The boys could see that the steady manner in which the Greyhound held in pursuit of the boat in advance had created some stir aboard.
Looking through a glass, Frank saw Lord Stanford come up from below and take a survey of his pursuer. Then one of his men brought him a glass, and he took a look through that.
Immediately the Englishman grew excited. He turned to the man who had brought the glass and said something, waving his hand in a manner that betrayed agitation.
“At last he has discovered who is following him,” smiled Merriwell. “But it is too late to get away. We are walking up on him in great style.”
“An’ it’s a bit av a shcrap we’re loikely to be in directly,” grinned Barney. “Oi don’t moind thot at all, at all!”
“You like the prospect, you rascal!” laughed Frank. “Well, I must confess that I do not mind it myself.”
Nearer and nearer the Greyhound drew to the Fox.
Lord Stanford came aft and shouted to his pursuers.
“Keep off, you blooming duffers! If you come near us you will get into trouble!”
“Ahoy, the Fox!” Frank shouted back. “Lay to. I wish to come on board.”