"Hold fast there the boats!"
The crew had not time to take up a boat when the cutter was bearing down upon them.
"That man can never get ashore," said an old tar; "No living man in full toggery can go over the side of this boat and ever come unaided out of the sea!"
"The cutter may pick him up," suggested Sol Burton.
"More likely to pick us up! No, no, he'll be down on the bottom before the cutter gets around, and she will not run within five miles of where he went over, if she heads her course to overhaul us."
"It's not a cutter," said Sol Burton.
"Well, let it go so; that man Ballard is with the angels by this time," came the response.
Meantime the detective was moving like a fish through the calm waters toward the shore.
It was a smooth sea, and only a fifteen-mile swim, and he had gone aboard the yacht prepared for the venture.
When Spencer Vance sprung overboard, he was oiled from his ears to his heels, and his clothing was ready to be peeled down to an oil-skin under-suit, lined in the inner side with soft wool.