“Navigate this boat out of here. Hansen and—and—somebody else will attend to the engines.”
“The somebody else being the man who put the sand in our carburetors—Hawke.”
Malvin was perceptibly startled.
“Hawke! What do you know about him?” he demanded.
“Oh, quite a good deal. You’re a fool to travel with such a man, Malvin. We met him on Windmill Island. We know that you picked him up there and have kept him concealed on the River Swallow. I more than suspect, moreover, that he is a certain notorious diamond smuggler for whom the authorities on both sides of the border have their nets spread. Is that enough?”
“Yes, it’s more than enough. You’re too flip. Now get up on that bridge or take the consequences.”
“All right. Tell your men to get the anchor up.”
Malvin uttered a peculiar whistle. It must have been a signal, for the clank of the windlass was heard almost immediately. The River Swallow began to swing her bow as the current turned her down river.
Again came a whistle from Malvin and the engines began to rumble and shake the craft with their revolutions. They were running “free.” That is, the clutch that caused them to engage the shafts had not yet been “thrown.”
Ralph had a plan in his mind. It was a desperate chance to take, but his seemingly ready agreement with Malvin’s orders had proceeded from this same wild plan he had suddenly formed.