The skiff shot ahead; the ripple of water from the bow changed into a rushing, steady note. The sea was calm as a millpond, and now that they were out into the bay, the sound of the pursuing motor-boat came staccato and clear.
There was no pretence now of hugging the shore; they were making a bee-line for the College jetty. But they were visible to the men on board the motor-boat; and, fast though they were going, there was no question as to which craft showed the superior speed. The white speck of the power launch grew in size until it was almost distinct in the starlight.
Lazare, or Humbolt, or perhaps both of them, were shouting—but the grimly-determined schoolboys paid no heed. As if they intended to pull up! But the miscreants in the launch had another argument—and a more forcible one.
There came the clear report of a revolver, surprisingly minute in the enormous space of the bay, and a bullet ricochetted from the surface not eight feet from the skiff.
"I say—" began Billy.
"Don't say anything," said Patch tersely. "Two can play at that game, Humbolt! Give me that pistol, Jack."
"What are you going to do?" asked Billy, straining at his oar.
Patch did not reply. He turned round, and waited until a red flash and a delayed explosion advertised another shot. Then he lifted his pistol carefully, and fired two shots in rapid succession at the pursuing craft.
Some sort of a result was instantly perceptible. There came a distinct thump! and a snarling sort of noise that ended rather abruptly. Followed by three shots from Humbolt in quick time, all of which were without effect, although they whistled unpleasantly close.
"Pull!" sang out Patch. "Pull like the dickens! I believe I've stonkered their engine. Listen—she's misfiring like anything!"