He had much difficulty in
releasing that convulsive grip.
"Thank you!" said the man, smiling, when at last the detective released
his grip. "I'll admit I'd scarcely noticed it myself, but now I come
to think of it, you've been fastened onto me like a vise for over two
hours!"
"Two hours!" cried Stringer; and, crouching down to steady himself, for
the cutter was beginning to roll heavily, he pulled out his watch, and
in the gray light inspected the dial.
It was true! They had been racing seaward for some hours!
"Good God!" he muttered.
He stood up again, unsteadily, feet wide apart, and peered ahead through
the grayness.
The banks he could not see. Far away on the port bow a long gray shape
lay--a moored vessel. To starboard were faint blurs, indistinguishable,
insignificant; ahead, a black dot with a faint comet-like tail--the
pursued cutter--and ahead of that, again, a streak across the blackness,
with another dot slightly to the left of the quarry...
He turned and looked along the police boat, noting that whereas, upon
the former occasion of his looking, forms and faces had been but dimly
visible, now he could distinguish them all quite clearly. The dawn was
breaking.
"Where are we?" he inquired hoarsely.
"We're about one mile northeast of Sheerness and two miles southwest
of the Nore Light!" announced Rogers--and he laughed, but not in a
particularly mirthful manner.
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