But there was no Brandt to be seen that afternoon. They came to anchor in Tangier Sound at dusk, and made ready for the night, impatient to resume the search upon the morrow.
“Not much like the Brandt, old fellow, is it?” remarked Harvey to Tom Edwards, as they turned in on some blankets on the cabin floor.
Tom Edwards gave a yawn and a murmur of satisfaction.
“It’s fine and comfortable,” he said—“but I won’t be sorry to be back in old Boston once more—if we ever get there. I wasn’t cut out for a sailor.”
They started out again in good time, the following morning, following the track of the dredging fleet, cruising in and out among the vessels. Perhaps their appearance cruising thus, apparently idle, with no fishing equipment, may have excited some suspicion. Certain it is, they got little assistance from the captains they hailed, as Will Adams had feared.
“Hello, ahoy there!” Will Adams would call, through a big megaphone.
“Ahoy, the Mollie!”
“Seen anything of the Z. B. Brandt?”
“No.”
The answer would come short and sharp.