“It’s a fearfully tough piece of luck for us, this fog,” Tom continued, feelingly, “but we’ve got to make the most of it.”
“And, if Anson Dalton gets aboard any Brazil-bound steamer while we’re in this fog, the whole great game for myself and my friends is lost,” faltered Seaton.
“If that steamer has a wireless installation,” retorted the young motor boat skipper, “then we’ve every chance in the world to reach her before the Drab possibly can. Joe will hear her wireless two hours or more before the other fellows can hear or locate a fog-horn.”
“It’s—it’s a dreadful uncertainty that this fog puts upon us,” groaned the unhappy charter-man. “Dalton may take advantage of 174 this white shroud to run straight for the nearest post office and mail the papers that he stole.”
Captain Tom’s mildly warning look checked Mr. Seaton ere he had time to say more in the hearing of Hepton.
“If you’ll come aft, sir, we’ll talk this over,” suggested Halstead, in a low voice.
“Gladly,” murmured the charter-man.
“Now, then, sir,” almost whispered the motor boat skipper, as he and his employer stood on the deck aft, “you’ve written out a duplicate of the papers that were stolen.”
“I have the duplicate set in an inside pocket,” responded Seaton, tapping his coat.
“Are you ready to chance the mailing of them?”