Curlie flashed a short message in code, giving the name of their boat and its present location, then, with the receiver tightly clamped over his ears, he settled back in his chair.
For some time they sat there in silence, the two boys and Gladys Ardmore.
The beat of the waves was increasing. The wind was still rising, but as yet no rain was falling.
"Queer storm," shouted Joe. "Haven't gotten into it yet. Will though and it's going to be bad. Skipper says the only thing we can do is to fasten down all the hatches and hold her nose to the storm."
"Better see about the hatches," shouted Curlie.
Throwing open the door, letting in a dash of salt spray and a cold rush of wind as he did so, Joe disappeared into the dark.
Curlie and the girl were alone. The seat the girl occupied was clamped solidly to the wall. It had broad, strong arms and to these she clung. She was staring at the floor and seemed half asleep.
When Joe disappeared, Curlie once more became conscious of her presence and at once he was disturbed. Who would not have been disturbed at the thought of a delicate girl, accustomed to every luxury, being thrown into such desperate circumstances as they were in at the present moment.
"Not my fault," he grumbled to himself. "I didn't want her to go. Wouldn't have allowed her, either, had I known about it."
"Not your fault?" his inner self chided him. "Suppose you didn't plan this trip?"