“Hold your row,” said a man beside him, as he drove his elbow into his ribs, and gave a side jerk of his head.
The man thus adjured turned sharply, and saw close to him a sturdy-looking figure clothed from head to foot in black mackintosh, which glistened as it dripped with the showery spray.
“Ugly day, my lads.”
“Ay, ay, sir; much snugger in port than out yonder.”
Boom! came a heavy blow from a wave, and the offing seemed to be obscured now by the drifting spray.
Van Heldre focussed a heavy binocular, and gazed out to sea long and carefully.
“Any one been up to the look-out?” he said, as he lowered his glass.
“Two on us tried it, sir,” said one of the men, “but the wind’s offle up yonder, and you can’t see nothing.”
“Going to try it, sir?” said another of the group.
Van Heldre nodded; and he was on his way to a roughly-formed flight of granite steps which led up to the ruins of the old castle which had once defended the mouth of the harbour, when another mackintosh-clothed figure came up.