"Your exhaust can be heard for miles," he said. "The wind is blowing in our faces. We must keep at the oars. Then they will think us still on the island. If you start the motor now you'll bring pursuit."
Mascola's hatred of Bandrist increased with the quiet tone of command with which the islander spoke.
"There is no boat that can catch mine with this lead," he bragged.
"Mr. Gregory's boat is faster than yours for one," Bandrist disputed quietly. "The new revenue cutters are faster for others. Why are you a fool?"
A hot argument began on the instant between the two men. An argument which ended by Bandrist's knocking Mascola to the cockpit.
Mascola lay where he fell for a moment, dazed by the blow. Bandrist was not rowing he noticed.
Without doubt he had him covered with his revolver. Fuming with impotent rage, the Italian growled: "Well, you're the boss. It's up to you."
As he struggled to his feet he made up his mind to get square with the islander. Again resuming his oars, he rowed steadily until Bandrist gave the order to start the motor.
The Fuor d'Italia leaped forward and the cool sea air fanned Mascola's flaming face. Settling quietly into his seat he turned his attention to the wheel.
He could afford to wait, but only a little longer.