A swaying coolie in the stern of the nearest craft caught sight of him.
"Hie! Hie!" The wagging paddle became mad. The sampan slipped under the towering shadow and brought up with a smack against the moving black hull.
Peter pried up the tarpaulin life-boat cover, dragged out a coil of dirty rope, made one end fast at the foot of the davit, and tossed the other end overside. The coolie caught it and clung.
Re-entering the wireless cabin, Peter opened his pocket-knife and slit the cord at the head.
A mass of curly, brown hair flowed out upon the carpet. There was a silken lisp of underskirts. A faint sigh.
Peter suddenly turned his head. Black, glassy eyes were riveted upon his from the after window. They vanished.
He jumped up, bolted to the deck, and stood still, listening.
The scuffle of a foot sounded on the port side. Some one was running forward. He plunged after. The footsteps stopped sharply coincident with a dull smash, a frantic grunt. The pursued reeled to the deck, groaning.
Peter pounced upon him, grabbed his collar, and dragged him across the deck into the wireless house.
"Mr. Moore, the captain told me——" whimpered Dale.