Away to the left a crest of grey stone reared itself above swirling waters. Towards this the duke was swimming rapidly with the evident intention of fouling the line.
Tommy saw the danger, and just at the right moment put on the check. The duke halted abruptly, paused for a moment just where he was, then suddenly rising high in the water, dived beneath the surface like a dog-otter. There was a sharp snick, the rod jerked back with a swirl of flying line, and Tommy sat down abruptly on the bank.
With a shout of triumph I grabbed my oars, and, shoving off the boat from the bank, sped hastily to the rescue.
I was just in time. Exhausted apparently by his great effort, the duke was drifting feebly down the current, devoting his remaining energies to keeping his head above water. I grabbed him by the collar, and, with a mighty haul, succeeded in lifting him up like some enervated porpoise over the side of the dinghy. With a grunt he collapsed on the seat, and putting all my strength into it, I tugged our craft back to the island.
Tommy, who is a sportsman to the backbone, was standing on the bank with a stiff whisky-and-soda, which he had secured from the bungalow.
"Here you are, Captain Webb," he said. "Get this down your neck, and you'll feel better."
The duke took the glass and shifted its contents without a tremor.
"I'm all right, guv'nor," he said; "but you nearly 'ad me."
Tommy laughed and shook his head.
"Let's see where it broke," he said, turning his late quarry round so as to examine the belt. "By Jove! Just about the ring, and as clean as a whistle! Well, we'd better fix you up with a dry shirt before you go. I've got one I can spare you."