“Keep her in view,” roared Rogers.
“Port, sir!”
“How’s that?”
“Starboard, easy!”
“Keep her in view!”
“As she is, sir!”
Again they settled down to the pursuit, and it began to dawn upon Stringer’s mind that the boat ahead must be engined identically with that of the police; for whilst they certainly gained nothing upon her, neither did they lose.
“Try a hail,” cried Rogers from the stern. “We may be chasing the wrong boat!”
“Cutter ’hoy!” bellowed the man beside Stringer, using his hands in lieu of a megaphone—“heave to!”
“Give ’em ‘in the King’s name!’” directed Rogers again.
“Cutter ’hoy,” roared the man through his trumpeted hands,—“heave to—in the King’s name!”
Stringer glared through the fog, clutching at the shoulder of the shouter almost convulsively.
“Take no notice, sir,” reported the man.
“Then it’s the gang!” cried Rogers from the stern; “and we haven’t made a mistake. Where the blazes are we?”
“Well on the way to Blackwall Reach, sir,” answered someone. “Fog lifting ahead.”
“It’s the rain that’s doing it,” said the man beside Stringer.
