"Four thousand horse-power and forty-five miles an hour," the
engineer repeated, grinning good-naturedly.

"Where's the owner?" was Charley's next question. "Is there any
way I can speak to him?"

The engineer shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not. He's asleep,
you see."

At that moment a young man in blue uniform came on deck farther aft
and stood regarding the sunrise.

"There he is, that's him, that's Mr. Tate," said the engineer.

Charley walked aft and spoke to him, and while he talked earnestly
the young man listened with an amused expression on his face. He
must have inquired about the depth of water close in to the shore
at Turner's Shipyard, for I could see Charley making gestures and
explaining. A few minutes later he came back in high glee.

"Come on lad," he said. "On to the dock with you. We've got
them!"

It was our good fortune to leave the Streak when we did, for a
little later one of the spy fishermen appeared. Charley and I took
up our accustomed places, on the stringer-piece, a little ahead of
the Streak and over our own boat, where we could comfortably watch
the Lancashire Queen. Nothing occurred till about nine o'clock,
when we saw the two Italians leave the ship and pull along their
side of the triangle toward the shore. Charley looked as