_The Woman in White_, as soon as she was out of sight of the camp, made record time to the coast, traversed the deep channel between the river and the sea with some caution, then struck straight out to the west. The sun was still about two hours above the western ocean. Far to the north the _Rajah_ could be seen keeping closer inshore than seemed quite safe, the captain’s idea being doubtless to get out of sight behind the first headland he might encounter. The heavily laden boat was burning up coal with reckless prodigality, the slight wind from the shore carrying out to sea a great black banner of smoke. Stranleigh walked forward to the captain. “Can you overtake him before sunset?” he asked. “I think so, sir.” “Well, I imagine our best plan is to convince him as speedily as possible that he can’t run away from us. I don’t like to see him wasting coal like that. Coal is more valuable than the ore he carries until we reach Teneriffe. Full speed ahead, captain.” The hum of the turbines rose and rose, and the trembling of the yacht perceptibly increased as the sharp prow clove through the waters with the speed of a torpedo-boat destroyer. The steward, setting out cups and saucers for tea, on a wicker table, found some difficulty in keeping the jingling dishes from catastrophe. The _Rajah_ had about four hours the start, and had probably worried away thirty knots of the long route she was to travel. Higher and higher she seemed to rise in the water, and the sun was still a good quarter of an hour above the horizon when _The Woman in White_ came tearing up alongside to landward of her, carried now by her own momentum, for the turbines had been stopped some distance away. Apparently everybody on board was leaning over the rail watching the amazing speed of the swanlike craft, white and graceful, as she gradually slowed down. Stranleigh recognized the anxious face of the captain, and shouted up at him: “Tell your stokers to economize on that coal.” The captain replied truculently: “No one gives orders on this steamer but me.” “Quite right,” replied Stranleigh, with less imperiousness than had barbed his first shout. “That’s why I’m asking you to give the command.” The captain, after a moment’s hesitation, sent the order below, then turned again to the white vessel, which was now keeping exact time with his own black one. “Captain,” said Stranleigh, in his ordinary tone of voice, “both Frowningshield and myself were very sorry you could not lunch with us, so perhaps you will be good enough to come aboard this yacht and dine with me.” “A captain cannot leave his ship,” curtly replied the master of the _Rajah_. “Ordinarily, no, but this is an exceptional case. I’ve got a letter for you, captain.” “Then why didn’t you give it to me at noon?”