“You fellows don’t lose much time,” said the lieutenant with more respect. “You seem to want him bad.”
“I could bear to see him,” said Reggie. “He interests me as a medical man.”
“Medical?” the lieutenant stared at him.
“Quite a lot of crime is medical,” said Reggie.
The lieutenant gave it up and again asked for more speed and began to use his binoculars. “There’s a cutter rig,” he pointed at something invisible. “Not under sail. Laying a course for Flushing. That’s good enough, what?”
The destroyer came up fast. A white hull was revealed to the naked eye. The lieutenant spoke to his signalman and flags fluttered above the bridge. “Not answered. D’ye think your friend’ll put up a scrap?”
“I dare say he will, if his crew will stand for it.”
“Praise God,” said the lieutenant. “Will they have any arms?”
“Pistols, likely,” said Bell.
“Well! She is Cyrilla.” He picked up a megaphone and roared through it. “The cutter! Cyrilla! Stop your engine!”