“I do so. But I reckon she ain’t in sight. What’s the course?” “Down stream. She’ll be making for the Dutch coast. Are you good for a long run?” “Surely. And I reckon it will be a long run. She’s fast, is _Cyrilla_. Wind her up, Jim,” and the launch began to throb through the water. Mr. Fortune retired under the hood and lit his pipe, and Bell followed him. “He’s smart, isn’t he, sir, our Mr. Kuyper? His yacht at Gravesend and he comes down by Tilbury. That’s neat work.” “Don’t rub it in, Bell. I know I ought to have thought of Tilbury.” Bell stared at him. “Good Lord, Mr. Fortune, I’m not blaming you, sir.” “I am,” said Reggie. “It’s an untidy case, Bell. Well, well. I wonder if I’ve missed anything more?” “I don’t know what you’ve missed, sir. I know I wouldn’t like to be on the run if you were after me.” Reggie looked at the large, man with a gleam of amusement. “It would be rather joyful, Bell,” he chuckled, and was solemn again. “No. I am not happy. _Je n’ai pas de courage_. I want Mr. Kuyper.” It was a grey day. The Essex flats lay dim and sombre. The heights on the southern shore were blurred. Yet they could see far out to the Nore. An east wind was whipping the flood tide into tiny waves, through which the launch clove, making, after the manner of her kind, a great show of speed, leaving the tramps that chunked outward bound as though they lay at anchor. “Do you see her yet?” Reggie asked the captain. “Maybe that’s her,” he pointed to a dim line on the horizon beyond the lightship, a sailless mast, if it was anything. “Maybe not.” He spat over the side. “Are you gaining on her?” “I reckon we’re coming up, sir.” “What’s that thing doing?” Reggie pointed to a long low black craft near the Nore. “Destroyer, sir. Engines stopped.” “Run down to her, will you? How does one address the Navy, Bell? I feel shy. Ask him if he’s the duty destroyer of the Nore Command, will you?” “Good Lord, sir,” said Bell. The captain of the launch hailed. “Duty destroyer, sir?” “Aye, aye. Scotland Yard launch? Come alongside.” “Thank God for the Navy, as the soldier said,” Mr. Fortune murmured. “Perhaps it will be warmer on board her.” “I say, sir, did you order a destroyer out?” “Oh, I asked Lomas to turn out the Navy. I thought we might want ’em.” Superintendent Bell gazed at him. “And you say you forget things,” he said. “Witt’s shot and all in a minute you have all this in your head.” They climbed a most unpleasant ladder. A young lieutenant received them. “You gentlemen got a job of work for us?” “A motor yacht, cutter rig, name _Cyrilla_, left Gravesend an hour or two ago, probably making for the Dutch coast. There’s a man on board that’s badly wanted.” “Can do,” the lieutenant smiled and ran up to the bridge. “Starboard five. Half ahead both.” He spoke into a voice pipe. “You’d better come up here,” he called to them. “We’ll whack her up as we go.”