do it?” she asked.
“Do what?” Durell interrupted.
“We were just abeam of Hovringen Shoal. The depth of water there at lowest tide is only four feet, and the Suzanne’s keel requires six feet, six inches. But the tide hasn’t run out all the way yet. There is just a chance we could get across and escape them.”
“Should we escape them?” Durell asked.
“Of course! Suppose they intend to kill us?”
“Why should they? How do we endanger anyone, except Julian? And why would Julian try to kill us before our six o’clock appointment is carried out?”
“I suppose you think we should let ourselves be run down and left to drown!” the girl objected.
“I think we ought to find out who is behind us, and why.”
She looked indecisive, then shook her head. “No. I cannot allow the Suzanne to be damaged. We’ll try the shoal. Jan, put her over again.”
The big man obeyed promptly. Durell, looking astern, heard the yacht’s engines aft quicken again. Now suddenly there came the loom of something sharper and more solidly white than the whiteness of the fog. Trinka drew in a sudden breath as the bow of a speeding vessel took shape in the mist astern—the high, ornate bow of a sixty or seventy-footer, at least. It came on fast, white foam boiling around the prow. Jan slapped his hand on their fog horn in desperation, and the sound boomed out all around them in frantic warning. The other vessel made no reply, paid no heed, and simply came on fast in a course meant to cut them off from the dubious safety of the shoal.
There was no doubt now. The other boat meant to run them down. And its size and power meant it could cut the Suzanne in half and keep right on going. It would be reported, if reported at all, as an accident at sea, thanks to the fog.
“Jan!” Trinka cried. “Hurry!”
“I do not think we can make it, Trinka,” the big young man muttered. “It will be a very close thing.”
Their course took them directly across the other vessel’s path. Whoever was at the helm of the diesel-powered yacht knew about the Hovringen Shoal and also knew that the larger vessel would quickly go aground where the Suzanne might float. No attempt was made to change course on the other’s part. But the throb of the diesel became a heavy, angry roar as the last ounce of power was applied to intercept the sloop.
Ahead, Durell saw the color of the Water change where the shoal began. A buoy clanged loudly in the tugging tide, and he thought he heard the crash of surf far ahead in the fog. But then the high bow of the white yacht was upon them. Trinka screamed. Jan Gunther gave a hoarse shout and lifted his rifle as if he could stop the other vessel with a bullet. There was no one to be seen on the other’s deck or behind the glass windows of the bridge. The bow loomed high, came smashing down at the sloop’s deck. Durell threw himself at the wheel, hurling his weight against Jan’s frozen grip. The sloop heeled, shuddered, and slid sidewise onto the sand bar.
There came a sliding, rasping sound and Durell was thrown from his feet with the grazing collision. He caught a line, felt someone slam into him, and caught at Trinka’s leg as the sloop yawed. The boom slammed wildly across the deck and the girl slid half overboard. The air was filled with a strange hooting sound from the other vessel’s horn. The high boiling wake lifted the Suzanne’s stern and shoved her farther onto the shoal. Something grated deep below, and the deck shuddered.
Durell struggled to hang on to Trinka leg; he pulled her back, caught at her groping hand, and hauled her to the deck beside him. The boom slammed viciously overhead. He heard a cry and saw Jan Gunther stretched flat as a swinging block caught the side of his head.
The other yacht was gone, swallowed by the mist. And there came another long, shuddering tremor as the Suzanne’s keel scraped bottom again.
“Are you all right?” he asked Trinka.
“Yes, I— Thank you.
“Do what?” Durell interrupted.
“We were just abeam of Hovringen Shoal. The depth of water there at lowest tide is only four feet, and the Suzanne’s keel requires six feet, six inches. But the tide hasn’t run out all the way yet. There is just a chance we could get across and escape them.”
“Should we escape them?” Durell asked.
“Of course! Suppose they intend to kill us?”
“Why should they? How do we endanger anyone, except Julian? And why would Julian try to kill us before our six o’clock appointment is carried out?”
“I suppose you think we should let ourselves be run down and left to drown!” the girl objected.
“I think we ought to find out who is behind us, and why.”
She looked indecisive, then shook her head. “No. I cannot allow the Suzanne to be damaged. We’ll try the shoal. Jan, put her over again.”
The big man obeyed promptly. Durell, looking astern, heard the yacht’s engines aft quicken again. Now suddenly there came the loom of something sharper and more solidly white than the whiteness of the fog. Trinka drew in a sudden breath as the bow of a speeding vessel took shape in the mist astern—the high, ornate bow of a sixty or seventy-footer, at least. It came on fast, white foam boiling around the prow. Jan slapped his hand on their fog horn in desperation, and the sound boomed out all around them in frantic warning. The other vessel made no reply, paid no heed, and simply came on fast in a course meant to cut them off from the dubious safety of the shoal.
There was no doubt now. The other boat meant to run them down. And its size and power meant it could cut the Suzanne in half and keep right on going. It would be reported, if reported at all, as an accident at sea, thanks to the fog.
“Jan!” Trinka cried. “Hurry!”
“I do not think we can make it, Trinka,” the big young man muttered. “It will be a very close thing.”
Their course took them directly across the other vessel’s path. Whoever was at the helm of the diesel-powered yacht knew about the Hovringen Shoal and also knew that the larger vessel would quickly go aground where the Suzanne might float. No attempt was made to change course on the other’s part. But the throb of the diesel became a heavy, angry roar as the last ounce of power was applied to intercept the sloop.
Ahead, Durell saw the color of the Water change where the shoal began. A buoy clanged loudly in the tugging tide, and he thought he heard the crash of surf far ahead in the fog. But then the high bow of the white yacht was upon them. Trinka screamed. Jan Gunther gave a hoarse shout and lifted his rifle as if he could stop the other vessel with a bullet. There was no one to be seen on the other’s deck or behind the glass windows of the bridge. The bow loomed high, came smashing down at the sloop’s deck. Durell threw himself at the wheel, hurling his weight against Jan’s frozen grip. The sloop heeled, shuddered, and slid sidewise onto the sand bar.
There came a sliding, rasping sound and Durell was thrown from his feet with the grazing collision. He caught a line, felt someone slam into him, and caught at Trinka’s leg as the sloop yawed. The boom slammed wildly across the deck and the girl slid half overboard. The air was filled with a strange hooting sound from the other vessel’s horn. The high boiling wake lifted the Suzanne’s stern and shoved her farther onto the shoal. Something grated deep below, and the deck shuddered.
Durell struggled to hang on to Trinka leg; he pulled her back, caught at her groping hand, and hauled her to the deck beside him. The boom slammed viciously overhead. He heard a cry and saw Jan Gunther stretched flat as a swinging block caught the side of his head.
The other yacht was gone, swallowed by the mist. And there came another long, shuddering tremor as the Suzanne’s keel scraped bottom again.
“Are you all right?” he asked Trinka.
“Yes, I— Thank you.
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