The vivid light illumined the group upon the point, and the water flashed and sparkled as it ran eddying by, while from time to time a gleaming drop of golden fire dropped with a sharp hissing explosion into the water, and a silvery grey cloud of smoke gathered overhead.
The officer stayed till the blue light had burned out, and then tossing the wooden handle into the water, he gave his orders to the men to row on out toward the other boats.
The transition from brilliant light to utter darkness was startling as it was sudden; and as the watchers followed the dim looking lanterns, they saw that about a mile out they had paused.
George Vine uttered a gasping sigh, and his child clung to him as if both realised the meaning of that halt. But they were wrong, for when the men in the detective’s boat had ceased rowing, it was because they were close abreast of the lugger, whose crew had hailed them.
“Got him?”
“No. Is he aboard your boat?”
Without waiting for an answer, the detective and his men boarded the lugger, and, to the disgust of her crew, searched from end to end.
“Lucky for you, my lads, that he is not here,” said the officer.
“Unlucky for him he aren’t,” said one of the men. “If he had been we shouldn’t have had you aboard to-night.”
“What do you mean?”