"Think he'll do it?" enquired Webb. "It's a fearful long way."
"Yes, I do," replied Osborne. "These Levanters are splendid swimmers, and the sea is particularly warm. He's good for ten miles, I should say. However, on second thoughts, I think we'll pick him up, and then devote our attentions to the felucca."
The swimmer, finding that the patrol-boat had altered helm and was heading in his direction, took in the situation most philosophically. Treading water he awaited the approach of his captors, and, grasping a rope thrown to him, swarmed on board with the greatest agility.
"Me think you German ship," he explained nonchalantly.
As he stood dripping on the deck his face was towards the setting sun. On the other hand, the two officers who were confronting him were standing back to the dazzling light.
"Oh, indeed!" rejoined Osborne, signing to two of the crew to stand by. "German ship? No, you won't get me to swallow that yarn, Georgeos Hymettus."
At the sound of his name the Greek started violently, and made an attempt to throw himself overboard. In this he nearly succeeded. For, as he had divested himself of his clothing as far as the waist in order to swim the better, his wet skin afforded little hold. After a brief yet furious struggle he was secured and taken below.
By this time the felucca was less than two cables' lengths ahead. Her crew must have observed the struggle on the patrol-boat's deck. Without waiting to be hailed, they promptly lowered the huge lateen sails and awaited their captor's approach.
"Now what's all this running-away business about?" enquired the Lieutenant, addressing a gaudily dressed Greek who was evidently the skipper. "Where are your papers? Where's your passenger list? I find you had a passenger," he added significantly.
The master disappeared into a small deck-house abaft the mainmast. Webb, revolver in hand, followed.