“I would not be quite so confident of his folly,” advised Kenyon. “He seems to have been shrewd enough to escape us to-night. He suspected that the yacht would be stopped on her way out, apparently; so he did not venture aboard her. And, to gain time possibly, he sent her out in charge of three of her crew. There is no knowing where he has gone in the meantime.”
“Have you searched the yacht?” asked Farbush.
“No.”
“Then he may be aboard, after all.”
A half-dozen men searched the Wizard from end to end; but, as Kenyon had reasoned, Forrester was not on board. Steam was gotten up and the Wizard was headed toward Pelham Bay, the two power-boats following in her wake.
“That, then, was your boat that we heard all along,” said Farbush, as he leaned over the Wizard’s stern rail, his eyes upon the two low-lying, shadowy crafts.
“Very likely, you did hear us,” answered Kenyon.
“You seem to have quite a crew on board of her,” commented Farbush, peering through the night.
“Of course. Like yourself I was not at all sure as to what resistance I’d meet with. Success only comes to the ready man.”
Just then a great beam of white light shot across the water and brought all three vessels into strong relief. It was the searchlight at Fort Schuyler; the firing had evidently been heard, and they were endeavoring to locate the trouble. At the first swinging sweep of the light the Vixen’s decks were flooded. Kenyon saw Gypsy Brady and his followers still grouped about the rebellious skipper and engineer; at the wheel was a slim, girlish figure enveloped in the long coat, and near by was Garry Webster.