Soon the smoke from the tall, yellow funnel grew thicker and thicker, until it rolled in a compact black mass over the water. The vibration increased, and the noise of the propeller became louder; evidently the engines were working at the highest possible pressure. The strain had begun.
"Look here," said Wallion, much interested, "this abnormal speed shows the captain is keeping his word; by twelve o'clock the 'Ariadne' will be lying at anchor off Hurricane Island."
* * * * *
The yacht's wireless was installed behind the bridge and connected with the chart-house. Occasionally they caught a glimpse of the operator, a pale young man named Moreland. He had not much to do, and sometimes left his apparatus for an hour or two; consequently no messages were sent, and calls were left unanswered.
On the bridge, taking turns with Captain Hawkins, they noticed a young, smart-looking ship's officer, whom the captain addressed as "Weston." These two were evidently the only men in authority. Wallion took the crew to consist of five or six men only.
About 2 P.M., Tom experienced a sudden, most delightful thrill. Elaine Robertson appeared on deck; she was accompanied by Madame Lorraine, and the two walked up and down for nearly fifteen minutes, without uttering a word. Elaine seemed grave and worried; at every turn she stopped for a few seconds and looked wistfully towards the horizon. Did she hope she might see the smoke of a liner? Perhaps; but all around nothing was to be seen but passing clouds; and eventually she and Madame Lorraine went below. In the afternoon there was no one on the bridge.
Tom yawned; he was bored to death. He and Wallion had come to the end of their provisions. Night had fallen.
* * * * *
After some hours of troubled sleep Tom awoke; the hard bottom of the boat was not exactly an ideal resting place; moreover, he was very hungry. It was still dark, but most of the night had passed and day was dawning in the East. He tried to look at his watch but could not see the hands; by his side Wallion continued fast asleep.
Two days and nights of enforced idleness had begun to tell on Tom. He did not like his unshaven chin; he was not accustomed—like his friend—to such small sacrifices on the altar of his profession; his muscles were stiff and his hunger astounding. If Wallion had been so successful in procuring food, why should not he?