CHAPTER VII
THE TANGLING SKEIN
It was early the next morning that the Laminian ran into a coastwise gale that left her decks clear of passengers and her funnels white with salt. The intermittent crackle of "static" from the humming aerials kept obliterating the
etheric "splash" of the Laminian's low-powered coils. The ship was left inarticulate and alone on her course. Beyond the erratic "sneeze" and "cough" of the atmospheric electricity there was no answering voice within McKinnon's sternly delimited radius of communication.
The weather disturbed McKinnon much less than did his own state of mind. The day, which was one of brain-fogging pitching and tossing about his cabin, left everything connected with the night before still in suspense. The ship seemed a deserted one. Captain Yandel and his officers sat alone before the "racks" of the musty-odoured tables, between musty-odoured
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