“Who is there?” asked Willis softly.
“Constable Jones, sir,” the figure answered. “Is that Inspector Willis? Sergeant Hobbs is here with the boats.”
Willis followed the other for fifty yards along the beach, until they came on two boats, each containing half a dozen policemen. It was still very dark; and the wind blew cold and raw. The silence was broken only by the lapping of the waves on the shingle. Willis felt that the night was ideal for his purpose. There was enough noise from wind and water to muffle any sounds that the men might make in getting aboard the Girondin, but not enough to prevent him overhearing any conversation which might be in progress.
“We have just got here this minute, sir,” the sergeant said. “I hope we haven’t kept you waiting.”
“Just arrived myself,” Willis returned. “You have twelve picked men?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Armed?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. I need not remind you all not to fire except as a last resort. What arrangements have you made for boarding?”
“We have a ladder with hooks at the top for catching on the taffrail.”