"There he is!" cried one.
The captain laid our tug across the tidal stream that swept us strongly
toward Goat Island. Then he steamed slowly toward the other tug.
"He's gone," said Dicky.
The other tug seemed anxious to keep away from us, as in distrust of
our good intentions. I scanned the waters carefully, but the drowning
man had gone down.
Then, rising not twenty feet away, floating for a moment on the surface
of the water, I saw plainly for the first time, the very caricature of
the face of Doddridge Knapp. The strong wolf-features which in the King
of the Street were eloquent of power, intellect and sagacity, were here
marked with the record of passion, hatred and evil life. I marveled now
that I had ever traced a likeness between them.
"Give me that hook!" I cried, leaning over the side of the tug. "Go
ahead a little."
One of the men threw a rope. It passed too far, and drifted swiftly
behind.
I made a wild reach with the hook, but it was too short. Just as I
thought I should succeed, the face gave a convulsive twitch, as if in a
parting outburst of hate and wrath, and the body sank out of sight. We
waited for a few minutes, but there was no further sign. The other tug
that had hovered near us turned about and made for the Oakland shore. I
signed to the captain to take his course for the city.
The men talked in subdued tones, and I stood half-bewildered, with a
bursting sense of relief, by Mrs. Knapp. At last she took her hands
from before her eyes, and the first rays of the sun that cleared the
tops of the Alameda Hills touched her calm, solemn, hopeful face.
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