Lauterbach explained the exchange briefly but forcefully. In the pale moonlight he could see the color drain from her drably pretty face. But even without that the way she clutched her little son close to her skirts told him of her alarm.
"Oh, whatever are we to do?" she wailed. "What will become of us?" The boy, sensing her fright, began to blubber.
"I can assure you, madame," Lauterbach told her, "that no harm will come to you—providing your husband obeys orders. Kapitan von Mueller probably intends to use this ship as a cartel—"
"A—What's that?" she demanded.
" 'E means for us to do 'is dirty work!" her husband broke in.
"On the contrary!" Lauterbach said sharply. "To serve as a cartel is to serve humanity. You see, madame"—he nodded in the direction of the Emden and her consorts—"out there we have a considerable number of prisoners—officers and crews taken from the ships we have been forced to sink. We could not have turned those men adrift in open lifeboats with any pretense of human decency. Accordingly, we have been forced to take them aboard our own ships, and feed and supply them until such time as we can send them safely ashore. Naturally, the more ships we sink, the greater becomes this burden. Since we have no bases in this part of the world and all ports within range are closed to us, we are forced to keep all those prisoners aboard until such time as we overhaul a ship that we can legitimately use to serve as a cartel; a ship to which we can transfer these men under a flag of truce, to be carried to the nearest port available. Since your ship carries neutral cargo, it would be inconvenient to sink it. That is why I believe Kapitan von Mueller will use her as a cartel."
The woman seemed to be at least partially reassured. She even patted her son reassuringly on the shoulder, and the child gradually stopped his sniffling.
"Very good, then!" Lauterbach went on. "Since we understand one another, madame, I suggest that you and the boy retire to your cabin and stay there. Remember, not the tiniest pinpoint of light may be shown from this ship, so I suggest that you block up your portholes tightly. If you feel you must have more air during the night, turn off the lights before opening the ports."
She nodded and slipped away in the darkness. Lauterbach turned to the Captain. "We'll want you on the bridge, Captain, for a while, at any rate. Meantime, I'll ask you to stay close by me."
Captain Robinson shrugged indifferently, but at least this time he did not object.
Although it had been well before midnight when they halted the Kabinga, it was nearly three hours before they were on their way again and prowling in orderly formation northward along the Calcutta track. On board the Emden, Captain von Mueller withdrew to his cabin to catch a few hours of sleep. One by one the rest of the ship's company, save of course those still on duty, followed his example and took to their hammocks.
On the Kabinga matters were much the same. Once she was away on course, with the dim bulk of the cruiser faintly etched against the darkness of the night. Lauterbach escorted Captain Robinson to his cabin and bade him goodnight.
"You may as well get what sleep you can, Captain," he told the Englishman. "We'll have no further need for you until morning, but then, I daresay, we'll be at work by sunup."
"You'll watch out for 'er?" Robinson was anxious.
"Set your mind at rest, Captain," Lauterbach replied.
The Englishman shrugged. "As you will," he said.
As in most freighters, the chartroom on the Kabinga stood directly abaft the wheelhouse, and communicated with it by a door in the intervening bulkhead. Inside were the long chart cabinet and the breast-high chart desk. There was also, along the side opposite the chart desk, a hard, narrow, worn, plush-covered settee, upon which the Captain or one of his officers could catch a few moments of rest during times of stress and storm, when the hours of duty on the bridge were exceptionally long. It was to this hard settee that Lauterbach finally turned. He was satisfied that everything was in good order, and he had been aboard the Emden long enough to be aware that a man must rest while he could, for none could tell when he would have another chance. But it seemed to him that his eyes had scarcely closed and his body begun to relax when the voice of the helmsman cut sharply through die swirling fog of sleep.
"Herr Kapitan!"
Even before his eves were fully open, Lauterbach was in the wheelhouse. "W'hat is it, Monkedeik?" he demanded.
The chunky little helmsman pointed forward, through the thin blue glow of the binnacle light. "Ship's lights, Kapitan," he replied, "ahead two points to starboard and bearing this way. Also signals from the Emden."
Neither the question nor the response was altogether necessary. Even as Monkedeik spoke, Lauterbach had taken in the situation at a glance. The stranger was running quite unconcernedly, fully lighted, down from the north on a tangent that would carry her little more than a mile or two astern of them if all continued on their present course. Probably she was no man-of-war. Had she been, she would not have risked running with lights. More likely she was another unsuspecting merchantman, fatuously confident that in these waters, at least, she was safe, watched over and protected by the mighty British fleet.
Although assumptions were always a matter of risk, Captain von Mueller apparently shared Lauterbach's opinion, for the orders being linked at them from the cruiser's fantail— whence they could not be observed by the oncoming stranger—read:
Follow at dead slow speed. Maintain relative positions. Disperse only if action develops.
It concluded with a point of rendezvous—latitude and longitude—in the event of dispersal, and a warning not to reply or acknowledge lest the newcomer be alerted.
Having delivered these orders, the Emden sprang suddenly to life, half wheeled, and went churning off at top speed in the direction of her prey.
From his vantage point on the bridge of the Kabinga, Lauterbach watched her go with a feeling of regret. At the same time, he had to admit that it was rather pleasant to be a spectator ^nv once.
When the cruiser pulled up within range, he could not be sure of her orders. Her bulk, which lay between the stranger and the Kabinga, blocked off his view of their signals. But even at a distance he was able to catch the blinkered response from the other ship:
S/S Killin, British, Calcutta to Bombay, cargo six thousand tons Indian coal for government.
Mfi.'-'-ers moved more rapidly after that. The blinker from the Emden signaled the rest of the convoy to close in:
Convoy resume posts as before. Killin take position three hundred yards astern Kabinga, two points on port quarter, abreast Fontoporros.
Lauterbach chuckled as he went back to the hard, narrow couch in the chartroom. Captain Robinson and his wife and child had apparently slept soundly through the entire operation. He wondered what would be their reaction in the morning when they woke and came on deck to find that in the night their little flock had hatched another Q^g.
Things were quiet after that for the rest of the night. Before dawn the skies became overcast and a series of squalls thundered down on them out of the northeast, hammering them with gusty seas and lashing rain; not bad enough to tax their seamanship, but rough enough to make it impossible to transfer their prisoners, as Karl von Mueller had hoped to do. During a brief lull between squalls, however, the Emden did manage to pass over a boat with a relief squad of marine Kommandos, under Rudy Voss, to assist Lauterbach in the Kabinga, while Markomannia sent a similar boatload of men, under Kapitanleutnant Klopper, to the Killin to reinforce the crews already on board so that they would have an opportunity to stand guard in shifts, giving each a little rest.