Of all the thousands who pressed themselves against the straining booms none realised that the race was for a prize far more precious than a mere cup of gold valued at two thousand guineas.
The Watersnake was in front, a clear hundred yards separating her from the pursuing Seamaid. All the other yachts lagged hopelessly in the rear.
Scattering the foam at their bows, the two boats rushed along the blue lane of clear water which lay between the booms. Ralph, at the wheel of the Seamaid, gazed anxiously forward. Could they do it?
"Let loose the spinnaker," he commanded gruffly. "Haul on the signal halyard. Lower the keelson."
The orders were swiftly executed, and the Seamaid leaped forward with a bound. The distance between the two vessels rapidly lessened.
"Fred," said Ralph, "you must take the wheel for a time. I'm going forward to board the Watersnake."
Lord Tamerton obediently grasped the wheel, while Ralph ran forward and crept along the bowsprit. The intervening space was now very small. Bracing himself for the effort, he shot through the air and landed upon the deck of the Watersnake. The first object which met his gaze was Lady Margaret, her wrists bound, lying beside the barnacle.
Sir Ernest Scrivener uttered a horrible oath as he recognised the features of his successful rival. For an instant he loosened his grasp on the wheel. The vessel yawed in her course and he was compelled to seize the spokes again.
Before Scrivener could command his wits sufficiently to shout an order to his crew, Ralph had caught up Lady Margaret in his arms and dashed to the side of the vessel. Deprived of his skilled command, the Seamaid had dropped behind; it was impossible to leap back to her decks.
Without hesitation, Ralph dived into the water, and still supporting the now unconscious form of Lady Margaret, swam rapidly towards the yacht. Two minutes later he was gripping the wheel and concentrating all his immense will power upon the task of winning the race.