The detective officer was a clever man, but it had not occurred to him that the blue light he had obtained from the coastguard station and burned would act as a recall. But so it was, and before long the second boat was reached, and that which contained Duncan Leslie came up, the latter uttering an angry expostulation at being brought back from his search.
“It’s no good, Mr Leslie, sir,” said the fisherman who had made the bargain with Vine.
“No good?” cried Leslie angrily. “You mean you’re tired, and have not the manhood to continue the search.”
“No, sir, I don’t,” said the man quietly. “I mean I know this coast as well as most men. I’ll go searching everywhere you like; but I don’t think the poor lad can be alive.”
“Ay, ay, that’s right, mate,” growled two others of his fellows.
“He was a great swimmer,” continued the man sadly; “but it’s my belief he never come up again.”
“Why do you say that?” cried the detective from his boat, as the four hung clustered together, a singular-looking meeting out there on the dark sea by lantern light.
“Why do I say that? Why ’cause he never hailed any on us who knew him, and was ready to take him aboard. Don’t matter how good a swimmer a man is, he’d be glad of a hand out on a dark night, and with the tide running so gashly strong.”
“You may be right,” said Leslie, “but I can’t go back like this. Now, my lads, who’s for going on?”
“All on us,” said the fisherman who had first spoken, and the boats separated to continue their hopeless task.