“No, no, they would not have taken him. The man was a stranger, and Harry would be too quick.”
For the next hour they hurried here and there, passing Van Heldre’s house, where a dim light in the window showed where the injured man lay. There was a vague kind of feeling that sooner or later they would meet Harry, but the minutes glided slowly by, and all was still.
Out beyond the harbour-light the faint gleam of a lantern could be seen, showing that Bob Perrow had kept faith with them, and that the lugger was swinging in the rapid current, fast to one of the many buoys used by the fishermen in fine weather. But there was no sign or sound apparent; and with their hearts, sinking beneath the impression that Harry had been taken, and yet not daring to go and ask, father and daughter still wandered to and fro along the various streets of the little town.
“Can he have taken boat and gone?” whispered Vine at last.
“No,” said Louise, “there would not have been time, and we should have seen the lights had a boat gone out.”
“George!”
Two figures suddenly appeared out of the darkness, and stopped before them.
“Luke? You here?”
“Yes; have you seen him?”
“No; but is—is he—”