“Hold on, sir!” cried Trigger. “What do you make of that vessel further down to our right?”
“By Jove, Tom! Here hand me over Mr Strive’s sketch while Warner looks at her with his glass. He knows more about her than we do.”
“That’s she right enough,” exclaimed the detective, “and I can actually make out her number—365.”
“Well, then, that’s the vessel to a certainty, Warner. And, I say, just look at that steamer, miles away, coming from the north; you see that her smoke is drifting towards us, which clearly shows that the wind has changed below. Still, we are holding our own up here, and we are moving towards France.”
“Do you notice, sir,” said Trigger, “how fast the fog is bearing down on the lugger?”
“Yes, you’re right; I have been observing that, Tom, for some minutes past, and I noticed, too, that they have somewhat altered their course. Depend upon it, Croft has seen the balloon, and is trying to make for Havre, but we are moving that way too, which will favour the scheme I now intend to adopt.”
“The lugger,” said Warner, “Will be hidden by the fog in a few minutes, Mr Goodall.”
“So much the better,” replied the aeronaut, “and my mind is now fully made up what to do before the fog lifts, and if we drop quickly, but fail to grapple with her, we can re-ascend into the higher current and pass into France. I have well calculated our distance, and intend to descend on the other side of her, in fact, between her and the coast, because then the easterly breeze below will carry us towards her, exactly on the side they won’t expect to see us, and should we not be running absolutely straight on to her, we can make the necessary divergence by means of the drag and deflector. Do you follow me, Warner?”
“I think so, sir.”
“Right. Well, now, I will let out gas and make a swoop through the fog, so be ready, Tom, with the drag, and you, Warner, must stand by and be prepared to unship sand at a moment’s notice.”