“Phew! Hold tight, Joe; here she comes!”
Under the dark canopy of lowering clouds the leaden sea about the Nomad began to smoke and whip up till the white horses champed and careered, tossing their heads heavenward under the terrific onslaught of the wind.
“Some storm, Nat,” gasped Joe, clutching the rail tightly with both hands as the Nomad began to pitch and toss like a bucking bronco.
“About as bad a blow as we’ve had on this coast in a long time,” agreed Nat, raising his voice to be heard above the shrieking tumult of wind and sea.
“I’ll go below and get the oilskins, Nat,” volunteered Joe.
“You’d better; this will get worse before it’s better.”
Grabbing at any hand-hold to prevent himself being thrown violently on his back, Joe made his way below once more.
“Goodness, this is fierce,” he muttered, as he went down the companionway and entered the cabin. Ding-dong had switched on the current from the dynamo in the engine-room and the place was flooded with light.
The injured man lay on the lounge where he had been placed and was breathing heavily. At the table sat Dr. Sartorius. He was bending over a bundle of papers and perusing them so intently that, above all the disturbance of the elements without, he did not hear Joe enter the cabin. He looked up as the boy’s shadow fell across the papers. Startled by some emotion for which Joe could not account, he jumped to his feet, at the same time thrusting the papers into an inner pocket.
“What do you want?” he breathed angrily, glaring at the boy with fury in his dark eyes.