The sun rose sullenly from a fog-spotted sea and glared wrathfully at the wreaths of low-lying mist
which obscured his vision of the saw-toothed peaks of El Diablo. Under the warmth of his gaze, the white-fleeced clouds wavered, shifting about uncertainly. As if loath to leave the devil-island they had guarded throughout the long night, they contracted slowly, niggardly exposing a line of rugged cliffs which shone bleak and gray in the strengthening light of early morning.
"It's breaking up at last. Look!"
Dickie Lang pointed to the dark blot on the horizon.
"Can't. If I take my eyes from this needle for a second the boat'll run all over the ocean."
Gregory continued to stare at the compass while the girl smiled at his earnestness.
"Tom will take her now," she said, nodding to Howard to relieve him at the wheel. Then she added: "You've done fine. We've been going all night on dead reckoning and we're not far off."
Gregory surrendered the wheel with a sigh of relief and followed the direction of the girl's extended arm.
"That's Diablo," she announced. "I'm mighty glad the fog is shifting. Wouldn't have needed to have started so early if we had known. But that's the fun of the sea. You never know. There is no use trying to make it in there in a fog," she added. "It is bad enough when you can see."
While she talked with Johnson concerning the location of the wreck, Gregory found time to note the