“It’s going to be a pretty close shave,” I remarked, as I stood beside Tom, who had given the wheel to the boy.
“Yes, but I’m going to head straight for Ryder, and trust to luck,” he said. We were well towards the shores of the Isle as the launch came near enough to hail.
“Stop or we shoot,” came hurtling at us.
“No go,” said Tom resignedly, as he stopped the engine, “and there’s the shore not five hundred yards away.”
Just as he spoke, the light vanished. The searchlight had gone out; something must have happened to the current. We could hear the officer swear vigorously, as the launch came up.
Tom seized my arm. “To the dingy,” he whispered. “Lad, if you keep your mouth shut, I’ll straighten everything out,” he murmured to the boy, as we scrambled to the stern.
“Roight, sor,” said the boy briefly, as he sat phlegmatically beside the engine.
Tumbling into the dingy, I seized the oars and pulled swiftly towards the shore, as the launch came up on the opposite side. We could hear the hail as the officer came aboard, and his angry raging “Where are the other men?”
“Don’t know,” answered the boy.
The officer ran to the stern.