"Mr. Fisherman, I am a prisoner on my own yacht. Please help me and telegraph this letter to Mr. Morton's address." She crammed the bit of paper into the can from which she had emptied the powder. She thrust her head out of the port and uttered a shrill cry to attract the attention of the fisherman. Then she threw the can with all force toward the nearest boat. Ethel watched in a mood of half hope, half despair. She saw the can fall into the sea. But one of the fishermen also observed the container of her message as it was thrown into the water. Ethel, watching with strained eyes, perceived the figure of a man in oilskins who suddenly thrust a boat-hook overboard, fished with it for a moment, then drew alongside the tin can, bent over, and picked it out of the water.... The girl thrilled with relief over the success of her attempt to send news of the trouble come upon her. Nevertheless, there was, there could be, no immediate effect of the message. The engine of the yacht throbbed steadily, carrying her moment by moment further from home and lover and father and friends, to a destination unknown--a destination fraught by imagination with unguessed horrors. Suddenly, Ethel forgot all the difficulties of this strange situation in a realization of the fact that she was hungry--atrociously hungry! It dawned upon her that she had not eaten a single morsel of food since the luncheon of the previous day. She realized then that she was entirely dependent upon her unknown captor, even for food to keep her body alive. The distraught girl thought of the locked stateroom door, and was made frantic by the fact that she was thus shut in, a prisoner. She stared longingly at the small, round port-hole. She regarded that swinging window of heavy plate glass with an anxiety of desire that thrilled through every atom of her blood. She wondered: Could she by any chance thrust her slender body through that narrow aperture? She even went so far as to measure the width of the disc--comparing the space to her own slender breadth of shoulders. She thought that it might be possible for her to thrust her lithe form through the meager opening. She believed that she could push her body through the port-hole. She dared to hope that she might thus escape. Down below was the runway used by the sailors. It seemed to her that the matter of escape would be simple.