All waited and watched eagerly, and thus five minutes passed. Then from a distance they saw a light flash up.
"There she is!" cried Tom. "Let us head for her at once. They won't keep that light out long—just long enough to let that steamer go by."
Martin Harris was already at the tiller, and soon the Searchlight was thrown over and was again dipping her nose in the long ocean swells. The wind had died away only to freshen more than ever, and the chase now became a lively one.
The enemy seemed to know that the exposure of their light had given those on the Searchlight the cue, and they were sailing as rapidly as all of their canvas permitted. But Harris was now handling his craft better than ever before, and slowly but surely the distance between the two craft was diminished, until the Flyaway could be made out faintly even without a light.
"Don't lose her again," said Dick. "We must keep at it until we run them down completely." And Harris promised to do his best.
It was now past midnight, and the police officers said they were tired out and dropped into the cabin to take a nap. Dick likewise remained below, trying to get up some circulation in the lamed arm.
