Page:The Popular Magazine v72 n1 (1924-04-20).djvu/52

 other gondola manned by two oars in pursuit, and then Pietro swung into the oar at such vigorous speed and with such trained skill that it seemed as though the great sweep must break with the strain.

“Lean into it, Pietro! I wish I could help you,” Jimmy cried.

“I wish you could, signor, because that other boat comes fast!” Pietro replied brokenly, and now rowing desperately.

A moment later the strong light of an electric torch came sweeping around the corner, cutting a beam into the darkness and reaching out until it found them. Jimmy stood up in the boat, seized a folding chair to use as a weapon and crawled back over the slim after deck of the gondola, prepared to fight. The other boat was gaining by leaps and bounds. There seemed no possibility of reaching the launch before it overtook them. Nearer and nearer it edged, and the man in the bow was shoutting [sic] alternately for them to stop, and for the police. The long prow of the pursuer crept up until it was overlapping the stern and it seemed to Jimmy that nothing could possibly save them now, when from out of the darkness of a cross rio swept another slim black shape that hurled itself savagely into the pursuer, its great steel prow tearing and rending the flimsy woodwork, then rearing high upward as both became wrecks. The torch in the hands of the man in the boat disappeared in the water. There were cries of anger, oaths, shouts, and their own gondola was almost overturned as one of the others collided against it and swung it crosswise. A form was seen emerging from the water and its hands clutched the gondola near where Jimmy stood with the chair upraised and his muscles flexing to strike.

“Don't hit me, Signor Ware! Don't strike. Help me aboard! It is I, Tomaso,” a hoarse old voice besought him, and Jimmy dropped the chair and caught the rugged old wrists and hoisted his man aboard. He had no time to ask explanations, but he understood. Pietro had recovered the gondola's balance and with muttered exclamations and prayers was again urging it forward.

A second gondola with a second electric torch swung around the distant turn and was bearing down upon them as rapidly as it could be propelled. Jimmy saw Tomaso crawling over the boat and springing to assist Pietro. Together they pulled at the single oar which is awkward work and a waste of strength, but with two such watermen as these it at least hastened their progress.

“Here we are! Here is the launch, signorina,” Pietro shouted, and the gondola swept up alongside their craft. Together, pell-mell, they tumbled in, the girl still clutching her treasure to her breast, and although excited she was anything but panic-stricken. The feeling of the launch beneath her feet seemed to reassure her.

“We still have a chance,” she exulted. “And if they overtake us, at least no one shall have the casket. I'll throw it overboard, first, rather than let it go back to the Harnways.”

“Good!” Jimmy explained fervently. “Good! Why not chuck it now?”

“Not until the last hope is gone,” she replied determinedly, and then her voice was lost in the sudden spiteful roar of the engine as the launch, with wide throttle, sprang away from the screening water gate where it had been waiting.

The long beam of light behind was now so close that it pricked out the floral swan, the white hull of the launch, the bent back of the engineer who was stooping over his wheel as if by the pressure of his hands to force the speed, and the set face of the American girl who was huddled down in one of the wicker seats still holding the golden box that had caused so much trouble and now threatened to bring upon them the harsh hands of the law. The launch raced round a corner. Whistles blew behind them, indicating that the second gondola had been a police boat. The launch raced down a smooth stretch at such speed that it outdistanced the pursuers by a whole turning.

“Now! Get that stuff off. Chuck it overboard,” Jimmy shouted, and Pietro and the panting old Tomaso assisted him to throw off the decorations that must mark and identify them wherever they went. Ripping and tearing, the nets and framework gave and their wake was littered with flowers that tossed upon the waves. Here and there behind them they could see occasional lights springing to life in windows bordering the rio, heads thrust through, but always the blowing of the guard's alarm whistles became fainter.

“By heavens! We've given them the slip, I do believe,” Jimmy cried as, the work of dismantlement accomplished, he stood in the rocking cockpit and stared behind.