An hour passed with the boat making slight
headway. Fay shifted the revolver to his left hand. They were caught in a current which was bearing them toward the coast faster than the German could ever row. An island showed through the fog. A ship blared a signal.
Saidee Isaacs rose, stood on the seat, balanced herself against Fay’s shoulder, and called. She repeated the call. It was unanswered. An echo mocked them as a faint cry was thrown backward.
“Sit down!� commanded Fay. “It isn’t far, now. See? That’s land! That isn’t fog. Over there!�
He pointed the gun toward where a murky mass of vapor was backed by a deeper shadow.
She glanced over the boat’s side. The water was yellow—from mud.
“We’re nearing shore,� she said.
He stared at her. They both were buoyant with the thought of the cipher-key. It drove away sleep and weariness. Now and then she touched the hiding place and smiled at him.
Dutch Gus rested on his oars and breathed heavily. Fay clicked the cocking mechanism of the little revolver. The German did not turn. He bent forward swiftly and dragged backward. He repeated the motion. The fear of death had crept through his brain.
An island, mud-shored and barren, lifted out of the sea. It was no larger than the deck of a ship. Rocks showed where the high-tide had washed. There was a white line on these rocks.