He
must have inquired about the depth of water close in to the shore
at Turner's Shipyard, for I could see Charley making gestures and
explaining. A few minutes later he came back in high glee.
"Come on lad," he said. "On to the dock with you. We've got
them!"
It was our good fortune to leave the Streak when we did, for a
little later one of the spy fishermen appeared. Charley and I took
up our accustomed places, on the stringer-piece, a little ahead of
the Streak and over our own boat, where we could comfortably watch
the Lancashire Queen. Nothing occurred till about nine o'clock,
when we saw the two Italians leave the ship and pull along their
side of the triangle toward the shore. Charley looked as
unconcerned as could be, but before they had covered a quarter of
the distance, he whispered to me:
"Forty-five miles an hour . . . nothing can save them . . . they
are ours!"
Slowly the two men rowed along till they were nearly in line with
the windmill. This was the point where we always jumped into our
salmon boat and got up the sail, and the two men, evidently
expecting it, seemed surprised when we gave no sign.
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