The voyagers found it was just on three o'clock, and Adrian suggested they should steer by compass. He wanted to know where it was.
"Mollie put it somewhere," answered Crow, with cheerful vagueness most unbecoming in a skipper.
So Adrian unlocked the door of the main cabin, and slid it open.
"Wonderful how whiffy any boat gets when you shut her down, even for half an hour, with everything close," he remarked, putting his head within and sniffing critically, "commend me to an oil-stove on a small yacht for an A1 stench."
Christobel sat still outside, waiting. Her mind was much easier. She realized that all conditions were quieter. She could certainly see farther. Adrian called out from below that he couldn't find the compass, so she also dived into the saloon, and hunted exhaustively. No compass. They decided that Mollie or Penberthy had taken it ashore.
To let in more light upon the search Adrian unfastened the forehatch, and then lighted the stove, because there was a "wonderful unanimity"--as somebody said, on the question of early tea, Adrian declaring he was full of salt, and Christobel that such a lot had happened since lunch.
All things then being in train for refreshment and start, the skipper hastened upstairs again, and the first thing she saw was that the dinghy had slipped her tow and gone off.
She called to Adrian, who appearing with swiftness took a comprehensive look at the shifting grey waste around.
"She can't be far off," declared Crow hopefully.
Her brother pointed to a dark blot that was heaved up by a wave, only to disappear behind another foam-tipped hill.