Even then, under the opposing action of the twin propellers the Alerte described a fairly wide turning circle. It was only by a hand's-breadth that she avoided running her nose against the opposite bank.
"Easy ahead both!" bawled the navigating officer.
The dense wooded ground echoed and re-echoed to the explosions of the supposedly muffled exhausts. If this noise continued, Trevorrick realised that all attempt to disguise the means of propulsion of the Alerte was at an end. As far as he could judge, the distinctive sounds would be audible from Green Bank to St. Mawes.
Gradually the river opened out. Mylor Creek bore broad on the starboard beam. Now unchecked by the lofty and narrow banks the noise of the exhausts sensibly diminished, while the rising breeze, hitherto masked by the trees, served still further to stifle the oral evidence of the presence of the mysterious craft.
Then, like a galaxy of stars, the lights of the shipping and the town of Falmouth opened out. For the next three miles would be the critical part of the run. At any moment the tricoloured lamp of one of the Customs' launches might be seen bearing down upon the outgoing "tramp."
"Lugo Buoy on the port bow, sir!"
Now the gauntlet was all but run. Ahead loomed the rugged outlines of St. Anthony and Pendennis, with the narrow channel between them, still further contracted by the dangerous Black Rock.
"Ahoy! What ship is that?" hailed a voice out of the darkness. Unseen and unheard, a motor launch had swept alongside the pirate vessel's port quarter.
"Alerte of London!" shouted Trevorrick.
"Cargo?"