A brisk southerly wind was blowing in from the sea.
By the course which the Clio was taking Patsy guessed that it was the intention of her occupants to "beat" down the river against the wind.
Meanwhile, in the Clio, the man with the bandaged head was in a fever of excitement. He crowded the boat for all she could stand, but he seemed, on the whole, to be a clever boatman.
The old salt watched him critically for a few minutes, and then seemed to be satisfied.
Presently he began to notice the anxious glances which the man at the helm cast over his shoulder at the pursuing boat.
"You seem to be anxious to outrun that feller," he said at last.
Patrick Deever, for it was he, nodded his head and set his teeth. The old sailor looked long and earnestly at their pursuer.
"Wall, ye ain't doin' of it," he said, at last.
"Is she gaining?" asked Deever, nervously.
"She be," said the tar, calmly.