"But she's no' on the bank."
"I imagine she's out at sea, by now," Dick said grimly. "How long do you think the Nance has been here?"
"Maybe half an hour. Her keel's weel in the ground and the tide doesna' fall much on the last o' the ebb. They're no' expecting to be back until the flood makes, because her anchor's up the bank."
"That's what I thought," said Dick. "Now, I will tell you that Andrew is in danger. I had meant to find him, but I don't feel well enough. I suppose you can use a gun?"
"We get a shot at a whaup or shellduck whiles. Ye're no' looking weel."
Dick lifted a big 10-bore gun from a rack and searched a locker for cartridges.
"Fours," he said, putting down a packet. "I think you'd better have B's. Here they are."
The fisherman looked at him curiously as he took the cartridges, which were loaded with large shot; and Dick smiled.
"You may meet the man who set the punt adrift," he explained. "I want you to go to the wreck and find my cousin. Tell him to be careful, because one of the gang has come down the channel after him. If there's trouble going on when you get there, do what you think best; but bring Andrew back. The police won't blame you afterward if you have to use the gun."
The man nodded quietly, and Dick knew that he could be trusted.