“All of which questions will be answered by the time we arrive at the scene of the wreck, I imagine,” quoth Tom with a dry intonation; “in the meantime, it looks as if we are ‘it’ in this marine game of blind-man’s buff.” “That’s the name for it, all right,” assented Jack, peering at his compass card. “Tom, old lad, I’ve a presentiment that we are going to blunder into something that will call for every bit of ingenuity and courage we possess.” “And in the meantime,” said Tom, “it’s up to me to keep that motor turning over as she never turned before.” “Um,—well, beyond knowing that X. Y. Z. is a dangerous factor, or seemingly so,” mused Jack, “we are about as far off as ever from knowing just where he fits into the problem.” The night wore on, and still the _Vagrant_ churned her way steadily across the dark waters of the gulf under the brilliant white stars of the southern sky. The phosphorescence slid by her in fiery green streaks as she cut her way along, and from time to time Tom emerged from below and “spelled” his cousin, and comrade, at the wheel. At ten o’clock Jupe served coffee and biscuits on the bridge, and shortly thereafter Jack had another try with the wireless. But space, as before, was mute as the Sphinx. From out of the darkness came no whisper as to the nature of the enigma into which the situation, evolved by that first message from the air, had developed itself. Eleven o’clock came, and both boys commenced to strain their eyes into the velvety blackness ahead. “We ought to be picking something up before long,” observed Jack, “unless—unless——” His voice shook a bit. Between this lad and his father there was a deep bond of affection. Their close association had riveted the lad’s love for his parent even more strongly than is the case with most boys. As they neared the location where the yacht ought to be discovered, a feeling of painful suspense clutched coldly at his heart. Nor was Tom’s agitation much less. But the younger lad was more accustomed to suppress his feelings than Jack. He stood by his cousin’s side with tightly closed lips, as the _Vagrant_ throbbed onward, but through his brain, like fires in a blast furnace, a constant succession of anxious thoughts flashed and agitated. “Unless what. Jack?” said Tom at length. “Unless—gracious, Tom, suppose—suppose that the _Sea King_ has——” There was no need for him to conclude the sentence. Tom knew well enough what the other dreaded. The ominous silence after that first message, the lack of any signals from the disabled craft whose vicinity they must be close to now if she were still afloat—all these things induced a gloomy presentiment of evil which Tom, no more than Jack, was able to shake off. “It isn’t possible that she has proceeded?” mused Tom. “Not likely. As I understood that message the location was given us so that we could make direct for her. If she had been capable of proceeding under her own steam, surely she would have made for Lone Island.”