Already the "Pollard" had swung to a bow-on course and was making
straight for the steam yacht.
"Mutiny, by Jove!" murmured the Naval officer. He did not speak
excitedly, but with a certain grim dryness. "Catch up with them as soon
as you can, Captain Benson."
"There they go, heading away from us," muttered Captain Jack.
"From her present performance she doesn't look to be over a fourteen-knot
boat," declared Ennerling. "You won't be long in running alongside."
"What do you make out, sir?"
"A white-haired old man, in a yachting suit, and another man in white
duck. They are aft, and both appear to be holding pistols. There are
two women, one middle-aged, I should say, and the other barely more than
a girl. Excellent glasses, these, Benson."
"Can you make out any mutineers?"
"There are some men, pressing back astern, yet seemingly not wholly
liking to risk revolver fire," went on Commander Ennerling. "I don't
believe I can make out all the mutineers, from this point of view."
"What shall we do, sir, when we get alongside?"
"Quell the mutiny," retorted Commander Ennerling, with emphasis. "It's
the one choice a Naval officer has in a case of this sort. Briscoe!
McCrea!"
The two junior officers came hastily up the spiral stairway. Commander
Ennerling told them as rapidly as he could what had happened.
"There's something wholly wrong on that yacht," he wound up, "and we've
got to get alongside and look into it.
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