The fog was impenetrable. Frank did his best to judge their direction by the waves but this did not help greatly, as there were cross currents and the wind was shifting.
The Sleuth coursed on, feeling its way blindly through the haze that enveloped the bay. Frank peered ahead into the foggy veil.
Joe concluded his ministrations to the stranger, who was now beginning to stir. The man opened his eyes and groaned.
"Have you had enough?" asked Joe.
"Who hit me?"
"You hit your head against the side of the boat. Are you going to make any more trouble?"
The man groaned again, tried to get to his feet, found that his ankles were tied together, and sank back with a sigh.
"He won't give us any more bother," declared Joe, coming forward. It was plain that there was no more fight left in their captive.
"I wish this fog would lift," said Frank.
As though in answer to his words a sudden gust of wind sent the mist in scurrying wreaths, raising the heavy grey veil long enough to enable him to see Bayport lying almost directly ahead. He could make out the position of the row of boathouses and he headed the Sleuth toward them.