“Oh, the men are fairly desperate to make the capture. Most of ’em have families, and they all feel for Madame Androletti. They’d do anything to help her get her son back.”
“That’s what I like to hear. How soon can we resume full speed?”
“In about ten minutes.”
“And then I am afraid it will be too late,” murmured Captain Reardon.
“Why?” Larry wanted to know.
The commander pointed to a line of mist creeping over the big lake from the west.
“Fog,” he said. “It will be here in a few minutes, and then—good-bye to the chase, no matter how fast we are.”
“Fate is against us,” said Mr. Potter, “but we’ll do our best. They’re headed for shore; aren’t they, captain?”
“Yes, and they’ll get there before we do. Then they’ll abandon the boat, and skip out. The search will have to be begun all over again.”
Larry groaned. But he did not give up. With anxious eyes he watched the approach of the fog-bank. Then he looked to the boat of which they were in pursuit. She seemed to be going slower, as if her machinery were giving out.