"My boat----" the man shouted rushing forward. But he got no further for Rowland shoved him violently, tripping him skillfully at the same time and he disappeared into the water.
Zoya was already in the boat and before the fisherman came to the surface Rowland had cast off the bow-line and pushed away from the raft. The fellow rose sputtering and tried to clamber in but found himself looking into the barrel of Rowland's automatic.
"Herr Gott!" the fellow muttered and dropped back into the water.
By this time the sail-boat had swung off from the dock. Rowland hauled in the sheet, pulled up the lug sail, and a quick twist of the tiller sent her on her way.
"Silly fool," said Rowland half to himself. "He's merely out a hundred marks."
The craft heeled over and the foam rushed out from under her counter, bubbling aft in a manner most cheerful to see. But before Rowland had worked clear of the other boats at anchor, he heard a sound behind him and looking over his shoulder saw the drenched figure of his friend the fisherman, rushing along the jetty shouting like a demon. Figures emerged along the shore and stood watching curiously and when the man reached them and told his story there was a good deal of running around and waving of arms, but the thing that interested Rowland most was the fact that while he looked no one ran out on the jetty or toward the row-boats. They may have disliked the taciturn fisherman as Rowland had done or they may have thought that he dreamed.
"There may be a telephone in that dump," grinned Rowland, "but I'll risk a hundred marks on it."
Meanwhile he steered for the open lake, sure that the rule against the use of petrol which applied to motor cars would also apply to power boats. For the present at least they were safe, and skimming along under a quartering breeze which showed no signs of diminishing. Zoya sat rigidly upon the hard bench, her gaze on the town of Lindau, which, separated from the mainland by a bridge, seemed to be slowly rising from the water.
"He is there," she said with a shudder. "Imagine--when he wakes!"
"Pfui! The guard! Poor devil." And then joyously, "Zoya--we've beaten them."