"Is there any place near New York," suddenly demanded Henry, "named Balaklava or Crimea or anything else that suggests Balaklava?"
"Get that atlas from the book-shelves and see, Henry," replied Captain Hardy. "Look through the list of towns, rivers, lakes, etc. And you, Willie, study the map a while. That seems to be your forte. You may find something to suggest Balaklava to you."
Willie laid the map squarely on the table, and while Henry pored over the atlas and the others talked, and thought at intervals, he began a systematic survey of the map. And naturally he began in the region of the Lower Bay, toward which the motor-boat had disappeared.
Minute followed minute. Dusk turned to deep darkness. Captain Hardy opened and shut his watch in desperation. Swiftly the time was drawing near for the meeting of the spies, and the wireless patrol had not only failed at the critical moment, had not only allowed the enemy to escape, but had lost all track of them. It was a bitter thought and Captain Hardy tried to shut it out of his mind and centre attention on the problem in hand. Henry was still poring over names. Willie had finished his methodical examination of the Lower Bay and was working his way northward. He followed the boundaries of the harbor up through the Narrows and along the Jersey shore, then pursued his quest throughout the length and breadth of Newark Bay. But he found nothing suggestive of Balaklava. Back to the Bay he traced his route, then slowly traversed its waters. Past Bayonne, past Bedloe's Island, past Jersey City, and up the Hudson his pencil slowly moved, as he surveyed every name and looked at every turn and angle of the shore. Then he came back to the eastern side of the Narrows and went north along the Brooklyn shore. Past the Erie Basin, past Governor's Island, past the Brooklyn Bridge, past the Navy Yard, past Blackwell's Island, past Ward's Island, past Hell Gate, with its swirling currents, and on into the Sound, he traveled in imagination, examining every point and word on the map, but he saw nothing suggestive.
The minutes crept on. Eight o'clock had already struck. Captain Hardy was in a fever of anxiety. He could no longer sit still, but was pacing the floor. Lew, utterly hopeless of helping, stood at the window, looking out over the myriad lights of the harbor.
"There's the Patrol," he said. "She's coming back up the Narrows."
"If we only knew where to go, it wouldn't be too late yet," said Captain Hardy in a tragic voice. "It is awful to think that we have failed." In an agony of mind he began to pace the floor.
Henry had finished his perusal of the atlas and was thinking desperately over the problem. "I'd gladly go where the Light Brigade went," he muttered, "if only it would take us to those spies." And again he began to quote:
"'Into the jaws of death,
Into the mouth of hell
Rode the six hundred.'"
Hardly had he finished, when Willie gave a loud cry. "Hell Gate!" he almost shrieked. "That's where they are going to meet."