I expect that chap hid in the dinghy when he first caught sight of us, and then slipped his painter as soon as I'd gone.' The boat was moving at a rapid pace with the tide.

Steering was a matter of luck and instinct more than anything else.

Every now and then Hazell, who held the lines, was obliged to jerk the boat's head sharply round to avoid a barge or an anchored vessel.

It seemed to Racksole that vessels were anchored all over the stream.

He looked about him anxiously, but for a long time he could see nothing but mist and vague nautical forms.
Then suddenly he said, quietly enough, 'We're on the right road; I can see him ahead.
We're gaining on him.' In another minute the dinghy was plainly visible, not twenty yards away, and the sculler--sculling frantically now--was unmistakably Jules--Jules in a light tweed suit and a bowler hat.
'You were right,' Hazell said; 'this is a lark.