But the very fact of the fog finally brought the pursuers upon their quarry.

A small boat appeared suddenly perhaps a hundred yards ahead, barely visible in the gloom.

“Looks like them, sir,” declared Jack.

“What makes you think so?” demanded Lord Hastings, at the same time throwing over the wheel.

“I don’t know, sir,” replied Jack.  “I don’t really mean it looks like them.  I just think it is them.  It’s what Frank would call a—­a—­a——­”

“Hunch.”  Frank supplied the word.

“That’s it,” agreed Jack.  “A hunch, sir.”

“We’ll see,” said Lord Hastings grimly.

At this moment the occupants of the craft ahead realized that they were pursued.  The boat bounded ahead with a sudden burst of speed.

“It must be they,” declared Lord Hastings.  “If they were not here for some ulterior purpose they wouldn’t run.”

He signalled full speed ahead and the motorboat sprang forward.

“Shall I have a shot at them?” shouted Jack.

“Not yet,” replied Lord Hastings.  “It may not be the boat we are after.”

The race continued.

Suddenly the foremost boat swerved sharply to the left, then dashed straight ahead again.

“They are heading for the shore, sir!” shouted Jack.

The pursuing boat also swerved sharply, one side dipping to the water’s edge and all but throwing Jack overboard.

“So they are,” replied Lord Hastings, “Gun ready, Mr. Templeton?”

“All ready, sir.”

“Good.  Try and do better this time.  Fire!”

“Boom!” went the little gun, and all strained eagerly forward to watch the result of the shot.

A volume of water shot up a few yards behind the pursued.

“Missed again,” said Frank sorrowfully.

“Again,” commanded Lord Hastings.  “Fire!”

And the second shot also went wide, for even as Jack fired the boat ahead again swerved suddenly.  Now the pursued began to steer first to one side and then to the other, momentarily approaching closer to shore, however.

Twice more Jack fired in response to Lord Hastings’ command, but the result was always the same.  As long as the pursued continued to zig-zag there was little hope of a successful shot.

But in the meantime the pursuers were gaining.  A bullet from ahead whistled over Frank’s head.

The lad grew angry and drew his own revolver.  Taking careful aim, he fired.  So far as he could see there was no result.

“Where’s that infallible aim of yours?” demanded Jack.

Frank made no reply but fired again.  This time his effort was rewarded.

A figure straightened up in the boat ahead, waved his arms above his head, and with a cry toppled into the water.  The boat did not slow down.  The others plainly did not intend to take the time to attempt a rescue.

“Shall we pick him up, sir?” asked Frank.