Chapter 11 - WITH INTENT

"Where are we now?" enquired Kenyon on returning to the navigation-room to relieve his chum as officer of the watch.

It was now twelve o'clock. Bramsdean had just "shot the sun" and was reading off the degrees, minutes, and seconds from the arc of the sextant.

"Almost over Algiers, old thing," he replied, pointing to the glaring, sun-baked Al