"Lightning," shouted Joe. "Protectors must have got damp. Short-circuited. Raised hob. Burned out about everything, I guess."
"Can't be as bad as that. Tend to the girl," Curlie nodded toward the corner.
Joe ducked out of the cabin, to appear a moment later with a cold, damp cloth. This he spread over the girl's forehead. A moment later she sat up and looked about her.
Curlie was sitting up also. He was rubbing his head. When he saw the girl looking at him he laughed and sang:
"Oh, a sailor's life is a merry life,
And it's a sailor's life for me.
"But say!" he exclaimed suddenly, "what was I doing when things went to pieces?"
Joe nodded toward the radiophone desk where coils and instruments lay piled in tangled confusion.
"You were getting a message from out the storm."
"Oh yes, and they gave me their location. It was—no, I haven't it. Lightning drove it right out of my head. Let me think. Let me concentrate."
For a full moment there was silence, the silence of the raging sea. Then Curlie shook his head sadly.