“Mr. Kenyon?” he asked.
“That’s right. Are you the man I spoke to over the ’phone?”
Kenyon was brusque and direct; for in times of emergency the old military habit was difficult to shake off.
“Yes, sir. I keep the public boat-house down below here a piece.” Then he turned and pointed out into the stream. “I gave an eye to the yacht Wizard as you told me. That’s her out there with all the lights going. Some people boarded her about a half hour ago; I had a night glass on her, and I think they are trying to get up steam in a hurry.”
“Have you the glass with you?”
“Yes, sir. Here it is.”
The east wind had driven the murk in masses above the city; and along the waters of the river a sort of thickening was noticeable in the darkness. But Kenyon’s keen eyes and the night glass managed to gather the salient features of the proceedings aboard the Wizard. Steam was up and the anchor was being weighed.
“Can you get us out to her before she starts?” asked Kenyon.
The boatman looked at the yacht through the glass.
“It’s too late,” said he, positively. “She’ll be off before I could get you to the launch.”