Page:The Popular Magazine v72 n1 (1924-04-20).djvu/53

 “Just around that curve we pass under the bridge and out into the Grand Canal, signor,” Pietro said, standing erect beside him and, animosity forgotten, putting one hand on his shoulder and pointing with the other.

“But we don't dare stop to let the signorina off,” Jimmy remarked. “That police boat is too close on us.”

“And there is no landing place until we pass the bridge,” Pietro added. “If we could get her off the boat, we could take our chances. All they could do would be to arrest us and we could hold our lips.”

“By Jove! Pietro! You're a trump to think of that,” Jimmy exclaimed in spontaneous recognition of the other's loyalty. He accompanied his remark by extending his hand, and Pietro took it, and then and there they knew that they were to become friends. But their remarks had been overheard by the girl, who exclaimed, “What? Put me off and you take all the responsibility and bear all the blame? Well, I guess not! We either escape together or go to jail together. I've got something to say about that!”

She started to her feet to continue her remonstrance when there came an unexpected interruption. Swinging around the turn with a searchlight ablaze came another launch traveling at high speed as if to intercept them.

“A police launch!” Pietro exclaimed. “They've been warned by telephone to meet us.”

“Quick work! They're better than I thought they could be!” Jimmy remarked with compulsory admiration. “We're in for it unless we can make it into the Grand Canal, and then—we can at least give them a race!”

By the same impulse they all dropped down into the boat, Pietro kneeling on the floor of the pit, old Tomaso, wet and dripping and with his gray hair hanging in strands across his forehead, hunched like a giant-shouldered gnome, the girl still sitting erect, and Jimmy half crouched as if to be ready for a fight when the finish came. The motor-boat driver alone appeared bent on his task and recklessly taking chances. He still hung over the wheel with his chin thrust forward and a scowl on his face, blinking at the oncoming light that almost blinded him.

“Hold fast!” he cried sharply, and gave the wheel a violent twist that brought the launch swirling about, its prow lined toward the light. He accelerated his engines until they roared with energy and speed. There were shouts and cries from the oncoming boat; it held on for an instant and then, weakening when it was apparent that nothing but a swerve could keep it from being cut down, swept to one side and edged against the walls. Its clutches were grinding with the abrupt effort to hold itself. It wriggled and twisted as if in distress.

Jimmy felt the launch beneath their feet lean over, poise for an instant at an acute angle while its bow wave came back in a broken, drenching spray and then it slithered past the menaced, struggling police launch, barely scraping its side, while its affrighted occupants shouted in a babel of explosives to “Surrender!” to “Stop the boat,” to “Sheer off if you don't want to ram us,” and other phrases less to the point. Jimmy saw with admiration that the man at their own wheel never looked back; that he was working hands and feet to shoot past; that the launch was now taking on a reckless racing speed, and that the pale arch of the bridge seemed soaring toward them from above. They smashed through a belt of total darkness; running still faster, with bow waves climbing ever higher, tore from the black shadow out into the sparkle and glitter of a million festal lights, caught the smell of the fresh sea and nearly swamped in an abrupt swerve to avoid a barge load of astonished singers. They rocked and tossed through the wake of an excursion steamer, heeled over sharply to avoid a lighted gondola filled with children, made a wide curve to gain an opening between a procession of gay celebrants and then sedately slowed down. The engines suddenly stopped their clamor as they were shut off. The man at the wheel stood up, brushed the damp hair from his eyes and looked back at Captain Jimmy as if for orders.

“Can't we cross over and land somewhere in the darkness of the Giudecco?” Jimmy asked as he stared about him.

“We can't, sir,” gruffly shouted old Tomaso, as he stood up and pointed backward. “That police boat has rounded and is coming out as if escaping from Hades. And that's not all, signor. Over there from the other side comes another launch. There's nothing for it but a race for the