"And what then?" demanded Krauss scornfully. "There'll be questions asked. We will be put under arrest straight away and no doubt shot. That's not good enough." "It will be all right if we throw these pigs overboard," said Furst, indicating the two officers, who were now both lying bound on deck. "We can say that they were swept overboard in heavy weather. We must all stick to the same tale. It will be of no use for anyone to betray us. We're all hand in glove in this business." "Supposing an English ship of war does appear?" queried the timorous one. "We'll be sunk at sight. You know the way they have." "We could submerge," declared Krauss loftily. "And who will take command if we do," persisted the man. "I know of no one of us able to manage this boat under water. I'd rather take my chance and hoist the White Flag. Besides, haven't we English prisoners--officers--on board? They might help us if we treated them well." "That is so," admitted Furst. "Meanwhile we'll steer east for Germany." "Who is navigator?" asked a mechanic. "Do you know anything of navigation, Hans Furst?" Furst was obliged to admit that he knew but little. Taking observations--a very necessary accomplishment when one has to thread a way through mine-fields--was beyond him. "I'll try," he added. "We can but hope for the best. But now we must first get rid of these." He pointed to the late kapitan and unter-leutnant of U 247. "Shoot them," suggested the revengeful Krauss. "Too easy a death," objected Furst. "We'll toss them overboard." Some of the men moved aft to carry out the suggestion, but Furst called on them to stand by. "Cast off those lashings," he ordered, with a grim laugh. "We'll give them a chance to swim for it. The nearest land is only about two hundred miles away. It will give them time to think over things. Start up those motors again and get way on her." The men obeyed promptly. The idea of seeing their former officers struggling for life "in the ditch" appealed to their innate cruelty. After all, they argued, they were only revenging themselves upon two tyrants who had shown no mercy to the crews of British merchant vessels they had sunk. Von Loringhoven squealed like a stuck pig when he saw one of the seamen advancing with a drawn knife. With a couple of deft cuts the unter-leutnant's bonds were severed. Two brawny men seized him by arms and legs and with a swinging heave tossed him over the side into the water. Von Preugfeld, cursing, imploring and struggling, shared the same fate, his exit watched by all the hands on deck save one, who, evidently lacking the nerve to witness the tragedy, had stepped unobserved to the other side of the conning-tower. Then, increasing her speed to twelve knots, U 247 turned eight degrees to port and headed for the distant shore of Germany, leaving von Preugfeld and his subordinate struggling for life in the cold waters of the North Sea. CHAPTER XVIII A BIG PROPOSITION