“All right, go ahead!”
Like a ferret in pursuit of its prey, the naval party’s launch glided out of its obscurity and set off on what was to prove an eventful chase.
“They’re heading north, sir,” whispered Ned.
“Just as I thought,” came Midshipman Stark’s voice in the darkness.
Luckily the wind was out of that quarter, and while the sound of the other craft’s exhaust was clearly borne back to them, of their own progress it would have been manifestly impossible to hear a sound on the leading launch.
“Speed her up a bit,” ordered the middy. “We don’t want them cutting in shore on us before we’ve a chance to intercept them.”
The launch leaped forward in obedience to his command. She was making a good ten knots now, while her adversary could not at the highest estimate have achieved more than seven. The hearts of all on board beat exultingly. Gradually they could make out a phosphorescent gleam on the water ahead and catch the fleeting glimpse of a dim lantern, which marked the whereabouts of the quarry.
“Good, we’ll be up with her in half an hour now,” muttered Stanley, his eyes burning in his head as he riveted them greedily on the chase. The man-of-war’s man was on the work he loved best. The hot blood raced through his veins in the excitement of the chase, as was the case, in fact, with all the party, with one exception. Who that was we shall presently see.