I ran back to the steps, and getting into the dinghy, tugged her round to where the others were standing. There I caught hold of a branch and steadied myself against the bank.
"When you're ready," I called out.
With delightful coolness the duke sauntered to the edge, where the river was deepest.
"All right, guv'nor?" he inquired, looking back over his shoulder at Tommy.
The latter nodded, planting himself firmly on the grass, with his legs well apart.
There was a short pause, and then suddenly the tattered figure on the bank shot outwards and downwards, taking the water with a splash that sent the spray flying in all directions. Tommy took a step forward, and the line went screaming out like an angry wasp.
Tense with excitement, Mortimer and I stared at the spot where the duke had disappeared. He came up some ten yards further on. The line was still fastened to his back, but without a moment's hesitation he set off down stream, swimming with a vigorous overhand stroke that carried him along rapidly in the swift-running water.
He must have covered about twenty-five yards before Tommy made his first attempt to check him. We saw the line tighten suddenly, and the point of the rod bend double beneath the strain. The effect on the duke was instantaneous. Ceasing to swim, he spun round in the water, and lay on his back apparently as helpless as a floating log.
Very carefully Tommy began to wind him in. Nearer and nearer he came, jerking along through the broken water, and making no attempt to resist. For a moment I thought it was all over, and then, just as Mortimer was creeping down the bank with the stick in his hand, there came another sharp "whirr" from the reel, and away went the quarry down the stream as vigorously as a freshrun salmon.
"Look out!" yelled Mortimer. "He's making for the rock!"