“What boat’s that?” cried Hilary.
“The Royal Mary’s. Have you despatches on board?”
“My orders were to deliver my despatches myself at a certain address,” thought Hilary; “this may be a trick.”
“On special business,” cried Hilary back.
“Nonsense, Mr Leigh!” cried the assumed Lieutenant Anderson. “Heave-to, sir. I order you! Hi, my lads there, down with the sails.”
“No sails don’t go down for no orders like that,” growled the boatswain; but by skilful management the boat was already alongside and the bowman had caught the bulwark with his hook.
“Keep back!” cried Hilary sharply.
“Are you mad?” cried the man by his side, now throwing off his cloak, and with it his disguise, for he caught Hilary by the collar and presented a pistol at his head. “Quick, there, up with you!”
Hilary struck up the pistol, but the next instant he received a heavy blow on the forehead and staggered back as, to his horror, the crew of the boat, well-armed and headed by Sir Henry Norland, leaped aboard and drove back the two or three of the crew who were near.
“At last!” cried Sir Henry to the false lieutenant. “I thought you would never come, Hartland. Have you the papers?”