They were gliding silently up the bay when a pencil of light like a hot finger reached forward to touch them, then blinked out.
“Powerful electric torch,” the girl told herself.
A moment, two, three passed. The pop-popping grew louder.
“Gaining,” she said with a sigh that was a sob. “Should have told all. Had the customs officials, Civil Service, Captain O’Connor and all after them,” she said to Pearl. “But that room in the old fort. I wanted to see it. Silks, dresses, such things as she’d never seen, that’s what Betty said.”
The pencil of light felt for them again out of the dark, found them, then swung away.
“Nearer,” said Ruth. “Much nearer. Get us. And then?”
She leaned far forward, trying to see into the night. Fort Georges was ahead there somewhere, and——
The sudden reach of the white finger of light showed her something—a dark bulk straight ahead.
Quick as a flash she shot a line free, gripped a yardarm, reefed the sail, reached out into the dark, felt something, braced herself against it, held the schooner away, but allowed her to move forward until with a sigh she lost the touch of that hard bulk and all but fell into the sea.
The schooner swerved to the right, then glided forward once more.