Lifting the glass, Ruth studied the sea and the power boat for a moment. Then, quite suddenly she dropped the glass. She had looked straight into that dark visage, the face-in-the-fire.
“How can one explain it?” she said, as a shudder ran through her stout frame.
“Explain what?” the little man asked.
Ruth told him of their harrowing experience of the previous day and of the tremendous explosion at sea.
“There is no explanation at present,” he said quietly. “There may never be any. We who spend our lives delving into hidden mysteries know that half of them are never solved.”
In spite of the realization that they were off on a perilous mission, Ruth felt a comforting warmth take possession of her. Only yesterday, with every hope apparently gone, she had been drifting on a sailless, mastless boat out to sea in the face of a storm. Now, with that same boat, she was treading on the heels of those who had willed her death. The end of all the summer’s excitement and mystery was near.
But what was this? A thin film of smoke rose from the power boat ahead. Ten seconds had not passed before this had become a veritable pillar of black towering toward the sky. “Their boat is on fire!” she cried.
“Smoke screen,” said the little man, still calm. “There! There! See? They are taking to their dory! We’ll get them now.”
“But what is that a little way over there to the right, close to that little rocky island?”
All eyes followed the direction she had indicated. Then as one, they exclaimed: