Chapter XVII

“That’s that!” Grant’s usually clear voice was toneless, quite in keeping with the crawling gray mist through which flapped and winged wildly screaming gulls. A low-spirited wind shook the shutters of the office, moaned in the firebox of the great Yukon stove. Shadows in the room grew distorted and dim. Impatiently he snapped on the light. Janice’s brown eyes were velvety with sympathy. “Was it harrowing, Tubby?” “Harrowing! Ba-gosh, it was terrible. The fog was copper-color. It twisted into eerie shapes. We could …