"By
Jove, we're swinging more. This is getting serious."
He went back to the compass. The long, slender needle was slowly
swinging farther and farther out of the middle line of the vessel.
"There can only be two explanations of that," he went on, thrusting his
hands deep into his trousers pockets; "either the engines are not
working properly, or some enormous and invisible body is pulling us
towards it out of our course. Let's have a look at the engines first."
When he reached the engine-room he said to Murgatroyd, who was indulging
in his usual pastime of cleaning and polishing his beloved charges:
"Have you noticed anything wrong during the last hour or so,
Murgatroyd?"
"No, my Lord; at least not so far as concerns the engines. They're all
right. Hark, now, they're not making more noise than a lady's sewing
machine," replied the old Yorkshireman, with a note of resentment in his
voice. The suspicion that anything could be wrong with his shining
darlings was almost a personal offence to him. "But is anything the
matter, my Lord, if I might ask?"
"We're a long way off our course, and for the life of me I can't
understand it," replied Redgrave. "There's nothing about here to pull us
out of our line. Of course the stars--good Lord, I never thought of
that! Look here, Murgatroyd, not a word about this to her ladyship, and
stand by to raise the power by degrees, as I signal to you.
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