West knew
instantly what it meant--they were testing out the engine; if all worked
well, the boat would cast off.
He sprang back to the port and stared out, eagerly hoping that, as they
swept out into the lake, he might find some opportunity to communicate
with some one on the pier. Perhaps by this time Mac would have arrived,
and be watching their departure, unable to intervene, as he had no
warrant for arrest, or any definite knowledge that the yacht was being
used for a criminal purpose. He had not long to wait. Hurrying steps
echoed along the deck; a voice shouted out some order, and the end of a
loosened rope dropped splashing into the water astern; the boat trembled
to the pulsations of the engine, and West realized that it was at first
slowly, then more swiftly, slipping away into the broad water. Already he
could perceive the white wake astern, and, an instant later, as the turn
to the right widened, he had a glimpse of the pier, already separated
from him by a broad expanse of trembling water. Above the noise his voice
would scarcely reach that distance. A crowd of people stood there
watching, clinging along the edge of the promenade--McAdams was not among
them. It would be useless to strive to attract their attention; not one
among them would comprehend; even if they did, not one of them could
help. He still stood there, gazing back at the fast receding pier,
gradually becoming blurred in the distance, but hopelessly.
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