but by that time the Sleuth was several yards away and the water was too deep to permit the fellow to wade out any farther. His revolver was useless, and he began to make his way back to shore, growling to himself.
The mototboat reached the cove entrance. The rocks loomed high on either side.
Frank held his breath. At any moment he expected to hear the dread sound of the scraping rocks, but the Sleuth glided through the narrow channel without mishap, then shot out to the open sea. He spun the wheel about, brought the boat forward, and a moment later the engine was roaring its staccato defiance to the gangsters in the cove.
Frank looked back. He could see flashlights bobbing up and down on the beach.
"They're going for their own boats!" he exclaimed.
Then, with a grim smile, he bent forward over the wheel. Instead of heading the motorboat out to the open sea, he directed it along the shore, toward the distant cove where the gangsters had hidden their own craft.
