They drifted downstream under the bank, while the police-boat phutted up on the far side, a low black shape without lights. Caped figures chattered easily in the stern and took no evident notice of the small white motorboat under the bank; but Stephen and John imagined fatal suspicions and perceptions proceeding under the peaked caps. They passed.

“ Now! ” Stephen was fiddling with his anchor again, tugging at a knot; his tone was final. “Take her out into the middle again⁠ ⁠… quick !”

John pulled gallantly with his left. They were opposite the house again now, moving smoothly towards Hammersmith Bridge. No other craft was in sight or sound.

Stephen said thickly, “If we don’t get her over now, we never shall⁠ ⁠… stand by.⁠ ⁠… No, no⁠ ⁠… you trim the boat.⁠ ⁠… I’ll manage it.”