“Dunno,” replied the nearest policeman.
“They’ll pick him up, and he’ll escape after all. Confound it! Here, hoi! you in that boat. In the Queen’s name, stop and take me aboard.”
“They won’t pick him up,” said the nearest policeman solemnly. “You don’t know this coast.”
There was a low groan from a figure crouching upon its knees, and supporting a woman’s head, happily insensible to what was passing around.
“George, lad,” whispered Uncle Luke, “for the poor girl’s sake, let’s get her home. George! don’t you hear me. George! It is I—Luke.”
There was no reply, and the excitement increased as a swift boat now neared the end of the point.
“Where is he? Is he swimming for the boat?” cried a voice, hardly recognisable in its hoarse excitement for that of Duncan Leslie.
“He jumped off, Mr Leslie, sir,” shouted one of the policemen.
“Row, my lads. Pull!” shouted Leslie; “right out.”
“No, no,” roared the detective; “take me aboard. In the Queen’s name, stop!”