Jacaud was in the conning tower, a heavy machine-gun mounted on a swivel pin. The moment they came into view he started to fire. Bullets swept across the deck and Mallory ducked as glass shattered in the wheelhouse.
Guyon crouched in the doorway, resting the revolver across one raised arm, trying for a steady shot, but it was impossible. As bullets hammered into their hull, Mallory spun the wheel and the young Frenchman lost his balance.
It was the fog which saved them, a long, solid bank rolling in across the reef before the wind, and it swallowed them in an instant. Guyon picked himself up and stood listening to the impotent chatter of the machine-gun as Jacaud con-tinued to fire. After a while there was silence.
He turned to face Mallory, his breath easing out in a long sigh. “I’d say that called for another drink.”
As they emerged from the fog-bank, Mallory took them out to sea, giving the engines full power. He turned with a grin. “Nothing wrong there, thank God.”
Guyon went into the saloon and returned with the Courvoisier. “He’s made one hell of a mess down there. Holes all over the place. I don’t think de Beaumont will be pleased.”
Mallory swallowed some of his brandy and lit a cigarette. “We’ll find out about that soon enough.”
Guyon went into the saloon and Mallory inhaled deeply on his cigarette with a conscious pleasure. Everything was going to be all right, he was certain of that. Sometimes one got these feelings. The wind had freshened even more and spray spattered against the shattered windows of the wheel-house. He pulled down the helmsman’s seat and sat.
Some time later Guyon came in with sandwiches and hot coffee and Mallory switched to the automatic pilot. “Want me to take over?” Guyon asked.
Mallory shook his head. “In these conditions it should only take us two hours at the most to get there.”
It was perhaps half an hour later that he became aware that they were slowing perceptibly. His attempts to adjust the controls met with no success and he switched to automatic pilot and went below.
Guyon was lying on one of the saloon divans, his head on his hands, eyes closed. As Mallory entered, he opened them and sat up.”
“What’s wrong?”
“God knows,” Mallory said, “but we’re losing speed badly and she isn’t answering to the wheel like she should.
TheFleur de Lys heeled to starboard and there was a great rushing of water beneath their feet. He dropped to one knee, pulled back the carpet and peered inside. When he looked up his face was grave.
“There must be two dozen bullet holes along the waterline. We’re leaking like a sieve. No wonder the damned thing’s slowed down.”
They went on deck quickly and into the wheelhouse. The electric pump was housed in a cupboard in one corner and the condition of the doors, splintered by bullets, told him what he would find.
He surveyed the smashed and twisted metal briefly, then turned, his face grim. “You’ll find a hand-pump aft of the main engine housing. Do the best you can with that. Stick it as long as you can and I’ll spell you.”
“I see,” Raoul Guyon said. “Things look bad, eh?”
“Only ifL’Alouette catches us in this condition,” Mallory said grimly.
Guyon moved out along the deck without a word and a moment later Mallory became aware of the harsh, rhythmic clangour of the hand-pump. He looked out of the window at the brownish-white stream of water gushing across the deck, took over the wheel and waited forFleur de Lys to lighten.
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
SEA FURY
whenFenelon first caught sight ofFleur de Lys his mind froze, refusing to accept for the moment what he knew to be an impossibility. The graticules misted over, temporarily ob-scured by a wave, and he raised the periscope a little more.
Fleur de Lysjumped into view, her familiar lines quite unmistakable. He said quickly to the rating at his side: “Fetch Monsieur Jacaud here. Tell him to hurry.”
Jacaud arrived a few moments later. “What’s going on?”
“Take a look.”
The big man gripped the handles of the periscope tightly and lowered his head. When he turned to look at Fenelon a muscle twitched in his right cheek.