“Ay! You’re right there. But it’s government work he’s on; those two prisoners he took on St. Mary’s Isle seem mighty important to him.” “Did you hear where he took ’em? Up to old Meg Rawlins’. She’s the widow of old Rawlins the smuggler; Ben Kaye was in the party that went there; he said the boy and the Irishman were locked in cells in the underground vault where Rawlins used to hide his ‘run’ goods.” “I wonder why he didn’t take ’em to a reg’lar government prison?” “Private reasons, I guess. These secret service agents are queer fish, mate.” The men continued to talk in the same strain for some little time. Ethan and Longsword crouched behind the hanging net and listened. “I say,” remarked one, at last, “suppose we take a walk up the pier and see if they are coming. My eyes are closing for want of sleep.” “But who’ll watch the boat?” “Oh, let it take care of itself. There is no one awake here in this sleepy old town. And then who wants a few old government cutlasses and pistols?” “Come along, then, mate.” The two seamen started up the pier; and as they disappeared in the shadows, Ethan and the Irish soldier crept from behind the net. “Cutlasses and pistols in the boat,” whispered Longsword with a joyous chuckle. “It couldn’t be better,” said Ethan. “In with you, now; and we’ll push off.” They clambered into the jolly-boat that was tied to a ring in the wharf log. Ethan cast off, placed the blade of an oar against one of the piles, and with a strong shove sent the craft well clear of the pier. But they had scarcely placed the oars into the rowlocks and settled themselves for the pull out of the cove when they heard running feet coming down the pier and the sound of angry voices. “It’s Danvers!” cried Ethan. “Pull, Shamus!” They bent to their oars manfully and the jolly-boat shot away from the wharf, just as a shadowy group appeared through the darkness. “The boat!” cried the voice of Danvers. “It’s gone!” “There she is, sir,” said a seaman, pointing, “and dowse my tops if your prisoners ain’t in her.” With an inarticulate cry of rage Danvers whipped out a pistol. “Stop!” he shouted. “Pull hard,” said Ethan coolly to Longsword. “Hard it is,” came the voice of the ex-dragoon, as his powerful arms and shoulders labored at the oars. Seeing that no attention was paid to his command, Danvers raised his pistol and fired. The flash and report lit and wakened the night; then the ping-g-g of the bullet came to the ears of the two in the boat as it went past them. A series of quick, snapping shots followed as the seamen also discharged their pieces. When the steady splash of the oars in the water told the British emissary that the shots had been ineffective, he shouted in a voice that could be plainly heard by the two rowers: “Boats! After them!” “There are no boats, sir, except those of the fishermen around on the other side of the inlet.”