To be delayed until somebody appeared to challenge their going was to lose half the battle. Varney went off to the sailing-master and spoke with him again, concisely. The sailing-master, a sensitive man to criticism, once more apologized, very technically, and redoubled his energies. He went below himself to superintend the repairs and to prod the laggards to their utmost endeavors. In less than three quarters of an hour, by Peter's watch, he was up again, in a shower of falling perspiration, to announce that all was ready. However, valuable moments had been lost. It was now nearly half-past twelve, or, in Peter's indignant summary, "just an hour and a half too late." Varney glanced toward the bridge. "All ready there?" he called. "All ready, sir," said the sailing-master, and sprang for the indicator. "Hold on," said Peter suddenly. "We're getting visitors. There's some one signaling us from the shore." Varney's heart bounded. He turned with an exclamation; but in the next breath, he ordered: "Let her go, Ferguson." Upon the shore, at the spot where the _Cypriani's_ boat ordinarily landed, stood a tallish, stocky young man, looking at them cheerfully and swabbing his brow with a large blue handkerchief. Catching Varney's eye, he waved his hand with the handkerchief in it, and said, for the second time: "Hello, aboard the _Cypriani!_" Varney stepped to the rail, a faint smile on his lip. "Hello, there! What can we do for you?" "Hot as merry hell, isn't it?" said the young man pleasantly. "Send a boat over for me, will you? I'm Hammerton, of the _Gazette_ and the New York _Daily_, and I want to come aboard for a little talk." "Never in this world!" breathed Peter, _sotto voce_. Varney smiled, grimly. "Sorry, Mr. Hammerton. You're just too late. We are starting away from Hunston this very minute." The _Cypriani_ shuddered like a live thing and slid slowly forward. CHAPTER XI WHICH SHOWS THE HERO A FUGITIVE Four miles downstream, the river's banks grew a long mile apart, and the scenery was lonesome and a little wild. Here, as it chanced, there was flung across the water a thin, rocky island, well-wooded and of a respectable length. It lay nearest the western shore; and not a hamlet or even a house, it seemed, commanded it from either side. They recognized it from afar as ideal anchorage for a yacht which wanted to be let alone. So they slowed down into the island's curving shore and dropped anchor in the lee of it, out of sight of the Hunston side of the river and in little evidence from any point in midstream above or below.