“I shouldn’t like to say, sir. The captain told me to report to you, and to ask you to step up on deck sir, when you could conveniently do so, sir.”
“Tell him I’ll be there directly.”
The millionaire looked at Larry. The young reporter had not spoken during the talk between the owner of the yacht and the mate. Then, as Mr. Potter started toward his stateroom to attire himself in something more substantial than a bath robe, Larry said:
“Do you think this looks queer, Mr. Potter?”
“I don’t know, Larry. That cable was a new one, and good and strong. There’s quite a sea on, but not enough to have frayed the strands. And yet he says it was cleanly cut. I must look into this. Come up on deck, if you like, when you’ve dressed.”
“I will,” and Larry swung into his own room. The Elizabeth was under way now, and her motors were throbbing and turning the screw that churned the water to foam under her stern.
Suddenly a girl’s voice called:
“What is it, daddy? Has anything happened? Why are we under way? I thought we had anchored for the night.”
“So we did, Grace, but we have decided to unanchor,” spoke her father, with a grim smile at Larry, and a motion to the young reporter to indicate that he was to keep silent regarding the trouble.
“But what does it mean?” she insisted, from behind her closed stateroom door. “Are we in any danger? I’m going to get up. Shall I call Madame Androletti?”