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Voices hailed us out of the darkness, but still the Aurora thundered on, and still we followed close upon her track.

"Pile it on, men, pile it on!" cried Holmes, looking down into the engine-room, while the fierce glow from below beat upon his eager, aquiline face. "Get every pound of steam you can."

"I think we gain a little," said Jones with his eyes on the Aurora.

"I am sure of it," said I. "We shall be up with her in a very few minutes."

At that moment, however, as our evil fate would have it, a tug with three barges in tow blundered in between us.

It was only by putting our helm hard down that we avoided a collision, and before we could round them and recover our way the Aurora had gained a good two hundred yards.

She was still, however, well in view, and the murky, uncertain twilight was settling into a clear, starlit night.

Our boilers were strained to their utmost, and the frail shell vibrated and creaked with the fierce energy which was driving us along.

We had shot through the pool, past the West India Docks, down the long Deptford Reach, and up again after rounding the Isle of Dogs.

The dull blur in front of us resolved itself now clearly into the dainty Aurora.

Jones turned our searchlight upon her, so that we could plainly see the figures upon her deck.

One man sat by the stern, with something black between his knees, over which he stooped.

Beside him lay a dark mass, which looked like a Newfoundland dog.

The boy held the tiller, while against the red glare of the furnace I could see old Smith, stripped to the waist, and shovelling coals for dear life.

They may have had some doubt at first as to whether we were really pursuing them, but now as we followed every winding and turning which they took there could no longer be any question about it.

At Greenwich we were about three hundred paces behind them.

At Blackwall we could not have been more than two hundred and fifty.

I have coursed many creatures in many countries during my checkered career, but never did sport give me such a wild thrill as this mad, flying man-hunt down the Thames.

Steadily we drew in upon them, yard by yard.

In the silence of the night we could hear the panting and clanking of their machinery.

The man in the stern still crouched upon the deck, and his arms were moving as though he were busy, while every now and then he would look up and measure with a glance the distance which still separated us.

Nearer we came and nearer.

Jones yelled to them to stop.

We were not more than four boat's-lengths behind them, both boats flying at a tremendous pace.

It was a clear reach of the river, with Barking Level upon one side and the melancholy Plumstead Marshes upon the other.

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