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 from the south, the submarine followed on the surface, although she could not make as good time through the weed as did the Vulcan. However, the burden of destroying the English craft had been transferred to the cruisers that came rushing forward at at least twenty-five knots an hour.

As Madden stood on the bridge in the skirling wind, the little Vulcan, the seaweed drifts and the cruisers reminded him of nothing so much as a rabbit flying across cotton rows in front of four greyhounds; only here there were no friendly briar patches or fence corners in which to double or hide. Never had the Sargasso appeared so vast, so empty, so brilliant, so hot.

“Any chance?” he shouted to Caradoc above the rumble of machinery and the whistling of the wind.

“There's always a chance! They might foul in these weeds!” he nodded aft.

“Improbable.”

“Lloyds would hardly insure us,” admitted the commander dryly.

At that moment, as if to lend point to the remark, came a sharp clap of thunder off their