Still, we had the chance for which we erstwhile so ardently prayed.
The affair had now assumed a different phase, and promised to be a water chase. With my yacht in sight, I had great hopes of winning out.
Besides, Hildegarde was going on board—she must have forgotten her violent declaration that nothing could induce her to set her foot on that detestable yacht.
When I dropped into the stern of the boat, I naturally floundered a little; but it was beamy enough to allow one a chance to recover, and I knew I had business to attend to at my end, as well as Robbins did with his oars.
For instance, there were two ugly boatmen on the landing stage; I imagined they would be in just the humor to hurl anything after us they could lay their hands on, and since we were not alone in the boat, it was my business to prevent such a bombardment.
As their forms loomed up on the edge of the planks, and I saw one fellow raise his arm to hurl some heavy weight into our boat that might have sunk us, not to mention the chances for mangled limbs, I sent him my compliments instanter.
With the flash and the report, both men dropped flat upon the dock, one from fright, the other, I fervently hoped, because he had a bit of hot lead somewhere about his anatomy. When I heard him groaning and uttering a perfect prize collection of swear words, I knew I had pinked the rascal, and my spirits went up accordingly.
Robbins was tugging away like an engine, but the clumsy old boat seemed to move through the water like a tub or a derelict.
I heard the mate grumble.
“What’s wrong, old man?” I called, watching the quay for expected figures, for we were still too close for comfort, despite strenuous exertions.