“Then where,” began Steve.

“Let’s look at the chart from here north,” said Phil.  The cover of the chart box was thrust back and the lamp lighted and as many as could do so clustered about it.  Phil traced a finger across Massachusetts Bay past the tip of Cape Ann.  “There’s clear sailing for ninety miles or so, straight to Portland, unless—­How much gas has she aboard, Harry?”

“Only about twelve gallons.”  It was Tom Corwin who answered.  “We were going to fill again in the morning.”

“How far can she go on that?”

“Not more than seventy at ordinary speed, I guess.  She’s hard on gas.”

“Good!  Then she’d have to put in at Gloucester or Newburyport or somewhere.”

“Unless she ducked into Boston Harbour,” said Steve.  “I dare say she could tuck herself away somewhere there quite safely.  A coat of white paint would change her looks completely.”

“That’s possible,” agreed Phil, “but painting a boat of that size would take a couple of days, wouldn’t it?  It doesn’t seem to me that they’d want to take the chance.”

“Then your idea is that they’re on their way to Portland?”

“Somewhere up there.  They’d argue that we wouldn’t be likely to look for them so far away.”

“Well, here we are,” said Steve.  “We’ve got to go one way or another.”  The rougher water outside was making the Adventurer dip and roll.  “As far as I can see, Phil’s theory is as good as another, or maybe better.  Shall we try going north, fellows?”

No one answered until, after a moment’s silence, Perry remarked philosophically:  “I don’t believe we’ll ever see her again, but we can’t stop here, and we were going northward anyhow.”

Murmurs of agreement came from the others.  The only dissentient voice was Bert Alley’s. “I don’t see your argument,” he said.  “If I had swiped the Follow Me I’d hike out for New York or some place like that and run her into some little old hole until I could either change her looks or sell her.”

“And be nabbed on the way,” said Joe.

“Not if I stayed at sea.”

“But you couldn’t stay at sea if you had only twelve gallons of gasoline aboard.  Wherever she’s going, she will have to put in for gas before long.”  Phil stared thoughtfully at the chart.  “I’ll allow,” he went on, “that she may have gone any other direction but north.  For that matter, she may be anchored just around the corner somewhere.  It’s all more or less guesswork.  But, looking at the probabilities, and they’re all we’ve got to work on, I think north is the likeliest trail for us to take.”

“Right-o,” said Steve, turning the wheel and pointing the boat’s slim bow toward Gurnet Point, “We’ve got to take a chance, fellows, and this looks like the best.  In the morning we’ll get busy with the telegraph and tell our troubles, but just now the best we can do is keep a sharp lookout and try to think we’re on the right course.  I’m going to speed her up, Joe, so you might dab some more oil and grease around your old engine.”