"Well," said Bill, "that may be firing, but I'll be hanged if it is at all pleasant."
"Oh, heed it not," said Todd; "heed it not. They would have such a laugh at both me and you, if by any means they could frighten you into stopping, and so giving me up—no, no, I mean giving up the wager. What am I saying?"
"I tell you what it is," said Bill, "to my mind this is a very odd sort of wager, and if you have no sort of objection to it, sir, we will just pull to the next stairs, and put you ashore. If you don't like that, why, I rather think you must be content to lose your wager."
"You will desert me? Oh, no—no. Surely you will not, and cannot. You have but to name your price, and you shall have it."
"No. That won't do. You must land now."
Todd looked nervously along the bank of the river, and he saw a little miserable landing-place, towards which the men now began to urge the boat. He thought then that if he could get anything like a start of his pursuers on the shore, all might yet be well. "I could get across the country to Gravesend, and if once there, I might find some vessel to take me off."
"Pull to shore, then," he said; "I will take my chance. Pull to shore at once, as swiftly as you possibly can."
When the boat's head was turned towards the shore, it was pretty evident that the police-galley was much more intent upon getting to Todd than to Gravesend, for the rowers in it on the instant turned the boat's head in the same direction, and it became then, truly, a case of life and death to Todd.
Vigorously as the boatmen worked, the little wherry was quickly so close to the shore, that Todd saw he could land by a scramble through the water.
"There is your money," he cried, to the men; "and for what you have done, I thank you with all my heart. Good-by to you."