ings of his berth, he fought his way against wind, waves and darkness
back to the radiophone cabin.

"Anything come in?" he asked as he shook the dampness from his clothing.

"Nothing I could make out," shouted Joe. "Got something all jumbled up
with static once but couldn't make it out." Rising, he took the receiver
from his head and handed it to Curlie. Then, as the craft took a sudden
plunge, he leaped for a seat. Missing it, he went sprawling upon the
floor.

In spite of the seriousness of their dilemma, the girl let forth a
joyous peal of laughter. Joe's antics as he attempted to rise were too
ridiculous for words.

There was tonic for all of them in that laugh. They felt better because
of it.

Some moments after that, save for the wild beat of the storm, there was
silence. Then, clapping the receivers to his ears, Curlie uttered an
exclamation. He was getting something, or at least thought he was. Yes,
now he did get it, a whisper. Faint, indistinct, mingled with static,
yet audible enough, there came the four words:

"Hello there, Curlie! Hello!"

At that moment the currents of electricity playing from cloud to cloud
set up such a rattle and jangle of static that he heard no more.

"It's that girl in my old home town, in that big hotel," he told
himself. "To think that her whisper would carry over all those miles in
such a gale! She's sending on 600. Wonder why?"

"Ah, well," he breathed, when nothing further had come in, "I'll unravel
that mystery in good time, providing we get out of this mess and get
back to that home burg of ours. But now--"

Suddenly he started and stared. There had come a loud bump against the
cabin; then another and another.

"It's the boats!" he shouted. "They've torn loose. Should have known
they would. Should have thought of that. Here!" He handed the receiver
to Joe and once more dashed out into the storm.

The _Kittlewake_ carried two lifeboats. As he struggled toward where
they should have been, some object swinging past him barely missed his
head.

Instantly he dropped to the deck, at the same time gripping at the rail
to save himself from being washed overboard.

"That," he told himself, "was a block swinging from a rope. The boat on
this side is gone. Worse luck for that! We--we might need 'em before
we're through with this."

Slowly he worked his way along the rail toward the stern. Now and again
the waves that washed the deck lifted him up to slam him down aga