He located it quickly enough, but the knowledge disconcerted him. The magneto had shorted. Possibly the damage had been caused during the gale, but, by one of those extraordinary pranks that magnetos will play, it had functioned perfectly for several hours before "going West". Claverhouse clambered down to one of the floats and lit a cigarette. "There's one blessing," he observed to the empty expanse of sea: "Ni Telang in 1920 isn't Ostend in 1917. But I'll have to pitch a yarn to von Giespert, or he'll smell a rat. Wonder what'll happen, though, if I miss the island altogether?" At the end of two hours drift he was able to reassure himself on that score. Unless there were a decided shift of wind the _Cormorant_ would hit Ni Telang or the reef surrounding it. He did not fancy the latter locality. Even viewed from a great height the surf did not appear inviting. "If I could only steer the old bus, I'd make the entrance to the lagoon," he decided. Juggling with the ailerons seemed a likely solution, but the only result was to cause the machine to dip and have a tendency to turn broadside on. The hydro rudder, by which the _Cormorant_ could be turned when taxi-ing on the surface, was inadequate while drifting at slow speed. "The old bus is done for in any case," he soliloquized, and, armed with a knife, wire-cutters, and pliers he made his way out on one of the planes and removed the starboard aileron. This he lashed to a dismantled strut, and on taking the improvised paddle to the after float he found that he could keep the sea-plane fairly under control with the clumsy steering-oar. It was not until the derelict was actually within the lagoon that one of the _Zug's_ crew spotted the unexpected arrival. A boat was manned and rowed off to the _Cormorant_. "I suppose I ought to sink the old bus," thought Alec. "If I did, it would look fishy. After all, I don't suppose they'll be able to make use of her." "Where do you hail from?" inquired the coxswain of the boat. He spoke in English, knowing from grim experience of recent history that English is the master-language of the Pacific, and that German is at a discount. Claverhouse, with a comprehensive sweep of his arm, indicated a good 180 degrees of the horizon. The German grunted. "Get on board," he said gruffly. Nothing more was said until the boat ran alongside the _Zug's_ accommodation-ladder. There were plenty of men looking over the bulwarks, but they certainly did not appear to be overburdened with work. Von Giespert's greeting of his uninvited guest left no doubt in Alec's mind about his idea of bluff. "How's Harborough getting on at Nua Leha?" asked the German bluntly. "Quite well, when I last saw him," replied Claverhouse. "As a matter of fact, he sent me to see how you were getting on." "Spying, eh?" "Not at all," corrected Alec. "He thought your vessel might have been driven ashore in the hurricane last night, and was rather anxious concerning your safety."