“Don’t ask questions,” snapped Hegan. “Hop over the side, there.”
With both Martin and Hegan covering them with revolvers, the lads had no alternative but to obey. They were in the dinghy and Martin still held the painter in his hand ready to cast it loose, when an idea occurred to Hegan.
“Pass me up those oars,” he ordered.
Jack gave a sudden tug on the painter but did not succeed in dragging it from Martin’s hand.
“Come down and get them yourself if you’re so anxious for the things,” Jack retorted.
“You young varmint! Bound to give us as much trouble as you can, ain’t you?” snarled Hegan, clambering over the side and nearly swamping the little dinghy—which was never made to hold more than two—as he gained possession of the oars.
“What did you expect me to do?” asked Jack. “Hand them up to you politely and then kiss you good-by? I suppose you fellows both know you’ll go to prison for this as soon as the police put their hands on you.”
“They’ve got to catch us first,” grunted Hegan as, with his foot on the prow of the dinghy, he pushed it off. It slid a few yards through the water and then lay still by the side of the Sea-Lark until a faint puff of wind fluttered the sails of the sloop and she drifted half a cable’s length farther away.
“What in the name of goodness do you suppose those chaps did that for?” Jack exclaimed presently.