sistant at Weymouth."

Reggie had to smile in the midst of his dilemma. The idea of the stately
Violet Maynard "clouting the helmsman," or even "hollering for help,"
was not to be imagined. Still, the notion of getting as close as
possible to the yacht and trusting to some stroke of good fortune making
it unnecessary to fire on her was a good one. Enid had mentioned on the
telephone that by some inexplicable means Leslie Chermside was also on
the steamer, and Reggie was as good a judge of men as he was a sailor.
That there was some mystery about the reserved young soldier he was
shrewdly convinced, but he did not think that his presence on the
fugitive yacht was due to collusion with the enemies of the girl he was
popularly believed to be in love with. Chermside, he argued, might be
trusted, given the chance, to fill the part which would have fallen to
Ned Parsons' "cough drop," if she had been on board.

"Very well," he said. "We will start as passive resisters anyway, and
trust to luck afterwards. Now as to the course this steamer is likely to
steer. She will want to keep clear of vessels bound for Plymouth which
might report a craft making down Channel at high speed. For that reason
she would leave the Eddystone well to the northward, and she won't
travel more than ordinarily fast at first. That being so, if we up
anchor at once and choose the sea beyond the Eddystone for our firing
practice this morning we ought to sight her before she has slipped away
to the westward."

The necessary orders were given, and, the rumour spreading through the
ship that some unorthodox adventure was afoot, the crew achieved a
record in getting under weigh. In less than twenty minutes from the time
of Reggie coming aboard the _Snipe_ was steaming down past Drake's
Island on to the broad bosom of Plymouth Sound, and so to the open sea.
There were still three hours to daylight, and Reggie's intention was to
utilize them in reaching the spot where his judgment told him he would
stand the best chance of intercepting the runaway.

The break of dawn found the destroyer patrolling the sea some ten miles
south-west of the great lighthouse, in the comparatively lonely stretch
of water that lies between the track of vessels making for Plymouth and
the route of those whose destination is further to the eastward. In the
immediate vicinity were only a few trawlers finishing the harvest of the
night, but away to the north and south faint smears of