“I have known mistakes, such slight ones, to be made before,” snarled Pawlinson.
“But we can beat ’em to it yet,” I said, with enthusiasm.
“How? What are you driving at?”
“There’s a good twenty-five-mile-an-hour gait bottled up in this little tube,” I explained. “And here we are in a triangle. The police launch is headed cityward, but ahead of us, eh?”
“Right enough.”
“Then out there lies the schooner at another corner of the triangle, and to our port side.”
“Right again.” Pawlinson’s sarcasm was, for the moment, absent.
“I take it you are planning force from the first. You asked as to my gun, you know.”
“Yes, yes. Go ahead, man!”
“Then,” I cried, “what’s the matter with us uncorking every bit of ginger there is in this hydro—shoot[Pg 41] past the schooner—overtake the patrol launch—give ’em the news, and——”