"I must apologize, gentlemen," began von Riesser in good English as the British officers came over the side. "My subordinate, Herr Klick, has allowed his zeal to outrun his discretion. It is necessary for me to detain you. I know you will bow to the inevitable and recognize that it is the fortune of war. I will speak to you again shortly!" The kapitan hurried off, leaving Denbigh and his fellow-prisoners standing close to the head of the accommodation-ladder. Beyond the fact that a sentry stood within ten feet of them, no attempt was made to place them under restraint. They were free to speak, and to watch the scene that was being enacted a few hundred yards from the vessel to which they had been removed. The _Nichi Maru_ was lowering her boats rapidly yet with admirable discipline. Without accident the heavy lifeboats with their human freights took the water. As soon as the falls were cast off, the crews rowed to a safe distance, where they lay on their oars and awaited the end of the huge liner. With some minutes to spare, the work of abandoning the vessel was completed. The captain was the last to leave, the imperturbable look upon his olive features masking the rage and grief that gripped his mind. The two German boats still lay alongside. Presently half a dozen Teutons hurriedly scrambled into the waiting craft, which without delay were rowed quickly toward the _Pelikan_. Three muffled reports came almost simultaneously from the interior of the doomed liner. These were followed by two more at comparatively long intervals. The _Nichi Maru_ heeled slightly, and began to settle slowly by the bows. The ship took her time. The wreaths of fleecy steam mingled with denser columns of smoke that issued from 'tween decks. Then, as the in rushing water came in contact with the furnaces, the vessel was enveloped in a cloud of eddying pungent fumes. When the cloud dispersed, the _Nichi Maru's_ bows were level with the water, while her stern was raised until the blades of her now motionless propellers were clear of the agitated sea. Lower and lower sank the doomed ship. At frequent intervals, small explosions of compressed air took place. The sea was strewn with fragments of floating wreckage. "She's going!" whispered Stirling. The liner recovered herself. For a moment it seemed as if she were floating on an even keel. Then, with a convulsive effort, she flung her stern high out of the water and slid rapidly to her ocean grave. Almost the last to be seen of her was the mercantile flag of Japan, still floating proudly from the ensign staff. In the liner's crowded boats the Japanese officers were standing erect and at the salute as the vessel disappeared from view. They, too, were of a breed that is not to be intimidated by Teutonic frightfulness. CHAPTER III On Board the Raider