“Around about ten, I guess.”
As the boat headed for the open sea, it grew suddenly chilly, and a drizzling rain began to fall. There was no moon and the visibility was bad.
Fenner shivered a little and lit a cigarette. Miller said, “You get used to these trips. If you feel cold go into the engine-room. It’ll be warmer there.”
Fenner stayed with Miller a little longer, then he went off to the engine-room. He noticed Reiger still sitting behind the searchlight, immovable.
The boat bounced a good bit in the rough, and Fenner suddenly lost interest in smoking. The Negro didn’t say a word. Now and then he rolled his eyes at Fenner, but he didn’t say anything.
After some time, Miller yelled and Fenner joined him. Miller pointed. An intermittent flash of light came from a long way off. Miller had altered the course and the boat was running directly toward the light. “I guess that must be our man,” he said.
Reiger suddenly switched on his searchlight, and almost immediately he snapped it off again.
Very faintly Fenner heard the drone of an aeroplane. He smiled in the darkness. Miller heard it too. He bawled to Reiger, “There’s a plane coming.”
Reiger stood up and looked up into the blackness overhead. Then he hurriedly put out the running lights. The boat went on through the curtain of blackness.
Miller said savagely, “These goddam coast guards give me a pain.”