But the searchlight's brilliant beam followed relentlessly, and as the two
smart little craft cleared from the area of the black smoke cloud, there
came the ringing report of a 6-inch gun followed by the familiar whirr of
a heavy shell.
'Rotten shot!' snapped Grimball, as the shell, sailing well over the mast
top, plunged into the sea two hundred yards or more beyond.
'Hard aport!' he shouted, and the 'Maid' came spinning round almost as
smartly as a sailing dinghy. Next minute she and her consort were legging
it southwards at the very top of their speed.
For a moment they were clear of the dazzling radiance of the searchlight,
but only for a moment. Then the long pencil of glaring whiteness found
them again, and now the guns began to bark in earnest.
The 'Maid' seemed to know her peril. She squattered down into the water,
and the foaming wake lengthened, trailing far behind her. Forgetful of
their own danger, Roy and Ken watched breathless while the trawlers ran
the gauntlet of the forts.
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