McCoy calmly considered. He did not refer to the chart. All these islands, reefs, shoals, lagoons, entrances, and distances were marked on the chart of his memory. He knew them as the city dweller knows his buildings, streets, and alleys. “Papakena and Vanavana are off there to the westward, or west-nor'westward a hundred miles and a bit more,” he said. “One is uninhabited, and I heard that the people on the other had gone off to Cadmus Island. Anyway, neither lagoon has an entrance. Ahunui is another hundred miles on to the nor'west. No entrance, no people.” “Well, forty miles beyond them are two islands?” Captain Davenport queried, raising his head from the chart. McCoy shook his head. “Paros and Manuhungi--no entrances, no people. Nengo-Nengo is forty miles beyond them, in turn, and it has no people and no entrance. But there is Hao Island. It is just the place. The lagoon is thirty miles long and five miles wide. There are plenty of people. You can usually find water. And any ship in the world can go through the entrance.” He ceased and gazed solicitously at Captain Davenport, who, bending over the chart with a pair of dividers in hand, had just emitted a low groan. “Is there any lagoon with an entrance anywhere nearer than Hao Island?” he asked. “No, Captain; that is the nearest.” “Well, it's three hundred and forty miles.” Captain Davenport was speaking very slowly, with decision. “I won't risk the responsibility of all these lives. I'll wreck her on the Acteons. And she's a good ship, too,” he added regretfully, after altering the course, this time making more allowance than ever for the westerly current. An hour later the sky was overcast. The southeast trade still held, but the ocean was a checker board of squalls. “We'll be there by one o'clock,” Captain Davenport announced confidently. “By two o'clock at the outside. McCoy, you put her ashore on the one where the people are.” The sun did not appear again, nor, at one o'clock, was any land to be seen. Captain Davenport looked astern at the Pyrenees' canting wake. “Good Lord!” he cried. “An easterly current? Look at that!” Mr. Konig was incredulous. McCoy was noncommittal, though he said that in the Paumotus there was no reason why it should not be an easterly current. A few minutes later a squall robbed the Pyrenees temporarily of all her wind, and she was left rolling heavily in the trough. “Where's that deep lead? Over with it, you there!” Captain Davenport held the lead line and watched it sag off to the northeast. “There, look at that! Take hold of it for yourself.” McCoy and the mate tried it, and felt the line thrumming and vibrating savagely to the grip of the tidal stream. “A four-knot current,” said Mr. Konig. “An easterly current instead of a westerly,” said Captain “Davenport, glaring accusingly at McCoy, as if to cast the blame for it upon him.