“Treacherous to the last, Bittle,” said the Saint. “But I saw you, and for that shot you will hang at Exeter in about three months’ time.” And at that instant the ship was flooded with a blinding light. Over the Saint’s shoulder, the three men could see, far astern, the blinding eyes of two powerful searchlights which converged on the ship. “That will be Carn,” said Simon, without taking his gaze from his prisoners, and at that moment Orace and Patricia returned, sick with fear, for they had heard Bittle’s shot. “Only scratched me,” the Saint reassured them. “But he got the Tiger.” He passed the automatics over to Orace and went out on deck. The pursuers were still a long way behind, but they were creeping up fast, and the ship could not have hoped to escape them, with those great beams of light turning darkness into day. “This is the end of the adventure,” said the Saint, with his arm round Patricia’s shoulders. “But, by the grace of God, it is also a beginning.” It was some minutes later that he remembered an important detail—he was reminded of it by seeing the sea swelling up alarmingly close to the starboard scuppers, and in the next second he nearly lost his balance as the deck canted further over. The Saint sprinted astern, sliding and stumbling all over the place. The girl saw him disappear down a companion from the poop, and waited, clinging to a handrail, for balance was becoming more and more difficult. It was some time before he came back, and by then the pursuit was barely a quarter of a mile away. The Saint went into the saloon and found Orace braced against the table for support, but still dutifully covering the now terror-stricken trio. Simon used up the remains of the rope which had been employed on Orace and himself, and at the end of the performance Bittle and Bloem and Maggs were trussed hand and foot beyond all possibility of escape. The Saint and Orace between them dragged the men out on deck. By then the ship had stopped altogether, and rolled low and sluggishly in the oily billows. The pursuing boats were closing in on either side, and the Saint climbed to the upper deck and stood in the full glare of the searchlights. In a moment Carn’s voice hailed him through a megaphone. “What’s happened? Are you all right?” “Marvellous!” Simon called back cheerfully. “We’ve got three prisoners and one corpse waiting for you.” “I’ll be on board in two minutes,” said Carn, and was as good as his word. He came up the rope ladder, and the Saint met him on the deck. “You look as if you’d been wrecked,” were his first words. “We can talk later—better hurry up and get everybody off before she goes down.” The Saint surprised Patricia as much as Carn.