By the time they arrived in New York the ivory would have been sold
in London and he would be traveling in Europe on his ill-earned
gains. That Beasley (his unsuspecting partner) would be ruined gave
the money-crazed old man no care at all.
But even as the launch cast loose from the moving yacht and headed
back to the shore--her occupants greedily fingering the bills Barr
had given them for their work--Barr, from his station on the bridge,
gave a start and an exclamation.
High in the air, and not more than ten miles inland, a black object
that looked like a huge bird, but which Barr knew in his guilty soul
was the Golden Eagle II, was rapidly winging its way toward them.
"More steam," he shouted down the tube to the engineer and the
yacht, a long creamy wave curving away from her sharp black bow,
began to move even faster.
"What are we making?" Barr asked eagerly of the late bos'n who,
binoculars in hand, was taking the ship out through the treacherous
harbor entrance as confidently as if he were once more a captain.
"Twelve knots," was the reply.
"We must do better," raged Barr.
"Impossible!" was the answer. "We are risking the yacht now. I am
not familiar with this harbor and there are shoals and reefs all
about us stretching many miles out to sea.
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