The anchor was hove up to the bows in a moment, the head of the yacht swung round, the sails filled, and she was off with a bound.
With a critical eye the man at the helm trimmed the different sails, set the trysail and then heaved a sigh of profound relief.
"I think we're safe," he said; "hello, there's a navy ship on the port bow, and another one several miles away on the starboard bow. I'll steer between—they don't know anything about us—they won't bother us."
While the superintendent of the Naval Academy was sitting at his desk this same afternoon, his telephone bell rang.
"Hello, what is it?" he asked.
"Is this the superintendent?"
"Yes."
"This is Halstead, aboard the 'Santee.'"
"What is it, Halstead?"
"Sir, the quartermaster has reported that a gasoline launch went alongside the 'Robert Centre' a few minutes ago and several people got out of the launch and went aboard the yacht; the gasoline launch is now drifting down the river and the 'Robert Centre' is tearing out into the bay."