“Pull,” cried Leslie to the men; and then turning to the detective, “while we stopped to take you the man would drown, and you couldn’t get aboard at this time of the tide.”
“He’s quite right,” said the policeman who had last spoken. “It’s risky at any time; it would be madness now.”
The detective stamped, as in a weird, strange way the voice kept coming from out of the darkness, where two dim stars could be seen, as the lanterns were visible from time to time; and now Leslie’s voice followed the others, as he shouted:
“This way, Vine, this way. Hail, man! Why don’t you hail?”
“Is this part of the trick to get him away?” whispered the detective to one of his men.
The man made no reply, and his silence was more pregnant than any words he could have spoken.
“But they’ll pick him up,” he whispered, now impressed by the other’s manner.
“Look out yonder,” said the policeman, a native of the place; “is it likely they’ll find him there?”
“Hah!” ejaculated the detective.
“And there’s no such current anywhere for miles along the coast as runs off here.”