order at any moment when you positively had to have her.
To be delayed until somebody appeared to challenge their going was to
lose half the battle. Varney went off to the sailing-master and spoke
with him again, concisely. The sailing-master, a sensitive man to
criticism, once more apologized, very technically, and redoubled his
energies. He went below himself to superintend the repairs and to prod
the laggards to their utmost endeavors. In less than three quarters of
an hour, by Peter's watch, he was up again, in a shower of falling
perspiration, to announce that all was ready.
However, valuable moments had been lost. It was now nearly half-past
twelve, or, in Peter's indignant summary, "just an hour and a half too
late."
Varney glanced toward the bridge.
"All ready there?" he called.
"All ready, sir," said the sailing-master, and sprang for the indicator.
"Hold on," said Peter suddenly. "We're getting visitors. There's some
one signaling us from the shore."
Varney's heart bounded. He turned with an exclamation; but in the next
breath, he ordered: "Let her go, Ferguson."
Upon the shore, at the spot where the _Cypriani's_ boat ordinarily
landed, stood a tallish, stocky young man, looking at them cheerfully
and swabbing his brow with a large blue handkerchief. Catching Varney's
eye, he waved his hand with the handkerchief in it, and said, for the
second time:
"Hello, aboard the _Cypriani!_"
Varney stepped to the rail, a faint smile on his lip. "Hello, there!
What can we do for you?"
"Hot as merry hell, isn't it?" said the young man pleasantly. "Send a
boat over for me, will you? I'm Hammerton, of the _Gazette_ and the New
York _Daily_, and I want to come aboard for a little talk."
"Never in this world!" breathed Peter, _sotto voce_.
Varney smiled, grimly. "Sorry, Mr. Hammerton. You're just too late. We
are starting away from Hunston this very minute."
The _Cypriani_ shuddered like a live thing and slid slowly forward.
CHAPTER XI
WHICH SHOWS THE HERO A FUGITIVE
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