“Keep back!” cried Harry again, in a tone so fierce that for a moment the officer paused.
There was another whistle from across the harbour, a shout and a hail out of the darkness, but nothing save the dim lantern light could be seen.
“Now then, you two,” said the officer decidedly, “back me up.”
There was a faint click as he drew something from his pocket, and without hesitation stepped boldly over the few feet which separated him from Harry Vine.
Panting, half wild, hearing the whistles, the cries, and still dividing 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 hail 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 myriad points of light and then ran, hissing and rushing in a contending current, out to sea.