Chapter XXIII. A Change of Tactics
WE pushed off without a word, and paddled out of sight of the beach. A voice was approaching, hailing us. 'Hail back,' whispered Davies; 'pretend we're a galliot.'
'Ho-a,' I shouted, 'where am I?'
'Off Memmert,' came back. 'Where are you bound?'
'Delfzyl,' whispered Davies.
'Delf-zyl,' I bawled.
A sentence ending with 'anchor' was returned.
'The flood's tearing east,' whispered Davies; 'sit still.'
We heard no more, and, after a few minutes' drifting, 'What luck?' said Davies.
'One or two clues, and an invitation to supper.'
The clues I left till later; the invitation was the thing, and I explained its urgency.
'How will they get back?' said Davies; 'if the fog lasts the steamer's sure to be late.'
'We can count for nothing,' I a
