"Thank the Lord he suspected nothing," said Lawless as the Kite faded away in the distance. "If it came out that I'd actually towed that Mahoney blackguard and his cargo of contraband into harbour and then let him go, there'd be the very deuce to pay."
"And to think," chuckled Trent, "that you entertained Mr. Mahoney alias Rossan to dinner! I'll bet he chortled when—"
"Mr. Trent, attend to your duties," snapped Lawless and left the bridge.
CHAPTER VIII
THE BELL BUOY
Above the inky surface of the North Sea, battalion after battalion of low-lying, black clouds rolled across the moonless sky, driven by a southerly wind that frequently lashed itself into gusts and squalls of short-lived violence. Like a shadow riding the white-capped rollers, the long, low form of the Knat plunged and reeled southwards in the teeth of the rising gale, her high bows throwing up cascades of ghostly white foam each time she met the full force of an on-coming wave. Upon the quivering bridge towering above the narrow, sea-washed decks stood Lawless wrapped in a hooded "lammy" suit, which had once been white but was now the colour of a coal-sack. In front of him a quartermaster, similarly attired, gripped the little steering-wheel and gazed alternately at the illuminated compass and the tiny light at the bows that showed which way the vessel was heading.
"Ease her a couple of points," said the Lieutenant, recovering his balance after a sudden lurch which had thrown him against the searchlight apparatus.
The quartermaster gave the wheel a twist, but his answering call was driven back in his teeth by a gust of rain which swept down upon the sea.
"'Ell!" he muttered, and again fixed his smarting eyes upon the tossing, swaying, illusive glimmer of light on the bows.