“Farbush,” Kenyon told Webster.
Still there was no answer from the yacht.
“She’s increasing her speed,” spoke the skipper of the Vixen. “Her people don’t seem to want to be friendly.”
Bells could be heard jingling from the engine-room of the larger vessel; the rush of water around her bow grew greater; then she shot forward at a swifter rate. The Piedmont’s lights were seen to swing in pursuit; and almost at the same moment the Vixen performed a like manœuvre.
“She can’t outfoot us,” said Kenyon to Dallas, “but we may have some trouble stopping her, if they persist in going ahead.”
“We’ll have to do it before we pass City Island,” growled the Vixen’s skipper. “This craft can’t ride the seas that’s piling into the Sound to-night. She’d swamp if we tried to shove her through.”
They rushed along until they were almost overlapping the Wizard’s stern. However, they were some thirty or more yards to the starboard of her; the Piedmont was upon the port side and apparently directly in her wash.
“It seems as though they were going to try to lay alongside and board her,” cried Webster, suddenly, as he peered through a night glass.
“They’ll go to the bottom if they make the attempt,” prophesied the engineman of the Vixen. “They must be damned fools.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” said Kenyon, quietly. “They are out here to board that yacht, and it’s up to them to do the best they can in the matter. If the people on board the Wizard refuse to stop, they must take steps to accomplish their object, anyhow.”