“Have they gained any?”
“No,” replied the other decisively. “They may not be any closer, but I’m certain they haven’t gained on us. There are the lights from Shinnecock over there. We’ve done about six miles since we left the landing.”
The fleeing launch was headed straight for the passage between the southerly point of Robins Island and Cow Neck, and was now about half-way between Spanish Head and the mile-wide passage. The lights of Shinnecock lay three miles off to the southeast. The throb of the scurrying Frolic alone broke the silence of the moonlit night for several minutes, and then Toby, his gaze fixed on the launch ahead, uttered an exclamation of satisfaction.
“I’m not sure, Arn,” he said, “but I think we’re closing up a little. Doesn’t she look nearer than she did?”
Arnold agreed and once more seized his oil can. A cruising launch sped past them a quarter-mile to the north, her port light glowing wanly in the moonlight. Toby’s eyes scarcely left the dark spot ahead and presently he said, with conviction: “We’re overhauling her fast now, Arn! You’d better get that bluff in working order, I guess.”
“I—I’ll get the megaphone ready,” muttered Arnold. “Then we can talk to them from a safe distance.”
“The safer the better,” agreed Toby. “I wouldn’t mind if we could talk to them by wireless. What does it feel like to get a bullet in you, Arn?”
“Don’t be a chump,” begged Arnold. “Just keep your head down and they can’t hit you.”
“I’m going to,” answered the other dryly. “I’m thinking about putting it in the gasoline tank. Hello!”
The launch ahead lengthened slightly in the uncertain light.