Something in his tone arrested the man's attention, but it was with obvious fear of personal violence that he approached the sea in company with the madman. Out in the middle of the loch was a rowing-boat, being rapidly propelled seawards down the narrow estuary on the ebbing tide.
"Do you see that?" Grant asked. "I want to overtake that boat, and I can't do it in a rowing-boat."
"No, you can't," said the man. "The tide goes out there like a mill stream."
"That's why I must have the motorboat. Who runs the motor? Mr. Drysdale?"
"No; I do usually when he goes out."
"Come on, then. You'll have to do it now. Mr. Drysdale knows all about me. I've been fishing the river all day. That man has a stolen boat, to begin with, and we want him very badly for other reasons, so get busy."
"Are you going to take all the responsibility of it if I go?"
"Oh, yes; you'll have the law on your side all right. I promise you that."
"Well, I'll just have to leave a message" — and he darted into the house.
Grant put out a hand to stop him, but was too late. For a second he was afraid that he was not, after all, convinced, and was merely making his escape; but in a moment he was back and they were running across the long, narrow lawn to the boathouse, where Master Robert floated. Drysdale had evidently christened the boat after the horse whose winning of the National had provided the money for her purchase. As the butler was fiddling with the engine, which uttered tentative spurts, Drysdale came round the end of the house with his gun, evidently just back from an afternoon on the hill, and Grant hailed him joyfully, and hurriedly explained what had happened. Drysdale said not a word, but came back to the boathouse with him and said, "It's all right, Pidgeon; I'll see to that, and take Mr. Grant out. Will you see that there is a good dinner waiting for two — no, three — when we get back?"