Within the Sound, reached with such daring and risk, there was no safety, now that Uncle Sam’s watchdog had their scent, so to speak.
But, with the perversity which Nature seems sometimes to show, the elements played a card in favor of the evil-doers. Heavy rain squalls came up, and the wind blew the water in sheets that made a perfect screen for a slipping, silent gray shape.
Captain Ortiga took quick advantage of his fortune. The gray Senorita nosed out into Little Card Sound, crossed its end, skirting the shore, and, again at the outlet, nosed quietly, slowly out toward freedom. In the downpour it was unlikely that they could be sighted and the propeller thrash would be deadened by the wind and waves.
“I have a scheme,” whispered Nicky, as the chums stood at the bow, straining their eyes hopefully into the downpour, themselves heedless of the rain that stung their faces. Tew, with surprising kindliness, had loaned them oil-skins from the “slop chest” or supply reserve.
“What is your plan?” queried Tom, lips close to Nicky’s ear.
Three heads drew together.
“I was in the little steerman’s cubby at the front of the cabin, just now,” Nicky said. “I saw the place where the electric buttons are set. They control the electric lights.”
“I see what you mean,” Cliff broke in. “You want to get in there and work the electric lights.”
“Yes. Then the cutter will see us.”
Tom raised an objection. “If she chases us again,” he declared, “she will fire until she hits us.”