"I realize it," nodded Powell Seaton.

Just then the seventy-footer crawled ahead again into the fog, and was
lost to the pursuer. Throwing the wheel somewhat to port, Captain
Halstead tried to come up on the Drab's quarter. A full minute's
anxious suspense followed, but the enemy's stern did not show through
the white shroud of the atmosphere.

Then Halstead threw off the power without applying the reverse. The
"Restless" drifted under what was left of her headway.

"They've done it," uttered Tom Halstead, grimly. "They've given us the
slip--gotten away in this white mass of mystery!"

Shaking, Powell Seaton leaned against the deck-house, his face pallid
with sheer misery.

CHAPTER XVI

A GLEAM OF HOPE THROUGH THE SHROUD OF FOG

Resting one hand lightly on the top spokes of the wheel, young
Halstead turned to his employer with a look of keenest sympathy.

"Is there any order you wish to give now, Mr. Seaton?"

"What order can I give," demanded the charter-man, with a piteous
smile, "unless it be to say, 'find the drab boat'?"

Tom made a grimace.

"Of course I know how senseless that order would be," pursued Seaton,
with a nervous twitching of his lips. In fact, at this moment it
filled one with pity, just to witness the too-plain signs of his
inward torment and misery.

There was a pause, broken, after a few moments, by the charter-man
saying, as he made a palpable effort to pull himself together:

"Halstead, you've shown so much sense all along that I leave it to you
to do whatever you deem best."

Skipper Tom's brow cleared at once. A look of purpose flashed into his
eyes.

"Then we'll keep eastward out to sea, sir, or a little bit to the
northeast, until we get out in the usual path of the southbound
steamers."

"And after that?" demanded Powell Seaton, eagerly.

"All we can do, sir, then, will be to wait until we get a wireless
communication with other vessels."

"Go ahead, lad."

Tom moved the speed control slowly, until the "Restless" went loafing
along at a speed of six miles an hour. Heading weatherward, he gave
more heed to the wheel, for there were signs that the water was going
to roughen somewhat.

"Hank!" called the young skipper, and Butts came to the bridge deck.

"Sound the fog-whistle every minute," directed Halstead.

"Too-whoo-oo-oo!" sounded the melancholy, penetrating note through the
mist.

"Are you going to keep that up, Captain Halstead?" inquired Mr.
S