Pearl swung about. In an incredibly short time they were within hailing distance.
“That boat can sail some, can’t she?” the little man shouted.
“She can,” said Ruth through cupped hands.
“Come alongside and take us on board. They’re getting away.” The Secret Service man swung his arm down the bay, where through the light fog a second motor boat was just passing behind the island.
“Who’s getting away?” Ruth asked in some astonishment as they came close up.
“The bombers—the smugglers—the—the wild rascals, whoever they may be, you know as well as I.” The man was in a great state of perspiration. “They just left old Fort Skammel.”
The three girls stared as if they had seen a ghost.
“They can’t have,” said Ruth as soon as she found her voice. “They’re dead, blown into a thousand pieces by their own dynamite.”
“Strange,” puffed the little man as he scrambled aboard the Flyaway, followed by his three companions.
“Let her drift,” he said as he saw Ruth eyeing the stalled motor boat. “Someone will pick her up. There’s important matters afoot. What’s one motor boat more or less?”