Their progress was necessarily slow because there were numerous small villages and they stopped at them all to make inquiries.
But in every case the answer was the same.
No motorboat answering to the description of the Envoy had been seen. None of the fishermen had heard of the craft.
“It’s ten chances to one that they was wrecked in that storm,” an old fisherman at one of the villages declared when they told him their story. “Unless they were mighty lucky they wouldn’t get past Ragged Reef. They might get this far up the coast, but they’d never get past the Reef.”
“Where is that?”
“Not far from here. Up past the next point. Seems to me I heard one of the boys sayin’ this mornin’ that there was some wreckage on the reef yesterday. There’s none of our boats missin’ from hereabouts, so mebby it’s them young fellers.”
The two motorboats thereupon started for Ragged Reef. The lads were downhearted. They had little hope that they would ever find their two companions alive. The words of the old fisherman struck terror into their hearts.
When they rounded the point they saw the black and ominous line of Ragged Reef before them. A jagged and irregular series of rocks jutting above the surface of the water in the form of a huge semicircle—this was the reef on which the Envoy might have come to grief.
Fortunately, the day was calm so that the searchers were able to venture more closely to the reef than they might have otherwise dared. Frank edged the Sleuth in toward the rocks as closely as possible. Suddenly he gave an exclamation:
“The fisherman was right! There is wreckage there!”
He pointed to a few broken fragments of wood that could be discerned against the rocks. Joe picked up the marine glasses and peered at the fragments for some time.
“It’s wreckage of a boat of some kind,” he declared gravely, lowering the glasses at last. “But whether it’s from the Envoy or not, I couldn’t say.”
Slim also looked through the glasses. He was able to see more fragments of wreckage farther along the reef.
“Some boat has been battered to pieces along here. There isn’t enough wreckage left to tell whether it was a motorboat or a sailing vessel.” He scrutinized the mainland. “Nothing there,” he announced finally. “Not a sign of life—nor wreckage either. It’s all on the reef.”
So interested had the boys been in the fragments of broken wood on the jagged rocks that they had not noticed that the motorboat was edging in closer to the reef. There was a strong current at this point and, unnoticed by the boys, the boat was being carried irresistibly forward.
A warning shout from the lads in the Napoli told them of their danger.
Frank had throttled down the engine so that the Sleuth had been almost drifting. Now he sprang for the helm, conscious of the peril that had crept so insidiously upon them.
The great black rocks of the reef loomed closer. The motorboat seemed to be dragged mercilessly toward its doom. The powerful current had the craft firmly in its grasp!
VIII
The Strange Letter
The engine roared as Frank Hardy opened the throttle and bore down on the helm of the Sleuth.
The grip of the current about the reef was so strong that, for a moment, it seemed that the motorboat could not fight against it. Then, slowly, the craft swung about, seemed to remain motionless for a moment, and then began to forge ahead, away from the reef.
Fighting against the force of the current, the motorboat made slow progress. Still, it was gaining ground. The boys waited tensely, as the craft struggled out of danger. Gradually, the Sleuth drew away from the reef, gradually the grip of the current relaxed. Frank cautiously nosed the boat over to the left and managed to get out of the current altogether.
The whole affair had occurred in a few seconds, but it had seemed an eternity to the boys in the boat and their chums in the other craft. It would only have been a matter of moments before they might have been swept swiftly down onto the treacherous reef.
“That’ll teach me to watch where I’m going,” said Frank, as he sat back and mopped his brow.
“There was mighty near a lot more wreckage on that reef,” remarked Slim soberly. “The boat wouldn’t have lasted long if we’d piled up on those rocks.”
“I’ll say it wouldn’t! I think we’d better get away from here. We’ll never be able to get close enough to identify that wreckage. Might as well go on up the coast.”
They drew up alongside the Napoli and, after discussing the narrow escape they had just had from being cast up on the reef, acquainted the other boys with their decision to continue the search.
“There’s no use trying to get closer to that wreckage,” declared Frank. “It’s all in small pieces and we probably wouldn’t be able to say whether it was from the Envoy or not, if we did reach it. We may as well go on up the coast and keep making inquiries at the other villages.”
This plan they followed, but to no avail.
Their inquiries were fruitless. The Envoy, with Chet and Biff, seemed to have vanished into thin air. At none of the fishing villages were they able to find anyone who had seen or heard of the missing motorboat. As for the wreckage on the reef, no one was found who could enlighten them. Two or three fishing boats had been wrecked during the storm, but they had met their
