“Impossible,” flashed back Frank, “but will do what we can. Are you at anchor?”
“No, but the drift is very little. We are off soundings. Can you come to our aid?”
Frank’s fingers pressed down on the key firmly. Rapidly he sent this message pulsating:
“How many on board?”
“Three. Owner, a friend and a hand.”
“All right. Standby!”
“Good-by, and hurry,” came out of the night, and then—silence.
Frank disconnected his instruments and turned to the others. Rapidly he detailed the impending tragedy out there in the darkness.
“Can’t we get to them in the motor boat?” demanded Harry breathlessly.
Frank shook his head.