her Steel nor Giles said anything about
this. Steel, indeed, still held to the belief that Dane was guilty; but
Ware laughed at him.

"You said that Miss Anne was guilty," he declared; "then you believed
that Denham had struck the blow; now you are convinced that Dane is the
criminal. For my part I believe Denham to be guilty."

"He may be," replied Steel, with a shrug. "I am so puzzled over this
case that I am prepared for any development. At all events, Denham is
being looked after. He can't escape me, whether he is merely a thief or
really the murderer we are in search of."

When _The Firefly_ got into the Bay of Biscay the weather was worse than
ever. Giles was pleased, as Calthorpe told him that there was the better
chance of catching _The Dark Horse_ before she reached her port of
destination. Once on Spanish soil and Giles feared lest Morley should
carry Anne off to the mountains. He was such a scoundrel, and so clever,
that it might be possible he had confederates at Bilbao to help him to
carry out any scheme he might suggest. Giles wished to catch him before
he had time to formulate any new villainy. At all events, Morley would
never think that they had tracked him so speedily, or had followed so
rapidly. It was unlikely that he would use the yacht to the fullest
extent of her steaming powers.

In the centre of the Bay _The Firefly_ was caught by the full force of
the storm. The wind and waves were terrific, but the gallant little boat
proved herself trustworthy. Under a sullen sky, over a dismal grey sea
she steamed, her decks streaming with water, and the ship herself
rolling terribly.

Calthorpe did not slacken speed, and the boat responded splendidly to
his handling. A sharp lookout was kept by all on board for the yacht, as
Giles had offered a large reward for the first man who espied the boat.
But the difficulty was that none of the crew knew the looks of _The Dark
Horse_. However, they were to hail when they saw anything in the shape
of a yacht, and there were one or two false alarms. At length, when _The
Firefly_ was approaching the Spanish coast, Dane, who was on deck with a
glass, gave the alarm. It was a misty, grey day, with absence of sun and
wind. The ocean was heaving like masses of liquid pitch with an oily
look, and the yacht cut sheer through the terrific waves that threatened
to overwhelm her. Suddenly a wind rose, there was a blink of sunshine,
and about a mile away a bark was seen roll