he dawn was
breaking.

"Where are we?" he inquired hoarsely.

"We're about one mile northeast of Sheerness and two miles southwest
of the Nore Light!" announced Rogers--and he laughed, but not in a
particularly mirthful manner.

Stringer temporarily found himself without words.

"Cutter heading for the open sea, sir," announced a man in the bows,
unnecessarily.

"Quite so," snapped Rogers. "So are you!"

"We have got them beaten," said Stringer, a faint note of triumph in his
voice. "We've given them no chance to land."

"If this breeze freshens much," replied Rogers, with sardonic humor,
"they'll be giving US a fine chance to sink!"

Indeed, although Stringer's excitement had prevented him from heeding
the circumstance, an ever-freshening breeze was blowing in his face, and
he noted now that, quite mechanically, he had removed his bowler hat at
some time earlier in the pursuit and had placed it in the bottom of the
boat. His hair was blown in the wind, which sang merrily in his ears,
and the cutter, as her course was slightly altered by Rogers, ceased to
roll and began to pitch in a manner very disconcerting to the lands-man.

"It'll be rather fresh outside, sir," said one of the men, doubtfully.
"We're miles and miles below our proper patrol"...

"Once we're clear of the bank it'll be more than fresh," replied Rogers;
"but if they're bound for France, or Sweden, or Denmark, that's OUR
destination, too!"...

On--and on--and on they drove. The Nore Light lay astern; they were
drenched with spray. Now green water began to spout over the nose of the
laboring craft.

"I've only enough juice to run us back to Tilbury, sir, if we put about
now!" came the shouted report.

"It's easy to TALK!" roared Rogers. "If one of these big 'uns gets us
broadside on, our number's up!"...

"Cutter putting over for Sheppey coast, sir!" bellowed the man in the
bows.

Stringer raised himself, weakly, and sought to peer through the driving
spray and rain-mist.

"By God! THEY'VE TURNED--TURTLE!"...

"Stand by with belts!" bellowed Rogers.

Rapidly life belts were unlashed; and, ahead, to port, to starboard,
brine-stung eyes glared out from the reeling craft. Gray in the nascent
dawn stretched the tossing sea about them; and lonely they rode upon its
billows.

"PORT! PORT! HARD A-PORT!" screamed the lookout.

But Rogers, grimly watching the oncoming billows, knew that to essay the
maneuver at that moment meant swampin