In the darkness it seemed to the paddler that he was fairly flying
over the water, and he had become convinced that the ship had left
her moorings and that he had already passed the spot at which she
had lain earlier in the day, when there appeared before him beyond
a projecting point which he had but just rounded the flickering
light from a ship's lantern.
Alexander Paulvitch could scarce restrain an exclamation of triumph.
The Kincaid had not departed! Life and vengeance were not to elude
him after all.
He stopped paddling the moment that he descried the gleaming beacon
of hope ahead of him. Silently he drifted down the muddy waters
of the Ugambi, occasionally dipping his paddle's blade gently into
the current that he might guide his primitive craft to the vessel's
side.
As he approached more closely the dark bulk of a ship loomed before
him out of the blackness of the night. No sound came from the
vessel's deck. Paulvitch drifted, unseen, close to the Kincaid's
side. Only the momentary scraping of his canoe's nose against the
ship's planking broke the silence of the night.
Trembling with nervous excitement, the Russian remained motionless
for several minutes; but there was no sound from the great bulk
above him to indicate that his coming had been noted.
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