“Hate, me lad, is destructive,” the aged man’s voice was solemn as he took up the thread of conversation he had dropped. “Hate destroys you as well as the people you hate.”
He broke off short to cup a hand behind his ear.
“There was a voice,” he insisted in a hoarse whisper.
“Yes, I heard it,” Johnny replied, tense with sudden excitement.
Ten minutes had passed. They were beginning to relax when the sound came again.
“Over to the right,” MacGregor shrilled. “Turn her about quarterin’ them. Give her top speed.”
“Right.” Johnny twisted the wheel. The motors roared. It was a bold step that might have led to disaster. Should there be a boat out there setting nets, and should they crash at that speed, what would it mean? Johnny did not dare to think.
“There!” MacGregor gripped the boy’s arm.
“Oh—ah!” Johnny groaned. “We missed them.”
It was true. Off to the left, for the space of seconds, they saw an unmistakable dark, gray bulk. And then it was gone.