Then,
dropping to his knees and steadying himself by the flag-pole, he
listened. Quite plainly and, as it seemed, from alarmingly nearby, came
the gentle _swish-swash_ of tiny waves breaking on a beach. In the fog
it was difficult to tell whether the sound came from directly ahead or
from starboard. At all events, when Steve turned his head to port the
sound was certainly at his right or behind him.
"I'll try it again," he said. "You stay here, Phil." He climbed back to
the bridge deck. "Perry, are you working that fog-horn?" he demanded.
"If you aren't, get busy with it!" Once more the cruiser picked up and
stole forward, her nose slowly swinging around to port. Steve had given
up watching the compass now. All he wanted to do was find clear water.
The _swish_ of surf died away by degrees as the _Adventurer_ edged
cautiously along and, after five minutes, Steve gave a sigh of relief.
"I guess we're all right now," he muttered to Joe, "but I'm going to
keep her just moving. We might anchor, I suppose, but it's dollars to
doughnuts we'd have to spend the night here; wherever here is," he
added, scowling resentfully at the chart. "Look here, Joe." He reached
forward and laid a finger on the map. "Here's where we were, or where
we ought to have been, when we heard the surf first.
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