"I would not give two cents to the Bank of England to guarantee that he will not overhaul us. But he may follow us to Gib," suggested Scott.
"If he does, Captain Ringgold will have the settling of the matter."
Both of them proceeded to wonder what the commander of the Guardian-Mother would do; but while they were so engaged, Felipe was driving the engine "for all it was worth." The captain kept a sort of log on his paper, and he had noted the time of the departure from the last point on the African coast, which was four: thirty-seven. It was five: twenty-seven when the Maud was within hail of the Tarifa lighthouse.
"Ten miles in fifty minutes!" exclaimed Captain Scott, still working his mathematics. "That's twelve knots an hour, but the two-tenths are missing, though the inward current ought to have been in our favor; but two-tenths of a knot is only two cable lengths, and that is near enough."
"I should say that it was," answered Louis. "She has been driven to make that; and I suppose her ordinary speed when not forced is about ten, which is good enough. But where is the Grand Mogul?"
"There she is, about a mile and a half astern of us," replied Scott, as he went to the door. "She has not gained an inch on us, and I have come to the deliberate conclusion that the Fatimé's speed is about twelve knots an hour when she is doing her best. But neither the Pacha nor his pilot has been smart."
"As smart as the speed of his craft will permit," added Louis.
"No, he is not; but if I had been in command of that hooker, I should have been nearer the Maud than she is now."
"You evidently have a pretty good opinion of Captain Scott, and when you tell the coon up the tree to come down, you expect him to do so," laughed Louis.
"Brag is a good dog, but that is not my name. Of course that Mohammedan reprobate knows that we are bound to Gib; but he has followed us just as though he expected us to fetch up at Tarifa. He has not even changed his course yet."