
the first faint gleam of daylight stole into the little turret
chamber, came the long-waited-for reply. The young man wrote down the
few lines and passed them over. Crawshay, who had risen to his feet,
glanced at them, nodded, and thrust the paper into his pocket.

"That seems quite satisfactory," he said coldly. "Now ask the
_Blucher_ her exact course?"

Robins sat for a moment motionless. He felt Crawshay's presence
towering over him, felt again the spell of his softly-spoken command.

"Don't waste any time, please. Do as I tell you."

Robins obeyed. In less than a quarter of an hour he handed over
another slip of paper. Crawshay thrust it into his pocket.

"That concludes our business," he said. "Now let me see if I remember
enough of this apparatus to put it out of action."

He bent over the instrument, removed some plugs, turned some screws,
and finally placed in his pocket a small concealed part of the
mechanism. Then he turned towards Robins.

"You can leave here now," he directed. "I shall lock the place up."