“What’s wanted? Where are you?”
This was the message that went speeding out on the air waves from the aërials above the hut.
“This is the yacht Wanderer, from New York to Rocktown. We have struck a derelict and are leaking badly. Who are you?”
“A station on Brig Island, about four miles at sea from Motthaven. Where are you?”
The latter question was unanswered for the time being. Instead came another query:
“Have you any means by which you can get to our assistance? We are in dire peril.”
“We will try to aid you. But what is your position?”
“Wait. I’ll look at the chart.”
There came a pause, during which Frank rapidly detailed what he had heard to the eager group of listeners. But in the midst of it the unknown sender broke in once more.
“We are about twenty miles to the southeast of you, on an almost straight course. Can keep afloat only a few hours longer. Can you get tug from the mainland?”