The speed with which young Dawson worked was shown by the fact that, when still half a mile away, the big freighter, hailed by wireless, began to slow down speed. It was plain that she was going to lie to in order to hear the whole of the hail from the “Restless.”
“Great Scott, though! Look at that!” suddenly ejaculated Tom Halstead.
The drab seventy-footer had suddenly gone 128 about, making fast westerly time for the shore.
“Go about after the seventy-footer, Hank,” almost exploded Halstead, in the intensity of his excitement over this new move. “Dalton doesn’t seem to want to try the freighter now. Follow Dalton back to shore.”
“But the ‘Fulton’s’ slowing down. You’re going to show him the politeness of telling the freighter’s captain what it was all about, ain’t you?”
“Let Joe do it,” replied Tom, tersely. “What’s the wireless for?”
Just at this moment Joe Dawson appeared from below.
“Our apologies to the freighter, Joe,” called Skipper Tom. “Tell him we’re after the drab boat. Tell him that our game is to stop a fugitive from getting out of the United States.”
Joe again appeared just as the freighter began to make full headway once more.
“Captain Carson sends you his compliments from the ‘Fulton,’ Tom, for chasing the fugitive off.”