“Is there a rock or a tide in it that isn’t familiar to you?”
“There is not.”
“And is there a man in Rosnacree that’s your equal in the handling of a small boat?”
“Sorra the one.”
“Then be off with you and get the gun the way I told you.”
At half-past ten Sir Lucius and Lord Torrington drove into the town and pulled up opposite Brannigan’s shop. The Tortoise lay at her moorings, a sight which gratified Sir Lucius. After his experience the day before he was afraid that Peter Walsh might have beached the boat in order to execute some absolutely necessary repairs. He congratulated himself on having suggested to Sergeant Rafferty that one of the constables should keep an eye on her.
“There’s the boat, Torrington,” he said. “She’s small, and there’s a fresh breeze. But if you don’t mind getting a bit wet she’ll take us round the islands in the course of the day. If your daughter is anywhere about we’ll see her.”
Lord Torrington eyed the Tortoise. He would have preferred a larger boat, but he was a man of determination and courage.
“I don’t care how wet I get,” he said, “so long as I have the chance of speaking my mind to the scoundrel who has abducted my daughter.”
“We’ll take oilskins with us,” said Sir Lucius, getting out of the trap as he spoke.