"Probably."
"Looks like a steward's pass-key."
"But what would they save it for? You don't think—"
"If we could get out to the wreck we'd see."
"Yes, but we can't. There—"
"Look, Marian!" Lucile's eyes were large and wild.
"The white line!" gasped Marian, gripping her arm.
It was true. Before them lay the dark ocean still flecked with foam, but at the horizon gleaming whiter than burnished silver, straight, distinct, unmistakable, was a white line.
"And that means—"
"We're trapped!"