Descending a short, vertical steel ladder, Kenneth gained the motor-room. For some seconds the temporary transition from the cold and darkness without to the heated and electrically lighted engine room virtually blinded him.
“What’s wrong now?” he inquired anxiously.
“Water in the fuel tank, sir,” replied the leading stoker, and to bear out his statement he extended a horny hand, in the palm of which he held a quantity of paraffin on which globules of water floated. “I’ll swear, sir, I put the paraffin through the strainer, and there wasn’t a drop of water showing on the gauge.”
The man’s anxiety to clear himself hardly interested Raxworthy at the moment. What was more to the point was how to get the motor running again.
“Clean your carburettor and change over to petrol,” he ordered. “Look lively, or we’ll be on the rocks if the anchor starts to drag.”
With that Kenneth went on deck to await developments.
“We’ll get her going in a brace of shakes, Wilson,” he remarked to the coxswain.
“Hope so, sir,” rejoined the petty officer. “Only, sir, pardon me saying, it seems to me that the killick’s dragging. Ten fathoms and a hard bottom doesn’t give a decent holding ground.”
The coxswain’s statement that the anchor was failing to hold put a different complexion on the situation.
Raxworthy peered into the snow-laden darkness, striving to pick up some light that might give him a chance either to verify or disprove the petty officer’s statement.