Part 44 (1/2)
Pursued by the chauffeur, he disappeared into the huddle of boat-houses and beached and careened boats. A moment later, Iff and Staff, picking their way through the tangle, heard the sc.r.a.pe of a flat-bottomed boat on the beach and, subsequently, splas.h.i.+ng oars.
By the time they had reached the end of the dock, the boatbuilder and his companion were scrambling aboard a twenty-five-foot boat at anchor in the midst of a small fleet of sail and gasoline craft. The rumble of a motor followed almost instantly, was silenced momentarily while the skiff was being made fast to the mooring, broke out again as the larger boat selected a serpentine path through the circ.u.mjacent vessels and slipped up to the dock.
Before it had lost way, Iff and Staff were aboard. Instantly, Bascom snapped the switch shut and the motor started again on the spark.
”Straight out,” he instructed Spelvin at the wheel, ”till you round that white moorin'-dolphin. Then I'll take her.” ...
Not long afterward he gave up pottering round the engine and went forward, relieving Spelvin. ”You go back and keep your eye on that engyne,” he ordered; ”she's workin' like a sewin'-machine, but she wants watchin'. I'll tell you when to give her the spark. Meanwhile you might 's well dig them lights out of the port locker and set 'em out.”
”No,” Iff put in. ”We want no lights.”
”Gov'mint regulations,” said Bascom stubbornly. ”Must carry lights.”
”Five dollars?” Iff argued persuasively.
”Agin the law,” growled Bascom. ”But--I dunno--they ain't anybody likely to be out this time o' night. Cross my palm.”
And Staff again disbursed.
The white mooring-buoy swam past and the little vessel heeled as Bascom swung her sharply to the southwards.
”Now,” he told Spelvin, ”advance that spark all you've a mind to.”
There was a click from the engine-pit and the steady rumble of the exhaust ran suddenly into a prolonged whining drone. The boat jumped as if jerked forward by some gigantic, invisible hand. Beneath the bows the water parted with a crisp sound like tearing paper. Long ripples widened away from the sides, like ribs of a huge fan. A gla.s.sy hillock of water sprang up mysteriously astern, pursuing them like an avenging Nemesis, yet never quite catching up.
The sense of irresistible speed was tremendous, as stimulating as electricity; this in spite of the fact that the boat was at best making about half the speed at which the motor-car had plunged along the country roads: an effect in part due to the s.p.a.cious illusion of moonlit distances upon the water.
Staff held his cap with one hand, drinking in the keen salt air with a feeling of strange exultation. Iff crept forward and tarried for a time talking to the boatbuilder.
The boat shaved a nun-buoy outside Barmouth Point so closely that Staff could almost have touched it by stretching out his arm. Then she straightened out like a greyhound on a long course across the placid silver reaches to a goal as yet invisible.
Iff returned to the younger man's side.
”Twenty miles an hour, Bascom claims,” he shouted. ”At that rate we ought to be there in about fifteen minutes now.”
Staff nodded, wondering what they would find on Wreck Island, bitterly repenting the oversight which had resulted in Ismay's escape from his grasp. If only he had not been so sure of his conquest of the little criminal ...! Now his mind crawled with apprehensions bred of his knowledge of the man's amazing fund of resource. He who outwitted Ismay would have earned the right to plume himself upon his cunning....
When he looked up from his abstraction, the loom of the mainland was seemingly very distant. The motor-boat was nearing the centre of a deep indentation in the littoral. And suddenly it was as though they did not move at all, as if all this noise and labour went for nothing, as if the boat were chained to the centre of a spreading disk of silver, world-wide, illimitable, and made no progress for all its thras.h.i.+ng and its fury.
Only the unending sweep of wind across his face denied that effect....
Iff touched his arm.
”There....” he said, pointing.
Over the bows a dark ma.s.s seemed to have separated itself from the shadowed mainland, with which it had till then been merged. A strip of silver lay between the two, and while they watched it widened, swiftly winning breadth and bulk as the motor-boat swung to the north of the long, sandy spit at the western end of Wreck Island.
”See anything of another boat?” Iff asked. ”You look--your eyes are younger than mine.”