CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
AT full speed and without lights, the Sea Spume rushed through the darkness, threading her way among the islands by the faint light of the stars reflected from the dancing water. Her course was perilous in the extreme. At any moment an unseen rock might rise in the way and bring her to hopeless ruin. But delay was more perilous than rocks, and the Sea Spume sped breathlessly on.
Marie Fitzhugh was responsible both for the speed and the course. As the yacht dashed from the inlet into open water and veered southward, she climbed to the bridge where Captain Wilson and Caruth were standing.
“North! North, for your life, Captain!” she cried.
Captain Wilson grasped the engine-room indicator. “Why north?” he demanded. “Stockholm lies southwest.”
“We can never reach Stockholm. What! Do you think escape is to be so easily made? No! Russia has gone too far to stop now. The path to the west and south—the path to any foreign port—is guarded. To the north and east lies our only chance.”
Captain Wilson hesitated, but Caruth took control. “North, please. Captain,” he commanded; “and as fast as you dare.”
An instant more and the Sea Spume swept round, heading northward around Burndo. As it turned, the girl spoke again.
“I think their plan was to have us looted unofficially,” she said, “and then, after they had gotten the gold, to shoot a lot of the looters to satisfy international conditions. But unless they are fools, they must have prepared for just what has happened. If half a dozen torpedo-boats are not hunting for us this very minute, I miss my guess. Why they were not waiting for us at the mouth of the inlet, I can’t for the life of me understand, but if we get to port without chancing on them, we shall be luckier than I dare hope. They’ll never let us get away with the gold—and of course they must think we have it.”
“The gold! Who has got it?”