“What is it, boys?” he asked as he saw Neale and Hank busy over the motor.
“A wrench was jarred loose and fell into the flywheel pit,” explained Neale. “It stopped the motor suddenly, and until we get it loose we can’t move the machinery. We’re trying to knock it out.”
“Need any help?” asked the lawyer, who had donned an old suit of clothing.
“I think we can manage,” said Neale. “But you might take a look outside and see what’s happening. That is, besides the storm. We can hear that.”
“Yes, it seems to insist on being heard,” agreed the guardian of the girls. “You say the anchor is dragging, Neale?”
“No, it’s gone completely. At the bottom of the lake somewhere. I didn’t have a chance to examine the end of the cable to see if it was cut or not.”
“Cut!” exclaimed the lawyer in surprise.
“Well, it may have been cut by—accident,” went on Neale, with a meaning look which Mr. Howbridge understood.
“I’ll find out,” was the comment, and then the lawyer went out into the rain while Neale and the mule driver resumed their labors to loosen the monkey wrench which was jammed under the flywheel, thus effectually preventing the motor from operating.
Mr. Howbridge made his way along the lower deck until he came to where the anchor cable was made fast to the holding cleat. He pulled up the dripping rope, hand over hand, until he had the end on deck.