Margy Sharp had not been found.
One man had been dragged, trembling, from the lowest hold where he had taken refuge—Voronoff.
On the main deck, Craig held a conference with Michaelson and Guru. The answers to the questions he asked left him with a grim look on his face. He called the sailors together.
"I have been talking to Guru," he said. "Guru tells me that the city of the Ogrum is not far from here. He says we can reach it tonight, if we go by land, and if we use the big logs that float—by which he means our power boats—we can reach it by midnight."
He paused and looked expectantly at the sailors. A little stir ran through them. They instantly grasped what he was driving at.
"Moreover," he continued, "Guru tells me that the city is usually unguarded, that the Ogrum do not bother to post sentries."
Craig watched the men closely. There was hard, bitter resentment on their faces. They had seen their comrades carted away like so many sticks of wood to some unguessed fate. All they wanted was a chance to rescue their friends, or failing in that, to avenge them.
Craig wasted few words. "I am going to the city of the Ogrum," he said. "All of you who want to go with me, step forward."
The fierce shout that answered him told him all he wanted to know. The blue-jackets were with him. Only one man failed to step forward. It was Voronoff. Craig eyed him.
"What about you, Voronoff?" he said.