"The Seagull?" he repeated. "That'd be the schooner as came in last Tooseday—name o' Sangatte?"
I nodded.
He turned towards the broad estuary, and shading his eyes with his hand stared out to sea.
"There she be," he said at last, pointing down the river.
With a horrible sinking sensation at my heart, I followed the line of his finger. About a mile out a smart-looking vessel of perhaps a hundred and fifty tons was running swiftly seawards before the fresh westerly breeze.
"That's 'er right enough," said the old man. "Put out 'bout one o'clock, she did. The owner come down in a moty-car—same as you gentlemen."
"Was he alone?" I asked, still hoping faintly that we might be mistaken.
The old man shook his head. "'E 'ad a young lady with 'im—bit ill she seemed, too. I see'd 'im 'elping 'er to the boat."
I think I knew then what natives mean when they talk about "seeing red." Before I could crush back my fury sufficiently to speak, Billy broke in.
"Is there any faster boat in the harbour?" he cried. "We've got an important letter for the owner, and money's no object if we can catch her before she gets to sea."