Sweetwater, glowing with anticipation, bent to his work. The boat beneath them gave a bound and in a few minutes they were far out on the waters of the bay.
“They’re coming!” he whispered eagerly, as he saw Mr. Grey looking anxiously back. “How much farther shall I go?”
“Just within hailing distance of the launch,” was Mr. Grey’s reply.
Sweetwater, gaging the distance with a glance, stopped at the proper point and rested on his oars. But his thoughts did not rest. He realized that he was about to witness an interview whose importance he easily recognized. How much of it would he hear? What would be the upshot and what was his full duty in the case? He knew that this man Wellgood was wanted by the New York police, but he was possessed with no authority to arrest him, even if he had the power.
“Something more than I bargained for,” he inwardly commented. “But I wanted excitement, and now I have got it. If only I can keep my head level, I may get something out of this, if not all I could wish.”
Meantime the second boat was very nearly on them. He could mark the three figures and pick out Wellgood’s head from among the rest. It had a resolute air; the face on which, to his evident discomfiture, the moon shone, wore a look which convinced the detective that this was no patent-medicine manufacturer, nor even a caterer’s assistant, but a man of nerve and resources, the same, indeed, whom he had encountered in Mr. Fairbrother’s house, with such disastrous, almost fatal, results to himself.
The discovery, though an unexpected one, did not lessen his sense of the extreme helplessness of his own position. He could witness, but he could not act; follow Mr. Grey’s orders, but indulge in none of his own. The detective must continue to be lost in the valet, though it came hard and woke a sense of shame in his ambitious breast.
Meanwhile Wellgood had seen them and ordered his men to cease rowing.
“Give way, there,” he shouted. “We’re for the launch and in a hurry.”
“There’s some one here who wants to speak to you, Mr. Wellgood,” Sweetwater called out, as respectfully as he could. “Shall I mention your name?” he asked of Mr. Grey.