“I heard a voice just now,” said Warner, “very much like Croft’s.”
“Hush!” muttered Harry Goodall. “Don’t you see the number on her sails faintly looming in the distance?”
“We’re getting pretty near them,” whispered Warner. “Listen to what is said.”
“I will pay you extra, skipper, if you land me at Havre.”
“That’s Croft, the Pocket Hercules, speaking, I’ll be sworn, sir,” said the detective.
“Not a word more! We’re within an ace of running into them, but they are looking the other way.”
“Are you steering for Havre, skipper?” asked a voice very like Croft’s on board the lugger.
“I comprend vat you say, monsieur,” said the skipper, “but ve must vait ontil de mist rise; ve are long vay from Dieppe, and vy you go to Havre?”
“That’s no business of your’s, skipper; you take me there!” cried Croft.
“Oui, oui, mais mon Dieu! vat is that? A round ship or de sun?”