It caught on the third or fourth try, coughed once, and settled down to a steady rumble. He let it idle a few minutes to warm up, and shoved the lever ahead. Taking the wheel, he brought her around and steadied up on the approximate bearing of the other craft. Now that they were under way, the rolling lessened almost miraculously, and the slight breeze of their passage felt cool against his face. He reached for the glasses, picked up the boat again, brought Saracen a few degrees to the right to line it up dead ahead, and checked the compass course. Three-fifteen was about right.

“Honey,” he called down the hatch, “when you come up, will you bring me a cigar?”

“Right, Skipper. But don’t get there too fast. If we’re going calling, I’ve got to dress and put on my face.”

“Take your time. It’ll be a half-hour or more.”

She came on deck in about five minutes, dressed in Bermuda shorts and a white blouse. Her still-damp hair was combed back and tied with a scrap of ribbon, and she’d put on lipstick. He lit the cigar she handed him. She picked up the binoculars and turned forward, searching for the other craft. The sun struck coppery highlights in her hair as she swayed with the motion of the ketch, balancing easily on bare feet.

“Still can’t tell whether there’s anybody on deck,” she said.

“She’s a long way off yet,” Ingram replied. “And they could be asleep—” He broke off at a muttered exclamation from Rae. “What is it?”

She spoke without lowering the glasses. “I thought I saw something else. Between here and there.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. It was just a speck, and it’s gone now—no. Wait. There it was again.”

“Turtle?” he asked.

“No-o. It’d have to be bigger than that; it’s too far away. Here, you take a look.”

He slid over and stood up in the cockpit. She took the wheel and repeated the compass course. “It’s almost dead ahead,” she said. “I only had a couple of quick glimpses of it, but I think it was right in line with the other boat and probably three-quarters of the way over to it.”

He put a knee on the starboard cockpit cushion and leaned to the right to get out of line with the masts as he adjusted the glasses. He picked up the other craft and studied it for a moment. Ketch-rigged, he thought, and probably a little larger than Saracen. There was no one visible on deck. She was almost abeam to the swell and rolling sluggishly. He lowered the glasses a bit and began to search the slickly heaving surface of the sea that lay between.

“See anything?” Rae asked.

“Not yet.” Then he did.