Wriggling through the partly-closed hatchway, dubbed by courtesy the "companion," and receiving a greeting in the form of a cold douche--the tail end of a particularly vicious comber--Barcroft stood still until his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. Then, grasping the life-line, he made his way for'ard, often knee-deep in water, until he gained the doubtful shelter afforded by the rise of the fo'c'sle. Here, clustered round the two guns abreast the for'ard funnel, were a dozen men in "lammy" suits, oilskins and sou'-westers, all peering through the darkness in the direction in which the "Audax" was now proceeding. "What was the explosion, Mr. Black?" inquired Barcroft of the gunner. "We don't know, sir," replied the warrant officer. "A mighty big flash and a brute of a report. We've wirelessed the commodore to ask permission to investigate, and now we're off to see, judging by the alteration of course." The young officer thanked him for the information, vague though it might be, and ascending the bridge ladder took up his stand in front of the after guard-rail of the bridge. Lieutenant-commander Aubyn and three of his officers were standing with their backs turned to him, oblivious of his presence. Actually Barcroft had no right there, save on sufferance and by the courtesy of the skipper. The executive officers were crouching behind the storm-dodgers--the force of the wind and the sting of the icy spray made it impossible to withstand the full force of the elements unless protected by these canvas screens--and were directing their attention mainly on some as yet invisible object dead ahead. At intervals one or other of the officers would scan the seas abeam, as if expecting to see a dark and swiftly-moving vessel--to wit, an enemy craft pelt through the blackness of the night on her dash for safety. The skipper remained as rigid as a statue, the personification of silent alertness; but the lieutenant and sub of the "Audax" were conversing, raising their voices in order to make themselves understood above the roar of the wind and the crashing of the waves as they flew over the fore-deck of the destroyer and hurtled against the bridge. Scraps of the discussion wafted to Barcroft's ears. "A neutral, I think," remarked the sub. "Swede or Norwegian.... Bumped on a mine." "Torpedo," declared the lieutenant. "I distinctly saw one flash ... before the big blaze... second explosion; yet, it points to it." Billy caught enough of the conversation to read the lieutenant's theory. Evidently he believed that the victim was one of the British armed liners patrolling this section of the North Sea. Torpedoed, in the darkness and in spite of the heavy seas, she had been blown up by the detonation of her magazine. Suddenly Aubyn straightened himself and sprang to the telegraph indicator communicating with the engine-room.