being consumed.'

'Stop that lunatic!' yelled Ross, as Purvis turned to descend into the
cabin. 'There 's a boat coming up--I can hear the oars distinctly
behind us. We 'll be overtaken if there 's a minute's delay!'

Peter, who was next the gangway, sprang on board the boat and stumbled
down the companion in the dark.

'Purvis!' he shouted, 'you 'll be shot in cold blood yet if you don't
look out.'

Purvis had collected a few things and laid them on a pile of shavings
in the middle of the cabin, and the oil-lamp with which he was to
ignite the pile was in his hand.

On the top of the pile Peter saw a large tin dispatch-case inscribed
with his mother's name.

'Hallo!' he said quietly; 'I think I 'll take this!'

For a moment he imagined that Purvis's hand moved with suspicious
suddenness towards his revolver-pocket. In the next Purvis had swung
up the companion staircase and into the boat, and Peter jumped into his
place as the sound of rowing and the splash of oars was heard behind
him. Toffy rowed the bow-oar now, and Purvis, who knew every turn of
the river, took the tiller-ropes.

'I can't row,' he said, in his plaintive voice, 'but I can steer better
than any of you.'

The man's composed and unruffled serenity was still undisturbed
although the rhythmic beat of oars behind them was growing nearer and
nearer, and the creaking of the leather in the row-locks could be heard
distinctly.

'I have a revolver,' said Purvis quietly; 'and dawn is not quite upon
us yet.'

Their boat had still the start of the other, and the darkness helped
them. Purvis knew every yard of the river, and could have steered in
the darkness of a London fog. His pale eyes seemed to have something
in them of the quality of a cat's as he peered through the dense gloom
and guided the boat unerringly.

There came a faint light on the surface of the water; they could dimly
see the stakes in the river, and could hear the beat of the oars in the
other boat. It was a race for the Italian settlement, where they would
be safe, and where the pursuing boat, seeing the lights from the
houses, would probably fall behind.

Peter had rowed stroke in the Eton boat, but Toffy had always been too
delicate to be a strong rower; the other men had splendid staying
power, but no particular skill. Still, Ross knew Peter's stroke, and
the steering was perfect. Not a yard of way was lost on the long
chase, and as the four rowers warmed to their