ile my pursuer, who
by this time had sufficiently recovered to stagger to his feet, waded
dismally back to the shore. Here he was joined by his two companions,
who had evidently been following the chase with praiseworthy
determination.

For a moment I saw them all three consulting together, and then my
friend the policeman started hastily throwing off his clothes with the
apparent intention of swimming across the river, while the other two
came running along the bank after me. They were both in plain clothes,
but the unmistakable stamp of a Scotland Yard detective was clearly
imprinted on each of them.

They soon caught me up, and hurrying on ahead reached the mouth of the
creek, while I was still some twenty yards short of it. I was just
wondering what on earth they hoped to do, when, looking over my
shoulder, I saw one of them scramble up the sea-wall, and begin to
shout and wave his arms as if he had suddenly gone mad.

A few savage pulls brought me up level, and then turning in my seat I
discovered the cause of his excitement. Some way out in the stream was
a small coast-guard cutter with three men on board, two of whom were
at the oars. They had evidently grasped that there was something
serious the matter, for they had brought their boat round and were
already heading in towards the shore.

My position began to look a trifle unhealthy. I was out of practice
for sculling, and if the coast-guards chose to interfere it was
obviously only a question of a few minutes before they would succeed
in rowing me down. For a moment I had some idea of going ashore on
the opposite bank, and again trusting to my heels. Then I saw that my
friend the policeman, who could apparently swim as well as he could
run, was already half way across the creek, and would be on my track
long before I could get the necessary start. On the whole it seemed
best to stick to the water, so digging in my sculls I pulled out into
the main stream.

As I rounded the sea-wall I could hear the man who was standing on
top bawling out my name to the coast-guards, and hurling them frantic
injunctions to cut me off. I cast one swift glance up and down the
river, and as I did so I nearly gave a shout of excitement. A couple
of hundred yards away, but coming up at a tremendous pace, was a large
white petrol launch, which I recognized immediately as the one that
had swamped Mr. Gow.

Whether the coast-guards saw her too I really can't say. I doubt if
the