“It depends upon the depth and duration of the fog, sir,” Halstead answered. “We have our motors going. At the first strong sign of our getting hemmed in by it we’ll lift our mud-hook [the anchor] and move in closer. If the 168 fog isn’t too thick we may be able to take up a position where we can at least observe her dimly. If she starts to pull out into a fog-bank, we’ll follow at her heels, keeping as close as necessary to keep the Drab’s stern flag-pole in sight. We won’t lose her if there’s any way of stopping it.”
The advance guard of the fog was in upon them by the time that Joe went once more to his sending table in the forward end of the cabin. The light mist extended to the shore, though it did not altogether screen it. But the lookout on the Drab’s deck appeared wholly watchful at the weather side of the craft.
“Not in touch with any other wireless boat yet,” reported Dawson, coming on deck, presently.
“Look at that heavier white curtain rolling in,” uttered Powell Seaton, in a tone near to anguish.
Whoever was in the drab boat’s pilot house took occasion to toot derisively twice on the auto whistle.
“That’s as much as warning us that their turn is coming,” declared Mr. Seaton, wrathfully.
Their faces were wet, now, with the fog as it rolled in. Slowly the nearby shore faded, wrapped in the mist. 169
“We’d better get up anchor,” decided Skipper Tom. “Come along, Hank, and you, Hepton.”
As the anchor came up and was stowed, Captain Halstead moved the deck speed control ever so little. The “Restless” began to barely move through the water. They overhauled the seventy-footer, passing within a hundred feet of her starboard rail. Yet only the same deck watch appeared in sight. He favored those on the bridge deck of the “Restless” with a tantalizing grin.
Halstead slowly circled the drab seventy-footer, Mr. Seaton keeping ever a watchful eye on the stranger.