around the box--and the box was
stuffed into his pocket.

The flash of a revolver shot cut the blackness behind him, then another,
and another. They were firing in a continuous stream again. It was
fairly long range, but there was always the chance of a stray bullet
finding its mark. Jimmie Dale, crouching low, made his way to the bow of
the boat again.

The point was looming almost abreast now. He edged in nearer, to hug
it as closely as he dared risk the depth of the water. Behind,
remorselessly, the other boat was steadily closing the gap; and the
shots were not all wild--one struck, with a curious singing sound, on
some piece of metal a foot from his elbow. Closer to the shore, running
now parallel with the head of the point, Jimmie Dale again edged in the
boat, his jaws, clamped, working in little twitches.

And then suddenly, with a swift, appraising glance behind him, he
swerved the boat from her course and headed for the shore--not directly,
but diagonally across the little bay that, on the farther side of the
point, had now opened out before him. He was close in with the edge of
the point, ten yards from it, sweeping past it--the point itself came
between the two boats, hiding them from each other--and Jimmie Dale,
with a long spring, dove from the boat's side to the water.

The momentum from the boat as he sank robbed him for an instant of all
control over himself, and he twisted, doubled up, and rolled over and
over beneath the water--but the next moment his head was above the
surface again, and he was striking out swiftly for the shore. It was
only a few yards--but in a few SECONDS the pursuing boat, too, would
have rounded the point. His feet touched bottom. It was haste now,
nothing else, that counted. The drum of the racing engines, the
crackling roar of the exhaust from the oncoming boat was in his ears. He
flung himself upon the shore and down behind a rock. Around the point,
past him, tore the police boat, dark forms standing clustered in the
bow--and then a sudden shout:

"There she is! See her? She's heading into the bay for the shore!"

Jimmie Dale's lips relaxed. There was no doubt that they had sighted
their quarry again--a perfect fusillade of revolver shots directed at
the now empty boat was quite sufficient proof of that! With something
that was almost a chuckle, Jimmie Dale straightened up from behind the
rock and began to run back along the shore. The little motor boat would
have groun