“We know what we’re about,” came back.
“Yes, yes; they know,” said Uncle Luke, hoarsely. “Let them be; the current sets the way they’ve taken. He’s right out there by now.”
The old man’s arm was dimly-seen pointing seawards, but the detective was not convinced.
“It’s a trick to throw me on the wrong scent,” he said excitedly. “Here, you,”—to one of the local police—“why don’t you speak?”
“Mr Luke Vine’s right, sir; he knows the set o’ the tide. The poor lad’s swept right out yonder long ago, and Lord ha’ mercy upon him, poor chap. They’ll never pick him up.”
“Can you see him?” roared the officer, using his hands as a speaking trumpet.
There was no reply; but the lantern could be seen rising and falling now, as the little craft began to reach the swell at the harbour bar.
Then there was a hail out of the harbour, as the second boat came along, and five minutes after the rapid beat of oars told of the coming of another boat.
“Ahoy, lad! this way,” rose from the boat with the lantern.
“Whose boat’s that?” said the detective, quickly.