At that moment the currents of electricity playing from cloud to cloud set up such a rattle and jangle of static that he heard no more.
"It's that girl in my old home town, in that big hotel," he told himself. "To think that her whisper would carry over all those miles in such a gale! She's sending on 600. Wonder why?"
"Ah, well," he breathed, when nothing further had come in, "I'll unravel that mystery in good time, providing we get out of this mess and get back to that home burg of ours. But now—"
Suddenly he started and stared. There had come a loud bump against the cabin; then another and another.
"It's the boats!" he shouted. "They've torn loose. Should have known they would. Should have thought of that. Here!" He handed the receiver to Joe and once more dashed out into the storm.
The Kittlewake carried two lifeboats. As he struggled toward where they should have been, some object swinging past him barely missed his head.
Instantly he dropped to the deck, at the same time gripping at the rail to save himself from being washed overboard.
"That," he told himself, "was a block swinging from a rope. The boat on this side is gone. Worse luck for that! We—we might need 'em before we're through with this."
Slowly he worked his way along the rail toward the stern. Now and again the waves that washed the deck lifted him up to slam him down again.
"Quit that!" he muttered hoarsely. "Can't you let a fellow alone."