"But they'll pick him up," he whispered, now impressed by the other's manner.

"Look out yonder," said the policeman, a native of the place; "is it likely they'll find him there?"

"Hah!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the detective.

"And there's no such current anywhere for miles along the coast as runs off here."

"Hah!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the man again, as he stood now watching the lights, one of which kept growing more distant, while the hails somehow seemed to be more faint and wild, and at last to resemble the despairing cries of drowning men.

"Listen," whispered the detective in an awe-stricken tone, as he strove to pierce the darkness out to sea.

"It was Master Leslie, that," said the second policeman; "I know his hail."

Just then there was a wild hysterical fit of sobbing, and George Vine rose slowly from his knees, and staggered towards the group.

"Luke!" he cried, in a half-stunned, helpless way, "Luke you know--Where are you? Luke!"

"Here, George," said Uncle Luke sadly, for he had knelt down in the place his brother had occupied the moment before.

"You know the currents. Will they--Will he--"

He faltered and paused, waiting his brother's reply, and the three officers of the law shuddered, as, after a few minutes' silence, broken only by a groan from the kneeling man, George Vine cried in a piteous voice that sounded wild and thrilling in the solemn darkness of the night:

"G.o.d help me! Oh, my son, my son!"

"Quick, mind! Good heavens, sir! Another step and--"

The detective had caught the stricken father as he tottered and would have fallen headlong into the tide, while, as he and another of the men helped him back to where Louise still lay, he was insensible to what pa.s.sed around.

But still the dim lights could be seen growing more and more distant, and each hail sounded more faint, as the occupants of the boats called to each other, and then to him they sought, while, after each shout, it seemed to those who stood straining their eyes at the end of the pier, that there was an answering cry away to their left; but it was only the faint echo repeating the call from the face of the stupendous cliffs behind the town.

"Why don't they come back here and search?" cried the officer angrily.

"What for?" said a voice at his elbow; and he turned to see dimly the shrunken, haggard face of Uncle Luke.

"What for?" retorted the officer. "He may have swum in the other direction."

"So might the world have rolled in the other direction and the sunrise to-morrow in the west," said the old man angrily. "No swimmer could stem that current."

"But why have they gone so far?"

"They have gone where the current took them," said Uncle Luke, coldly.

"Want the help of your men to get these poor creatures home."

The detective made no reply, but stood gazing out to sea and listening intently. Then turning to his men--

"One of you keep watch here in case they try to land with him. You come with me."

The two policemen followed his instructions, one taking his place at the extreme end of the point, the other following just as voices were heard, and a group of fishermen, who had been awakened to the fact that there was something wrong, came down the rocky breakwater.

"Here, some of you, I want a boat--a swift boat, and four men to pull.

Ah, you!"

This to a couple of the coastguard who had put in an appearance, and after a few hurried words one party went toward the head of the breakwater, while another, full of sympathy for the Vines, went on to the end of the point.

There was plenty of willing help, but George Vine had now recovered from his swoon, and rose up to refuse all offers of a.s.sistance.

"No, Luke," he said more firmly now; "I must stay."

"But our child, Louise?"

"She must stay with me."

Louise had risen to her feet, as he spoke, and clung to his arm in mute acquiescence; and once more they stood watching the star-spangled sea.

Ten minutes later a well-manned boat pa.s.sed out of the harbour, with the detective officer in her bows and a couple of the strongest lights they could obtain.

Just as this boat came abreast of the point the rowing ceased, and a brilliant glare suddenly flashed out as the officer held aloft a blue signal light; and while the boat was forced slowly along he carefully scanned the rocks, in the expectation of seeing his quarry clinging somewhere to their face.

The vivid light illumined the group upon the point, and the water flashed and sparkled as it ran eddying by, while from time to time a gleaming drop of golden fire dropped with a sharp hissing explosion into the water, and a silvery grey cloud of smoke gathered overhead.

The officer stayed till the blue light had burned out, and then tossing the wooden handle into the water, he gave his orders to the men to row on out toward the other boats.

The transition from brilliant light to utter darkness was startling as it was sudden; and as the watchers followed the dim looking lanterns, they saw that about a mile out they had paused.

George Vine uttered a gasping sigh, and his child clung to him as if both realised the meaning of that halt. But they were wrong, for when the men in the detective's boat had ceased rowing, it was because they were close abreast of the lugger, whose crew had hailed them.

"Got him?"

"No. Is he aboard your boat?"

Without waiting for an answer, the detective and his men boarded the lugger, and, to the disgust of her crew, searched from end to end.

"Lucky for you, my lads, that he is not here," said the officer.

"Unlucky for him he aren't," said one of the men. "If he had been we shouldn't have had you aboard to-night."

"What do you mean?"

"Only that we should have been miles away by now."

"Do you think either of the other boats have picked him up?"

"Go and ask 'em," said another of the men sulkily.

"No, sir," said one of the coastguard, "they haven't picked him up."

"Back!" said the detective shortly; and, as soon as they were in the boat, he gave orders for them to row towards the faint light they could see right away east. They were not long in coming abreast, for the boat was returning.