As soon as we were out of hearing of the Patience and her whistle, we completely lost our bearings.  It may be that Lady Moya was not a skilled coxswain, or it may be that Aldrich understands a racing scull better than a yawl, and pulled too heavily on his right, but whatever the cause we soon were hopelessly lost.  In this predicament we were not alone.  The night was filled with fog-horns, whistles, bells, and the throb of engines, but we never were near enough to hail the vessels from which the sounds came, and when we rowed toward them they invariably sank into silence.  After two hours Stumps and Kinney insisted on taking a turn at the oars, and Lady Moya moved to the bow.  We gave her our coats, and, making cushions of these, she announced that she was going to sleep.  Whether she slept or not, I do not know, but she remained silent.  For three more dreary hours we took turns at the oars or dozed at the bottom of the boat while we continued aimlessly to drift upon the face of the waters.  It was now five o’clock, and the fog had so far lightened that we could see each other and a stretch of open water.  At intervals the fog-horns of vessels passing us, but hidden from us, tormented Aldrich to a state of extreme exasperation.  He hailed them with frantic shrieks and shouts, and Stumps and the Lady Moya shouted with him.  I fear Kinney and myself did not contribute any great volume of sound to the general chorus.  To be “rescued” was the last thing we desired.  The yacht or tug that would receive us on board would also put us on shore, where the vindictive Aldrich would have us at his mercy.  We preferred the freedom of our yawl and the shelter of the fog.  Our silence was not lost upon Aldrich.  For some time he had been crouching in the bow, whispering indignantly to Lady Moya; now he exclaimed aloud: 

“What did I tell you?” he cried contemptuously; “they got away in this boat because they were afraid of me, not because they were afraid of being drowned.  If they’ve nothing to be afraid of, why are they so anxious to keep us drifting around all night in this fog?  Why don’t they help us stop one of those tugs?”

Lord Ivy exploded suddenly.

“Rot!” he exclaimed.  “If they’re afraid of you, why did they ask you to go with them?”

“They didn’t!” cried Aldrich, truthfully and triumphantly.  “They kidnapped you and Moya because they thought they could square themselves with you.  But they didn’t want me!” The issue had been fairly stated, and no longer with self-respect could I remain silent.

“We don’t want you now!” I said.  “Can’t you understand,” I went on with as much self-restraint as I could muster, “we are willing and anxious to explain ourselves to Lord Ivy, or even to you, but we don’t want to explain to the police?  My friend thought you and Lord Ivy were crooks, escaping.  You think we are crooks, escaping.  You both—­”

Aldrich snorted contemptuously.