The Richard swung wide and came abreast the Fuor d'Italia. Then it came to Mascola that the strange craft on his left had some speed. Above the roar of his own exhaust he heard his name called in a peremptory hail. The hot blood surged to his face and he stepped on the throttle. He had no time to talk. He must spot the position of the cannery boats and give his men instructions how to break through.
The Fuor d'Italia bounded away with a sullen roar. But before Mascola could circle in the direction of the lights of the fleet, the Richard was again on his rail. Cursing to himself, the Italian advanced his spark and pressed hard on the throttle. But though he gained a
few feet on his pursuer, he knew that he dared not try to make the turn. His boat would "turn turtle" or be cut in two by the craft behind.
On the two boats sped through the darkness. The lights of the fishing fleet flashed by them like the gleam of switch-lights, seen from an express train. Mascola's anger mounted. His men were waiting for orders and he had seen nothing of the enemy's formation. A plan formed quickly in his brain. It was dangerous of course. But the liquor gave him courage. Removing one hand from the wheel, he extended it toward the switch-board.
"He doesn't dare make the turn at this speed," Dickie shouted in Gregory's ear. "Tell Bronson to watch him close when he doubles to come back. He'll head into the swell, to the starboard."
Gregory was giving the boatman the message when he felt Dickie grasp his arm.
"He's switched off his lights," she cried. "He's going to try to dodge us, running dark."
Bronson had already slackened speed at sight of the disappearing lights ahead. Then he put the Richard hard over, and the speed-craft swerved with a jerk which left her passengers crowding close against one another.
"Give her the gun," shouted Gregory. "Head back. Don't let him slip us."
As the boatman complied and the Richard began to lift her hull from the sea, the dark waters ahead were brightened by a phosphorescent flash. Directly