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sea.
    And the storm held them heavily back, as though determined not to release them from its grasp.

CHAPTER FIVE
     
    The Castle
     
    T HE source of the blow seemed to be directly ahead, and with their one laboring engine and with their one necessarily rudder -corrected prop, they made very little speed.
    The Venture shipped the waves over her bows and then, rearing up, spilled hundreds of tons of roaring water aft in great tidal waves which swept the decks clean of everything but the planks themselves. The foremast went first in a shower of tangled, drenched rigging which snaked about in vicious circles until the whole was driven over the side.
    From the smashed ports of the bridge, from which even the dodger had been ripped away, Spar could not penetrate the curtain of spray and wind more than thirty feet. His face was set in an ugly twist as he thought about the engineer.
    Someone, something on this craft was striving for an unknown end he could not fathom. Someone had wanted the party and Tom Perry out of Martinique. Someone craved their destruction at sea.
    Who was it?
    And Spar wondered if all these things had happened according to a definite plan. First they had meant to kill him and then they had obviously found a use for him. And would he die as soon as his usefulness was over?
    If anyone desired Spar’s death, the yacht was certainly heading for the most likely spot in these waters. Hurricane Hill reeked of it.
    The helmsman clung obstinately to the brass wheel, his black shoulders bared by the blow, his muscles rippling with the effort of keeping them on their course.
    Buffeted by the gale, Spar stood with his back to the bulkhead, tired out after a battle which had lasted all night and half the day. The fever had taken its toll of his once great strength.
    From time to time his expression softened into a grin as he considered his own position here. A convict in charge of a murder ship.
    But whatever his position might be at the moment, a few hours were to bring him into one of the strangest predicaments, the most unique situation, that Spar had ever heard of or seen. And Spar had seen and done many strange things.
    The blow began to lessen in force at five in the afternoon. And in a half-hour, the wind had died to a six strength . The force of the water had also subsided and soon, in the comparatively clear air, Spar could make out the dim darkness of a headland.
    They were in the shelter of Hurricane Hill. To Spar it seemed odd to find reprieve in the lee of so avoided a place.
    Folston came up on the wrecked bridge, suave and smiling. “Now, Captain, you can make in toward that point. Beyond it you’ll find a better anchorage.” He paused apologetically. “Sorry to give you advice but I’ve been studying a chart down below and I see by the headland that we are a little to the south of it.”
    Spar frowned and then ordered the helm spun to starboard. Folston was right about the anchorage.
    Peg Mannering came up a moment later. “Where are we going?”
    “Folston tells me,” said Spar, “that we have an anchorage at hand. We’ll have to lay to until I can fix the reduction gear.”
    After the shriek of the hurricane, their ears rang in the comparative silence. All except Folston appeared very tired.
    “Where’s young Perry? And that Bereau girl?” said Spar.
    “Tom’s drunk,” replied Folston. “Very, very drunk. It’s better that way.”
    “What is?”
    “I didn’t want to see him bothering Peg.”
    “Thank you so much,” said Peg Mannering with not a little sarcasm.
    “Oh, ’twas nothing,” replied Folston.
    Spar headed the craft around the point and they came into quiet water. Dusk was settling over the high black cliffs which bound them in. In sight of such immensity, the Venture, to Spar, seemed very small.
    Folston looked long at the high summits about them, but no sign of life was evident.
    “I would suggest,” said Folston, “that we go ashore for the night. The boat’s