"Do any of you smell anything?" asked Nita suddenly.
A faint but distinct odor came to their nostrils. It was the odor of slime and mud, with a tinge of musk. It was the scent of foul things from the water. It was a damp and humid smell, indistinctly musklike and disgusting.
"Like deep-sea mud," said one of the seamen to the other. "Like somethin' come up from Gawd knows what soundin'."
Nita gasped a little. The searchlight sputtered and then a long, white pencil of light shot out over the water. It wavered, and sank to a point just beside the bow of the boat. It showed—nothing.
The bow wave rose reluctantly and traveled but a little distance before it subsided into level sea. There were no waves. The water was calm as an inland lake.
"No seaweed there," said the captain sharply. "Look on the other side."
The searchlight swept across the deck and to the water on the other side. Nothing. The water seemed to be turgidly white, but that was all. It was not clear; it was rather muddy and almost milklike, as if a little finely divided chalk had been stirred in it. There was no disturbance of its placid surface. Only the reluctant bow wave surged away from the sharp prow of the yacht.
The seaman returned from a second trip to the patent log.
"We're logging five knots now, sir."
"Nine knots off," said the first mate with a white face. "We were making fourteen."