s as they were raised. But the
yacht did not move! Even after the anchor was up there was no movement
except the throbbing of the whole vessel as the engines raced in the
hold! Jeff's face grew black, and he turned toward the passage with a
scowl.

"What's wrong here?" he shouted, going to the door. At the same moment,
seizing her brief chance, Bessie gave a wild scream, and saw, to her
delight, that those on shore had heard it. In a moment she was pulled
roughly from the porthole, and Jeff, his face savage and all the
kindness gone out of it, scowled down at her.

"Keep quiet, you little vixen!" he shouted. "Here, come with me!"

At the foot of some steps that led up to the deck he left the two girls
in the care of Larry, one of the two men she had seen the night before.

"Keep them quiet," he commanded, as he sprang up the steps. "What's
wrong, Larry; do you know?"

"Something the matter with the propeller. Can't tell what," said Larry.

And above, on the deck, there was a wild rushing about now. Orders were
shouted to the engineers below; hoarse answers came back. The engines
were stopped and started again. But still the yacht did not move. A
grimy engineer came up and stood beside her.

"Propeller's fouled," he said to Jeff. "We'll have to send a man
overboard to clear it."

"How long will that take?" roared Jeff.

"Maybe an hour--if we're lucky."

"You're a fine engineer, not to have the boat ready to start!" screamed
Jeff, mad with rage. "You'll lose your berth for this!"

"Guess I can get another," replied the engineer calmly. "It's been done
on purpose and it's the business of the deck watch to keep the stern
clear, not mine."

With frantic haste a man was sent overboard. He dived and found the
propeller. Bessie heard his report. The screw was twisted around with
rope--knotted and tied so that, even with a knife he would have to make
many descents to clear it. Without a diving suit it was impossible for
the man to stay under water more than half a minute at a time, and, as
it turned out, he was the only man on board who could dive at all.

Jeff raged in vain. The work of clearing the propeller could not be
hastened for all his bellowing, and the precious minutes slipped by
while the diver worked. Each time that he came up for rest and air he
reported a little more progress, but each time, too, as he grew tired,
his period of rest was lengthened, while his time below the water was
cut shorter.