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Above the line of dark blue that was the ocean, and in the light

blue that was the sky, was etched a tree-shaped brown smudge.

Steamer smudges were not an unusual sight, for not fifty miles

east was the northern track of the great ocean steamers--a track

which they were gradually approaching as they made their berths.

But a steamer smudge over the port quarter, with the Lass's bow

headed due north, was an entirely different thing.

Code went below and brought up an ancient firearm. This he

discharged while the cook ran a trawl-tub to the truck. It was

the prearranged signal for Pete Ellinwood to come in.

As Code waited he had no doubt that smoke was from a revenue

cutter or cruiser from Halifax with his arrest warrant.

There was a stiff westerly breeze, and Code, glancing up at the

cloud formations, saw that there would be a beautiful racing

half-gale on by noon.

"What a chance to run for it!" he thought, but resolutely put the

idea from his mind.