d with
perspiration, while the foul scum that ran off the oar stained their damp
clothes. Then Jake's boathook sank a foot or two deeper and finding the
depth as good after a few vigorous pushes, they started the engine.

Sour exhalations rose from the wake of the churning screw and there was a
curious dragging feel in the boat's motion, as if she were pulling a body
of water after her, but this was less marked when Jake found three or
four feet, and by and by he threw down the pole and they went half-speed
ahead. After a time, the mangroves outshore got farther off, the air
smelt fresher, and small ripples broke the surface of the widening
channel. They went full-speed, the trees faded, and a swell that set her
rocking met the boat, although there still seemed to be a barrier of sand
or mud between her and open sea.

Giving Jake the helm, Dick crawled under the foredeck, where the
floorings were drier than anywhere else, and lay smoking and thinking
until day broke. The light, which grew brighter rapidly, showed a
glistening line of surf to seaward and mangrove forest on a point ahead.
Beyond this there seemed to be an inlet, and then the shore curved out
again. As they passed the point Dick stood up on deck and presently saw
two tall spars rise above the mist. A few minutes later, the top of a
funnel appeared, and then a sharp metallic rattle rang through the haze.

"We're in the lagoon," he said. "That's the Danish boat and she hasn't
finished heaving cargo on board."

CHAPTER XXIX

KENWARDINE TAKES A RISK

Shortly after the launch entered the lagoon, the Danish boat hove her
anchor and steamed out to sea. Dick, who had engaged a half-breed pilot
to take the launch home, lounged in a canvas chair under the poop awning.
His eyes were half closed, for the white boats and deckhouses flashed
dazzlingly in the strong light as the steamer lurched across the vivid
swell of the Caribbean. The cigarette he languidly held had gone out, and
his pose was slack.

He was physically tired and his brain was dull, but he was conscious of
lethargic satisfaction. For a long time he had been torn between his love
for Clare and his duty to his country. His difficulties were further
complicated by doubts of Kenwardine's guilt, but recent events had
cleared these up. It was, on the whole, a relief to feel that he must now
go forward and there need be no more hesitation and balancing of
probabilities. The time for that had g