"It seems clear to me that these men have endangered themselves by something they have just been doing," observed Benstead; "and so they're sheering off as fast as they can."
"And most likely the Resurrection Man is concealed on board the Fairy," added Markham. "We must follow them—we must follow them, at any rate!"
"If we take our skiff and pursue them, they will immediately entertain some suspicion," said Benstead; "and if you go, sir, the Resurrection Man will recognise you the moment he catches a glimpse of you."
"We have no alternative, my good friends," observed Richard. "Let us all three follow them in our skiff: we will dog them—we will watch them; and if they attempt to land, we will board them."
"Be it so," said Benstead.
This plan was immediately put into operation.
The skiff was lowered: Markham, the policeman, and the gipsy leapt into it; the two latter pulled the oars; and our hero, muffled in a pilot coat, with the collar of which he concealed his countenance as much as possible, sate in the stern.
"Just keep the lighter in view—and that's all," said Richard. "So long as it does not show signs of touching at any place on shore, we had better content ourselves with following it, till we are assured that Tidkins is actually on board."
"Certainly, sir," answered Benstead. "We might only get ourselves into trouble by forcibly entering the Fairy, unless we knew that we should catch the game we're in search of."
The rowers had therefore little more to do than just play with their oars, as the tide bore the skiff along with even a greater rapidity than the lighter, although the latter proceeded with tolerable speed, in consequence of being empty, and having a fair breeze with it. Thus, when the boat drew too near the barge, the rowers backed their oars; and by this manœuvring they maintained a convenient distance.