“But it’s impossible to get to the deck of that vessel at her present speed,” protested the skipper.
“I’ll show you in a few minutes that it is not,” Kenyon assured him.
“What do you mean?” suspiciously.
“Just point her nose toward the yacht’s stern. I think I can get her rail in a jump from the cabin roof.”
“You could never do it. Another thing, I’m not going to give you a chance to try. If the Vixen once got so far into the wash of that craft, she’d be swamped.”
Just then a high-pitched voice was heard crying from the Wizard’s deck:
“Sheer off there, you fools, or I’ll run you down!”
There was silence for a moment, save for the beat of the engines and the dashing of the dark water; then a gunshot roared redly through the night, followed by a scream of pain.
“Head her over,” cried Kenyon, excitedly, to the skipper.
“I’m blessed if I do,” replied the man, stubbornly. “What the devil are you folks after, anyhow?”