"Ten pounds!" Amberley snapped.
"Right you are, sir, and you takes the blame!" said sailor, and let him into the yard.
The racing motorboat was moored some fifty yards out. The sailor, having taken the plunge, seemed to realise that the need for haste was desperate and led Amberley at a trot to the steps. In less than a minute both men were in the dinghy that was tied up there and the sailor had cast off and shipped the oars.
The motorboat was covered with a tarpaulin, which was quickly stripped off. The sailor climbed into the well and started the engine. "She's warm, sir," he said. "Lucky, ain't you?"
Amberley was at the wheel. "I hope so," he said curtly.
The boat forged ahead, threading her way between the craft moored in the harbour. The sailor, perceiving that his odd passenger knew how to steer, took heart and needed no urging, once clear of the harbour, to speed the boat up. White foam began to churn up under the bows, the engine took on a deeper note.
The sea looked silver in the moonlight, deserted. Amberley held a course to the south-west, steering for a point out at sea where he judged he would overhaul the slower boat. The minutes crept by; to Amberley they seemed like hours. The noise of the engine thundered in his ears; he made a sign to the other man to shut it down.
The sailor obeyed. The sudden silence was like a blanket for a moment. The boat glided on, began to roll. Then through the silence Amberley's ears caught the sound for which they were listening. In the distance another boat was ploughing out to sea. He put the wheel over and called to the sailor to start her up again. The boat cleaved forward in a slightly altered course.
Amberley held her on this course for another five minutes and again signed to the sailor to shut down the engine. This time the noise of the other boat sounded closer at hand.
"'There she is! Go on!" Amberley said.
As he restarted the engine the sailor wondered who could be in the boat they were pursuing, and wished he had asked the gentleman. It was quite impossible to be heard above the noise of the engine, so he had to content himself with all manner of speculations, none of them, he felt, really probable. He kept an eye cocked in Amberley's direction, ready for another signal. It came very soon.
This time no sound broke the silence. The sailor, puzzled, said: "Thought we must have been right on her, the course we was steering! What's happened?"
Amberley pulled his torch from his pocket and sent its powerful beam out across the sea, sweeping a circle. It lit up the water for about two hundred yards but showed nothing but the silver ripples.
"Quickly! Start her!" Amberley jerked out. "Half speed!"
The boat began to cruise about, the torch-beam describing an arc of light ahead. The sailor heard Amberley say in a strangled voice: "Too late - God, I'm too late!"
Going round in a circle. I believe he's a looney after all, thought the sailor. Then he saw Amberley wrench the wheel hard over, staring out to where a dark object just showed above the water.
"Get on!" Amberley rapped out. "She's sinking fast!"
"Good Lord!" ejaculated the sailor, unprepared for this. "Sinking?"
"Get on, damn you!"
The boat gathered speed. They could see the other clearly now; she was down by the stern, half submerged.
The racing boat bore down upon her. "Easy!" Amberley ordered, and began to put the wheel over to come alongside. "Stop!"
The noise of the engine died, the racer glided on gently for a few feet and rocked beside the foundered boat.
The well was half full of water; Amberley had thrown his torch down to have both hands free, but the moonlight showed him all he wanted to see. Up against the side of the boat a white face was lifted just clear of the water, a scarf tied round the lower half of it.
"My Gawd in 'eaven!" gasped the sailor. "It's a woman!"
Amberley leaned over and grasped Shirley. She was strangely heavy; bound and weighted, he guessed. He said: "It's all right, my poor child, it's all right, Shirley," and shot over his shoulder: "A knife, quickly!"
The sailor, hanging on to the boat-hook with one hand, fished a clasp-knife out of his pocket and held it out. Amberley opened it and bent over the side, feeling under the water in the well of the other boat. His hand touched something hard about Shirley's waist; he could feel the links of an iron chain and the cord that tied them, and slashed through. In another moment he had her in his arms and had laid her down in the well of his own boat. She was deathly pale, but her eyes were wide open, fixed almost incredulously on his face. Her wrists and ankles were lashed together tightly; long shudders were running through her.
Amberley undid the scarf and took the gag out of her mouth; then he pulled the flask out of his hip pocket and put it to her blue lips, holding her against his shoulder. "Drink it, Shirley! Yes, I'll undo you, but drink this first. Good girl! - Take her in to shore as quick as you can, you - what's-your-name?"
"Aye, aye, sir. Leave it to me," said the sailor. "If you'll just steer her dear of this bit o' wreckage… Thank you, Captain!" He took the wheel over from Amberley and set the boat's nose back to port.
Amberley knelt beside Shirley and cut the ropes that bound her. Her wrists were deeply scored by them, but a faint, indomitable smile quivered on her lips. "You - always - turn up," she said, through chattering teeth.
"Th — thanks!"
Chapter Nineteen
The experience she had gone through and the shock of her immersion had their inevitable result on Shirley. The brandy dispelled the blue shade from her mouth, but she lay in a state of semi-consciousness while the boat made its way back to port.
There was very little that Amberley could do for her. He stripped his overcoat off and wrapped it round her, but under it her own clothes were sodden, and her flesh felt very cold. He began to rub her limbs; her eyes were closed, the dark lashes lying wet on her cheek.
The sailor offered sympathetic advice and shouted once in Amberley's ear: "Who done it?" He got no answer and bent to bellow confidentially: "I thought you was off your rocker."
There was an inn on the quayside, and when the boat got back to the harbour Amberley carried Shirley there, led by the sailor. The landlady, a startling blonde of enormous proportions, came out of the bar and in spite of her appearance proved to be a capable person who took the situation in it a glance. The sailor, glad of a chance to unbosom himself, launched into a graphic description of the rescue while Amberley laid Shirley down on a horsehair sofa in the parlour.
The landlady said: "Good sakes alive!" and sharply comanded Amberley to bring the young lady upstairs.
She then screamed to someoe apparently a mile away to take a scuttle up to the best bedroom, and waddled out, telling Amberley to follow her.
He carried Shirley upstairs and laid her, as directed, on a big mahogany bed in a bedroom smelling of must. The landlady then informed him that she didn't want him any longer, and he retired, feeling that Shirley was in good hands.
Downstairs he found the sailor regaling the occupants of the bar with his story, which was not losing anything in the telling. He did not wish to accept the two five-pound notes that Amberley drew out of his case, but allowed himself to be overruled after a short argument. Amberley left him treating everyone to drinks in the most liberal fashion. It seemed probable that before long he and his cronies would be cast forth into the street; he hoped the sailor would not end the night in the lock-up.
The Bentley was standing where he had left it, outside the yard. He got into it and turned to drive back to the creek. It was now some time after eight o'clock and growing chilly. Amberley felt his overcoat, found it decidedly damp, and threw it onto the back seat.