"My God, no, it's not possible!" Amberley said in a queer, strained voice.
"Ullo!" said the longshoreman suddenly. "Engine's stopped."
Amberley's head jerked up. The chug of the motorboat, which had been growing fainter, had suddenly stopped altogether.
"Well 'e's a rum 'un if ever there was one!" said the longshoreman. "E can't 'ave got much beyond the mouth o' the creek. Wot's 'e want to stop for?"
Amberley gave a great start. He swung himself back into the car and switched on the engine. "Get out!" he snapped. "Get out, Sergeant. You, there - Peabody! Row the sergeant across the creek. You've got to get that man, Sergeant. Stand by that Vauxhall; he's coming back to it. God's teeth, will you get out?"
The sergeant found himself thrust into the road. The Bentley was already moving, but he ran beside it shouting: "Yes, but where are you going, sir?"
"After that motorboat," Amberley shouted back him. "She's alive, you fool!"
The next moment he was gone, leaving two amazed creatures to stare at one another.
The longshoreman spat reflectively. "E's touched. Thought so all along."
The sergeant collected his wits. "You'll soon see whether he's touched or not," he said. "Come on now; I've got to get across the creek to that landing-stage I've heard so much about. Look lively!"