Joe took his seat on a padded cushion at the stern, noticing as he did so that there were several husky figures sprawling up near the bow.
The cool night air was very grateful after the heat of the day, and Joe took off his straw hat, so as to get the full benefit of the breeze.
Several minutes passed, and Joe began to wonder that they had not reached the yacht where McRae was waiting for him.
“How far out did you say the yacht was?” he asked casually of the man who was steering.
The man grunted, but made no intelligible reply.
“I asked you how far out the yacht was,” Joe repeated, a vague uneasiness beginning to take possession of him.
At this, a huge figure detached itself from the group forward and came toward him. It was Hennessy, a sour and evil smile upon his weather-beaten face.
“I never heard the old hooker called a yacht before,” he grinned, “but if you must know, it’s quite a tidy way down the bay before we come to it.”
“Why, Mr. McRae said it was lying just off the wharf!” exclaimed Joe.