Back along the shore road tore the Bentley. The needle of the speedometer crept up to fifty, to sixty, to seventy. The creek was just a mile from Littlehaven, and Amberley reached Littlehaven harbour in one minute a half and drew up beside one of the yards with a jerk that sent a shudder through the car.
There was a man in a blue jersey locking up. He looked round in mild surprise as Amberley sprang out of the car.
When it penetrated to his intelligence that the gentleman wanted to set out to sea at once in a motorboat he glanced instinctively round for protection. It seemed him that a lunatic had broken loose from some asylum.
"I'm not mad," Amberley said. "I'm acting for the police. Is there any boat here ready to start?"
One had to humour lunatics; the sailor had often heard that. "Oh yes, sir, there's a motorboat all ready," he said, edging away.
His arm was grasped urgently. "Listen to me!" Amberley said. "A man has set out in a boat from the creek. I must catch that boat. There's ten pounds for you if get me there in time."
The sailor hesitated, trying to loosen the grip on his arm. Ten pounds were ten pounds, but the gentleman was clearly insane.
"Do I look as though I were mad?" Amberley said fiercely. "Where's that fast boat you had moored here this morning?"
The sailor scanned him closely. "Lord love me, I believe you're the Lunnon gentleman what come down here today arsting questions!" he exclaimed.
"I am. For God's sake, man, hurry! Any boat that's ready to start, the faster the better."