Then, after a pause, 'Where did you blokes come from?'
Ken told him, or rather began to, for before he had finished, the steady
beat of the engines suddenly slackened.
'Cotched one, I reckon,' remarked Gill briefly, and hurried on deck
followed by the two boys.
The 'Maid of Sker' was the ordinary type of North Sea trawler, and so far
as Ken and Roy could see, her fellow, whose name Gill told them was the
'Swan of Avon,' was her double. They were moving exactly parallel, at a
distance of about a cable (220 yards) apart. Between them towed a thin
steel hawser set to a depth just sufficient to catch the mooring cables of
the mines which were plentifully strewn in the channel.
'Caught one, you say?' whispered Ken in Gill's ear. 'A mine, you mean?'
'Ay. Look at the cable. She's foul of it all right.'
Certainly the cable was sagging in a curious fashion.
'What do you do with them?' asked Roy.
But Gill had already run aft to assist. Low-voiced orders were heard, and
the 'Maid of Sker' began to forge slowly ahead.
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