“Any doubt about our popping across, sir?” asked the detective.
“Not unless the upper current in which we are bowling along changes,” said Harry Goodall. “In that case we may not fetch the land where we expected to do.”
“If I can only cast my eyes on Croft, and place the handcuffs round his wrists, I don’t mind a ducking, sir,” said Warner.
“Don’t forget that he is as slippery as an eel, Warner,” cried the aeronaut, whose telescope was directed on some small vessel in the distance.
“It grows darker over the land, sir!” said Trigger.
“It does, Tom, and that is why we shall have all our work to do in sighting the lugger before the sea fog envelopes her, that is, if she is, as we suppose, between us and the French coast.”
CHAPTER XX
THE FIGHT IN THE FOG
To be exposed to the risk of disappointment when the intrepid voyagers were two-thirds of their way across the Channel was terribly annoying. Their failure or success, seemed to depend on the fickle wind, but Harry Goodall did not lose heart, being confident in his own prowess and resources, and being buoyed up with reminiscences of his own good luck on previous occasions, especially under the circumstances attending his arrival in Wedwell Park.
Harry Goodall assured his companions, therefore, that all the time the wind was blowing from a northerly direction, they could pass on into France, even if they had to allow the fishing-lugger to slip out of their grasp, as she might do, if Croft saw the balloon advancing in pursuit of him. The great point they had to study was this, could they get sight of the French craft before the thick mist that was gathering over the coast, covered the interval of sea that was before them?
“We are now, I should guess,” said Harry Goodall, “about twelve miles from Dieppe, and we are inclining to the southward of that port. We must therefore strain every nerve to ‘spot’ the lugger.”