“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. . . Read More