"Don't you know it breaks a government rule when that room's empty—at sea?"
The mist-laden wind shrilled through the screen door abruptly thrust back. Captain Jones slammed the stout inner door. Peter turned up his coat collar, bound a clean handkerchief about his aching fingers, climbed agilely over the life-rafts, passed the roaring, black funnels, and entered the wireless house.
The low, intermingling whine of Jap stations was broken by an insistent P. and O. liner, yapping for attention. Shanghai stiffly droned a reply, advising the P. and O. man to sweeten his spark.
Peter tapped his detector and grunted. Shanghai was loud—close! The Vandalia must be nearing the delta.
"——Nanking Road. Stop. Forty casks of soey——" yelped the P. and O.
Nearing the great river! Out of the mist a faint blur would come—the first lights of China!
"——Thirteen cases of tin——" The P. and O.'s spark remained unsweetened.
Would the lights be Hi-Tai-Sha—Tsung-min?—port or starboard?
Far below decks a bell jangled faintly. The throbbing of the engines was suddenly hushed. The bell sounded distantly, through a portentous silence. Peter glanced at the clock. Half-past twelve.
The silence was shattered by a turbulent, stern lifting rumble as the screws reversed. The Vandalia wallowed heavily, and lay with the yellow tide.