"Oh, just trail along."
He was silent again, thinking, and she questioned no more. Indeed from the look of her she was more dead than alive, and Rowland found time to wonder how she had managed to keep up for so long. He marveled at the look of sudden terror that had come into her face when Matthias Markov had fallen. It had been as though suddenly in that dreadful moment she had had a vision of the ghosts of her sins, against him ... Poor Markov....
But the memory of Tanya's frightened face in Herr Hochwald's boat soon blotted all else from Rowland's mind. Tanya there with his arch enemy Hochwald, escaping to freedom and Switzerland, with Tanya and the treasure of Nemi! What chance could have thrown them together--for nothing but chance could have aided Hochwald where such a man as Von Stromberg had failed. Chance ... Chance should not avail him now. The Elsa was Nemesis and she seemed to be aware of it, for she outfooted the heavy craft of Hochwald three to two. But Rowland was not ready to come up with Hochwald yet--not until they had passed the middle of the lake and were safely over the Swiss line, so he eased the Elsa up into the wind and let her hang there from time to time until a mile or two had been covered when he hauled his lug sail as close as he could and crossing the stern of Hochwald's boat stole up the windward where he kept the Elsa's sail between Hochwald and himself.
Rowland could now see that Hochwald was puzzled by the actions of this other boat which clung to him so closely and tried to come closer up into the wind, but Rowland edged away, all the while forging ahead and choosing a position which would give him the advantage when they came to terms. The wind was now blowing half a gale from the mountains to the southward and the heavy clouds which had formed above their peaks came rolling down deeper and deeper in shadow as a presage of more wind to come. But the Elsa was a good sea-boat and had so far shipped little but the crests of foam. Zoya lay upon the seat, leaning on one elbow, her eyes dully watching the race. From time to time she turned and glanced at Rowland who smiled at her encouragingly but said nothing.
The German shore was now hardly distinguishable through the mist of flying spume and shadow. There was a steamer in the direction of Lindau; Rowland had marked her for the last ten minutes and she was coming fast, traveling under forced draught for from time to time her stack belched clouds of black smoke. And now, there was a deep boom which rolled with sullen reverberations across the water and at the same moment almost, a column of spray shot up into the air two hundred yards to the Elsa's left. Zoya started upright and glanced at Rowland who knew what this new danger meant.
"The Patrol-boat, Zoya," he said coolly. "Somebody's given our show away."
"Will they catch us?"
"I hope not. A stern chase--and we're legging it pretty fast."
"It's Von Stromberg," she said with the abstracted air of the fatalist. "One cannot get the best of the game with Von Stromberg."
"We shall," cried Rowland triumphantly. "Look, Zoya. The Swiss Patrol."