The detective had caught the stricken father as he tottered and would have fallen headlong into the tide, while, as he and another of the men helped him back to where Louise still lay, he was insensible to what passed around.
But still the dim lights could be seen growing more and more distant, and each hail sounded more faint, as the occupants of the boats called to each other, and then to him they sought, while, after each shout, it seemed to those who stood straining their eyes at the end of the pier, that there was an answering cry away to their left; but it was only the faint echo repeating the call from the face of the stupendous cliffs behind the town.
“Why don’t they come back here and search?” cried the officer angrily.
“What for?” said a voice at his elbow; and he turned to see dimly the shrunken, haggard face of Uncle Luke.
“What for?” retorted the officer. “He may have swum in the other direction.”
“So might the world have rolled in the other direction and the sunrise to-morrow in the west,” said the old man angrily. “No swimmer could stem that current.”
“But why have they gone so far?”
“They have gone where the current took them,” said Uncle Luke, coldly. “Want the help of your men to get these poor creatures home.”
The detective made no reply, but stood gazing out to sea and listening intently. Then turning to his men—
“One of you keep watch here in case they try to land with him. You come with me.”