“Why, yes, about his build, though the distance was considerable, and the fellow’s back was turned this way as he went on board.”
“Just one passenger went to the ‘Buzzard’, eh?” broke in Henry Tremaine.
“All I noticed,” confessed Jeff. “I wasn’t paying particular attention.”
Joe, in the meantime, had made a straight break down into the motor room. Now his engines were running.
“Lay out forward, here, Jeff, to help me stow the anchor away,” called the youthful skipper. One of the Tampa officers also aided.
“Crowd the speed on, Joe, as fast as you properly can,” shouted down Halstead as he took his place at the wheel.
Almost with a jump the “Restless” started. The boat supposed to be the “Buzzard” was now about hull-down. Her solitary signal mast would be a hard thing to keep in sight across an interval of several miles.
By this time Jeff Randolph was in possession of the main facts. He knew they were in frenzied pursuit of Oliver Dixon, who was believed to carry with him some sixty thousand dollars, in all, that Henry Tremaine stood to lose.
Now that President Haight knew his bank did not stand to lose a large sum, because of Tremaine’s unfaltering guarantee, the bank man was no longer near a state of collapse. Still, he keenly felt Tremaine’s suspense.
“I’ll never be such a fool again,” muttered Tremaine, to his wife. “I’ll never go security for anyone after this—not even my brother.”