She turned and re-entered the harbour, obeying Captain Shirley's
every whim, twisting in and out of the shipping much to the
amazement of the old salts, who had never become used to the weird
sight. She cut a figure eight, stopped, started again.
Suddenly I could see by the look on Captain Shirley's face that
something was wrong. Before either of us could speak, there was a
spurt of water out in the harbour, a cloud of spray, and the Z99
sank in a mass of bubbles. She had heeled over and was resting on
the mud and ooze of the harbour bottom. The water had closed over
her, and she was gone.
Instantly all the terrible details of the sinking of the Lutin and
other submarines flashed over me. I fancied I could see on the Z99
the overturned accumulators. I imagined the stifling fumes, the
struggle for breath in the suddenly darkened hull. Almost as if it
had happened half an hour ago, I saw it.
"Thank God for telautomatics," I murmured, as the thought swept
over me of what we had escaped. "No one was aboard her, at least.
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