"No," said Terry curtly. "Nothing else."
"She catches the devil of a lot of fish," said Davis. He frowned. "Some of them you might call very queer fish. You haven't heard anything about that?"
"No," said Terry. "Nothing."
"I think, then," said Davis, "that I'd better not expose myself to scorn. I'd like to be able to read her skipper's mind, though. But it's possible he simply thinks he's lucky. And it's possible he's right."
Terry waited. Davis puffed on his pipe. Then he said abruptly, "Anyhow you're a good man at making gadgets. We'll let it go at that, for the time being."
The sea became less and less smooth. There were little slapping sounds of waves against the yacht's bow. The muted rumble of her engine was not intrusive. The breeze increased. Davis gave a definite impression of having said all he intended to say for the time being. Terry stirred.
"You want me to build a gadget," he said. "To drive fish. Would you want to give me some details?"
Davis considered. A few drops of spray came over the Esperance's side.
"N-o-o-o," said Davis. "Not just yet. There's a possibility it will fit in. I'd like you to make one, and maybe it will fit in somewhere. But La Rubia's the best angle we've got so far. There is one gadget I'd give a lot to have! You know, a depth-finder. It sends a pulse of sound down to the bottom and times the echo coming back. Very much like radar, in a way. Both send out a pulse and time its return."
Terry nodded. There was no mystery about depth-finders or radars.