“They're lowering a boat!” suddenly exclaimed Chick, who was pulling the stroke oar.
“Curse 'em!” said Nick, keeping up the character he was playing. “If they chase us too fast I'll' let 'em know how a Philadelphian can shoot.”
On—on they flew over the darkened waters. The policemen from the yacht had lowered a boat which was manned by three pairs of oars instead of two.
On—on over the black waters flew pursuer and pursued, and the rain, as if in anger at the outrage, pelted down in torrents upon them.
On, on, straining every muscle and sinew; on, on, and yet the police boat gained.
“They're gaining!” muttered Chick. Nick suddenly dropped his oars. With a quick motion he drew his revolver and fired.
There was a loud cry from the pursuing boat, and the bow oarsman disappeared.
Again Nick's weapon spoke, and the second oarsman in the police boat sank from view.
Two others sprang to take their places.
“You've laid out two of 'em,” exclaimed Chick.