.. and fell beyond her
reach. She was swept past the cutter. A second belt was hurled from the
stern...
The Eurasian, uttering a wailing cry like that of a seabird, strove to
grasp it...
Close beside her, out of the wave, uprose a yellow hand,
grasping--seeking--clutching. It fastened itself into the meshes of her
floating hair...
"Here goes!" roared Rogers.
They plunged down into an oily trough; they turned; a second wave grew
up above them, threateningly, built its terrible wall higher and higher
over their side. Round they swung, and round, and round...
Down swept the eager wave... down--down--down... It lapped over
the stern of the cutter; the tiny craft staggered, and paused,
tremulous--dragged back by that iron grip of old Neptune--then leaped
on--away--headed back into the Thames estuary, triumphant.
"God's mercy!" whispered Stringer--"that was touch-and-go!"
No living thing moved upon the waters.
XLI
WESTMINSTER--MIDNIGHT
Detective-Sergeant Sowerby reported himself in Inspector Dunbar's room
at New Scotland Yard.
"I have completed my inquiries in Wharf-end Lane," he said; and pulling
out his bulging pocketbook, he consulted it gravely.
Inspector Dunbar looked up.
"Anything important?" he asked.
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