After three days' steaming, the _Doro_ turned sharply to starboard, and the unseen fleets that dogged her turned too. In that circle of death, for a whole week, the little Spanish steamer twisted and turned, and, obedient to the message that went from destroyer to cruiser, the fleets followed her every movement. For the _Doro_ was unconsciously leading the nations to the "Mad Battleship." She had been slipped with that object. So far every part of the plan had worked well. To make doubly sure, the news of Zillier's escape from Devil's Island had been circulated in every country. It was essential that, if they missed the _Maria Braganza_ this time, they should catch her on the first of June at "Lolo." "And where that is," said T. B., in despair, "Heaven only knows." Wearing a heavy overcoat, he was standing on the narrow deck of the destroyer as she pounded through the seas. They had found the southeast trade winds at a surprisingly northerly latitude, and the sea was choppy and cold. Young Marchcourt, the youthful skipper of the _Martine_, grinned. "'Lolo' is 'nowhere,' isn't it?" he said. "You'll find it charted on all Admiralty maps; it's the place where the supply transport is always waiting on manoeuvres--I wish to Heaven these squalls would drop," he added irritably, as a sudden gust of wind and rain struck the tiny ship. "Feel seasick?" suggested T. B. maliciously. "Not much--but I'm horribly afraid of losing sight of this Looker-ahead." He lifted the flexible end of a speaking-tube, and pressed a button. "Give her a few more revolutions, Cole," he said. He hung up the tube. "We look like carrying this weather with us for a few days," he said, "and, as I don't feel competent to depend entirely upon my own eyesight, I shall bring up the Magneto and the Solus to help me watch this beggar." Obedient to signal, two destroyers were detached from the following flotilla, and came abreast at dusk. The weather grew rapidly worse, the squalls of greater frequence. The sea rose, so that life upon the destroyer was anything but pleasant. At midnight, T. B. Smith was awakened from a restless sleep by a figure in gleaming oilskins. "I say," said a gloomy voice, "we've lost sight of that dashed _Doro_." "Eh?" T. B. jumped from his bunk, to be immediately precipitated against the other side of the cabin. "Lost her light--it has either gone out or been put out. We're going ahead now full speed in the hope of overhauling her----" Another oilskinned figure came to the door. "Light ahead, sir." "Thank Heaven!" said the other fervently, and bolted to the deck. T. B. struggled into his clothing, and, with some difficulty, made his way to the bridge. Van Ingen was already before him. As he climbed the little steel ladder, he heard the engine-bell ring, and instantly the rattle and jar of the engines ceased. [Illustration: T. B. Smith]