Andrew knew that Whitney could not have fired the shot. But at the moment this was not important; he must get his gun while the man was occupied. As he felt for it he heard Whitney run round the stern of the wreck. He was safe now; but that crackling sound had begun again, and at all costs Williamson must be stopped. Besides, Andrew had a signal of his own to make. Leaving the gun, he climbed up a timber and had just reached the deck when an indistinct figure rushed across it and vanished over the broken bulwarks on the opposite side. Then a patter of feet on the sand indicated that Williamson was escaping.
For all that, Andrew stopped, and, dragging a tin from his pocket, put it on the rail and struck a match. As he dropped it into the tin a bright blaze sprang up. Then he jumped down to the sand and seized his gun. The fellow who had shot at him had disappeared and there was nobody in sight; but he could hear men running on the other side of the wreck.
"Come on!" Whitney's voice reached him out of the darkness.
As he splashed through the water around the vessel's stern he saw two figures on the sand. One he took to be Whitney and the other was evidently a friend. Making an effort, he caught them up, and Whitney began to talk in breathless gasps.
"An Annan man—Dick sent him. Think coastguards will see your flare?"
"Where's Williamson and the other fellow?" Andrew asked quickly.
"Close ahead. They were going back to the channel, but couldn't get past us. What about the tide?"
Andrew began to understand the situation. While he was trying to surprise Williamson, his assailant had quietly come up behind him; and he, in turn, had been followed by the man Dick had sent. The fugitives must now make for the Scotch shore, or risk being shot at if they tried to go around his party's flank. In order to prevent this, he must extend his line.
"Spread out!" he cried. "Tide's flowing now, and the water will be in the gut when we get there!"
Whitney and the fisherman moved off left and right, and Andrew, glancing round, saw that his flare was burning. The men they followed could not see it because they faced the other way, and although there was some mist, he thought the signal would warn the coast-patrol, whom Rankine had told to keep a good lookout. They ran on, splashing across wet sand and into pools. Sometimes they caught a glimpse of two figures ahead and sometimes lost them in the haze. It was hard to tell whether they were gaming or not. Andrew dared not stop to take off his long boots, and the Annan man, hampered by his oilskins, was falling back; but Whitney was running well and drawing in front.