As Eccles descended from the bridge, a great-coated muffled-up figure, followed by a large dog, swung himself up the ladder.
"Morning, Haye," was Noel Fox's salutation, as he stooped to pat Shrap, the chartered libertine of the _Capella_. "Dash it all, it is cold! Makes a fellow wish he were a sheep-dog. Here, Shrap, off you go and get your whiskers trimmed. I can see Tomkins waiting for you."
The dog needed no second order. Every morning just after eight bells Shrap would be taken over by the watch below. Every man took a delight in combing the animal's long hair, until Shrap's coat was the pride of the _Capella's_ crew and the envy of the rest of the flotilla, whose mascots never aspired to be more than a tame rat, parrot, or canary.
"Sail on the port bow, sir," bawled the look-out.
The Sub and the midshipman promptly levelled their telescopes. A small cargo-steamer was pitching and rolling as she forged slowly ahead on a westerly course. Although she was fairly discernible against the pale grey of the eastern sky, it could be taken for granted that from the Dutchman's bridge the neutral-grey-painted _Capella_ would be practically invisible.
"What on earth for?" enquired the Sub. "She couldn't possibly have spotted us. Starboard your helm, quartermaster. Good! Keep her at that. We'll get her to make her number, if nothing else."
Again Noel Fox levelled his telescope. Then he thrust it into a rack on the side of the chart-room, and bellowed:
"Turn up, both watches. Action stations. Submarine ahead."
His quick glance had discerned the after part of a large unterseeboot as she ranged alongside the Dutchman, whose high sides screened most of the submarine from the _Capella_, and conversely prevented the Germans clustered amidships from noticing the approach of the swift British patrol-vessel.
For the next few minutes, all was bustle and orderly confusion on board the _Capella_. Taking three steps at a time, Captain Syllenger gained the bridge, closely followed by Eccles, to whom the sudden interruption of a hearty breakfast came as a welcome call.
At a terrific pace the sleuth-hound of the sea tore towards the _Hoorn_, for such she was. Rounding under her squat counter, and reversing engines, the _Capella_ brought up within fifty yards of the submarine before the astonished Germans could realize their precarious plight.