The tug was where it lay when we left, and at my hail the captain and his crew of three were astir. It was a moment's work to get Mrs. Knapp and her charge aboard. “Come on!” I cried to Dicky and his companion. And as the lines were cast off they made a running jump on to the deck of the tug boat, and the vessel backed out into the stream. As the wharf faded away into the mist that hung over the waters I thought I saw shapes of men and horses rushing frantically to the edge, and a massive figure waving its arms like a madman, and shouting impotent curses into the air. But with the distance, the uncertain light, and the curtain of mist that was thickening between us, my eyes might have deceived me, and I omitted to mention my suspicions to Mrs. Knapp. When the mist and darkness had blotted out shore, wharves and shipping, the tug moved at half-speed down the channel. I persuaded the captain that there was no need to sound the whistle, but he declined gruffly to increase his speed. “I might as well be shot as run my boat ashore,” he growled, with a few emphatic seamanlike adjectives that appeared to belong to nothing in particular. “And any one that doesn't like my way of running a boat can get out and walk.” I did not know of any particular reason for arguing the question, so I joined Mrs. Knapp. “Thank God, we are safe!” she said, with a sigh of relief. “We shall be in the city in half an hour, if that is safety,” I said. “It will be safety for a few days. Then we can devise a new plan. I have a strong arm to lean on again.” “I think if you would tell me who the boy is, and why the danger threatens him, I might help you more wisely.” “Perhaps you are right,” said Mrs. Knapp thoughtfully. “You shall know before it is necessary to make our next plans.” And then the boy called for her attention and I returned to the deck. The light of the morning was growing. Vessels were moving. The whistles of the ferry-boats, as they gave warning of their way through the mist, rose shrill on the air. The waters were still, a faint ripple showing in strange contrast to the scene of last night. “There's a steamer behind us,” said Dicky Nahl, with a worried look as I joined him. “I've been listening to it for five minutes.” “It's a tug,” said the captain. “She was lying on the other side of the wharf last night.” “Good heavens!” I cried. “Put on full steam, then, or we shall be run down in the bay. It's the gang we are trying to get away from.” The captain looked at me suspiciously for a moment, and was inclined to resent my interference. Then he shrugged his shoulders as though it was none of his business whether we were lunatics or not so long as we paid for the privilege, and rang the engine bell for full speed ahead.