What the boatman said was true. The launch behind was now clearly visible.
"At this rate he'll get us in about five minutes," added the boatman after another inspection.
She made a dive for the engine and began tinkering with the spark. They must escape! It would be too humiliating, too utterly beyond explanation to be caught now. She coaxed a few more revolutions out of the engine.
It did not trouble her that she was trying to cheat the law of its prey. She was wholly solicitous for the reputation and the dignity of Rosalind Chalmers.
"We're doing better than eight, now," she said defiantly.
"We haven't got the trunks," he explained. "But I'll bet she can't go nine."
Couldn't she? Miss Chalmers purposed to see. She mothered the engine again, touching it here and there deftly and tenderly, adjusting a screw, listening, adjusting again, doing a dozen things that the boatman would not have thought of doing. The engine responded gallantly.
"That's the first time I ever heard it purr," he said, in admiration. "You don't happen to be the inventor of that engine, do you?"
She ignored the question. She was too busy trying for that nine miles.
But still the stern boat gained—not so rapidly as before, yet consistently.