The poor steward gave a violent start, and stared around; but the shroud of fog was too dense.
"Drifting, sir?" he uttered fearfully. "And what'll the skipper do?"
"I should worry!" Dennis chuckled. "See here, steward—I know you weren't in on the plan to murder me; your giving me the knife proved that. So we'll stick together, old man, and if we get out of this, I'll see that you come out on top.
"Well, after Dumont cut my lines, I got out on the stern of the wreck, above the water; with your knife I got rid of most of the diving suit, and managed to get ashore. Two boats filled with Japs came ashore about dark, not knowing I was there. They landed, probably meaning to attack the Pelican later. But I shoved out their boats, and came aboard ship in one of them—got their rifles too."
He laughed heartily. "See here, steward—the Japs are marooned on the island! The Skipper is out attacking their schooner. Meantime, we're drifting out to sea, and—what's the answer?"
"Blime, sir!" The steward gaped at him. "It's mortal queer!"
"It will be—for somebody," said Dennis grimly. "Now get me something to eat."
"Yes, sir. This way, sir." The steward, still but half-conscious of what had taken place, turned toward the galley.
At that instant a fearful yell arose from somewhere in the mist; a yell that quavered up and died quickly.
The steward halted, gazing over the starboard counter; but the ship had swung and was going out with the tide. It was over the port bow that a wild flare of light glimmered. Dennis saw it and cried: