"Cut out your lights."
Bronson threw the switch at Gregory's command.
"It's against the law," he muttered, "but I reckon it's safer with a bird like that."
Soon the strange craft was again dimly visible, appearing like a gray blot in the darkness ahead. Off the Hell-Hole she turned shoreward and was lost to view.
"Tell him to stop the motor for a moment," whispered Dickie Lang.
When Bronson complied, the silence for the space of a few minutes was unbroken. Then from the little cove came the muffled cough of a high-speed motor.
"All right. Head out."
The Richard sped on her way at Gregory's command. Then he asked: "What did that sound like to you, Bronson?"
The boatman answered promptly: "That was the bird you're looking for. I've heard the Fuor d'Italia's exhaust too many times to guess wrong."