“Why, we’ve got to cast that blamed punt adrift now,” I answered sharply. “We’ve got to be clear of everything.” Ice came into the voice that met my warmth. “Start the engine. We’ll keep the punt.” “But, man----” “Start the engine.” There was that in Pawlinson I’ve met in few men; for I had that machine barking the next instant--and I’m not an oversweet-tempered individual myself, as I have intimated. I threw in the clutch, and we fairly jumped out of the water when she began to “plane.” There was no shunning the island now on Pawlinson’s part. Instead, he headed almost directly for it--a course that was calculated to bring us within a furlong of the anchored schooner on our way to intercept the patrol launch, which was pointed, as near as we could judge, directly cityward. The exact angle was a thing of estimation to a nicety; but, with the speed we were soon attaining, it certainly looked as if it would work. The wind had fallen flat, as it often does between the day and night breezes, and this helped. So we cut a swath of boiling spume over an unrippled mirror which heaved only to a slight swell. “Now, man”--Pawlinson let me into his thoughts--“once clear of the schooner’s stern, and we’ve got ’em; no matter which way the cat jumps.” “Yes,” I agreed enthusiastically. “By that time they wouldn’t have a chance to clear before we’d have the patrol launch veered for her.” “And now for it!” His tone was calm and collected enough; but I read tenseness in it, nevertheless. As for myself, I was fairly rigid with the moment, for it was the crucial one. We were about to pass the schooner. Then came the sickening disgust. Out from the fore crosstrees blazed the white glare of the searchlight again. This time we were in for it. The rattling exhaust of our engine had told its story; or, at least, it had told enough to excite sufficient curiosity for a look at us. The light oscillated once or twice in search; then it steadied, and our eyes blinked in its glare. Everything about us sprang into daylight, and the brass cylinder heads before me fairly glittered. I imagined I could hear the wielder of the light chuckle at his find; but I didn’t have to imagine the imprecation that Pawlinson hissed venomously. I have seldom heard such fervor; but I seconded it heartily. “All up!” I groaned; for it took no clairvoyant to fathom that the alarm had been sounded. Even above the sound of our engine we heard a sharp command given, and the lines were cast from the lighter alongside. Then came some quick blows on metal. “Make that out?” queried Pawlinson shortly. “Cutting the cable,” I muttered. “They know the game. Her engine’s going already. Where’s the police boat?” “The fools in her smell something up; but, being fools, they’ve stopped to see what it is.” Sure enough, off there about a quarter mile, the lights of the patrol stood fixed, showing that either her engine had been shut off or was running free from load.