Panting, half wild, hearing the whistles, the cries, and still divining nothing but that there were enemies on every hand, the young man uttered a hoarse cry as the detective caught at his breast. With one well-aimed blow he struck out, sent the man staggering back, and then, as those who had watched and waited came panting up, he turned quickly, stepped to the very edge, raised his hands, and plunged into the rushing tide.
“Harry! my son!” rang out on the darkness of the night.
But there was no answer. The black water seemed to flash with a myriad points of light, and then ran, hissing and rushing in a contending current, out to sea.
Volume Two—Chapter Thirteen.
“The Lord Gave, and—”
“Boat ahoy! Whoever you are—this way—boat!”
“Ahoy!” came back from three quarters—from two different points in the harbour, and from out to sea.
Then came another whistle from far back on the other side of the harbour, and in a shrill voice from between his hands Uncle Luke yelled: “Leslie, another boat, man, for the love of heaven!”