The child finally seemed to come out of a delightful reverie. She glanced back at the motor, whose every valve, spring and cylinder was humanized—biting eagerly in answer to her will.
"If Daddy is where I think he is we will reach him in another half hour; it's only about twenty-five miles from here and the Titian behaves well. She knows she has a guest aboard," she added with a smile.
I looked at my watch. We would arrive there a little after twelve. If the little Scottish engineer had not failed we would be there in time, and then I could have another laugh at my ominous premonition that counseled such extreme haste and energy.
Finally I saw the little girl's hand leave the wheel, and reach. I watched her take from the leather pocket a pair of glasses and raise them to her eyes, meanwhile steering with the other hand.
I am willing to admit a thrill of relief when she exclaimed:
"There he is. I can see the Sprite now, I know her, as far as I can see—her lines are so different."
I arose hastily and peered in the direction she indicated. She handed me the glasses. I could but faintly discern the boat, but we were traveling so fast I soon made out a trim motor boat about as long as the Boche cutter, evidently anchored to the leeward of one of the straggling coral formations of the Tortugas group. I swept the sea, but at that moment could see no other vessel. She must have noted my relief as I returned the glasses.
"I was sure I could go straight to him. I haven't missed it much," she said, clapping her hands delightedly. "You see I wasn't two points off where he is anchored," she added, changing her course to bear directly down upon him, the spot now easily visible to the naked eye. Anticipation of the loving welcome she would receive beaming in her happy face.
My exultation did not last long. I detected something moving in the sea beyond the island. I reached for the glasses instantly to assure myself that my imagination was not tricking me. Without a possible doubt the Boche boat was coming up toward Canby's boat, shielded by the little island.
Scotty's work had delayed them some, but not quite enough. Heavy forebodings again possessed me as I watched the boat stealthily approaching. Screened by the island between it and the Canby boat, it dashed forward at express speed. The Sprite was manifestly at anchor with no signs of life aboard. No doubt Canby was diving and the Boche had selected that moment in which to strike.