Morcar undertook to keep watch during the night; but hour after hour stole away,—another day dawned, and still the Fairy was occupied only by the woman whom the pirates had left behind.
That day also passed; and it was not until midnight that Morcar's attention was attracted towards the Fairy. Then a boat rowed alongside of the pirate-barge.
The night was pitch dark—so dark that Morcar could not see what was going on in the direction of the Fairy: but his ears were all attention.
He was enabled to discover, by means of those organs, that the boat transferred one or more of its living freight (but he could not tell how many) to the Fairy: then a brief conversation was carried on in low whispers, but not a distinct word of which reached the gipsy. At length the boat pushed off, and rowed away up the river.
Morcar stood upon the deck of the Blossom for a few minutes, attentively listening to catch a sound of any thing that might be passing on board the pirate lighter: but all continued silent in that quarter.
Then Morcar descended to the cabin, where Richard and the policeman were waiting.
To them he communicated the few particulars just narrated.
"It is clear that the pirates have returned from their expedition, whatever it might be," said our hero; "and most probably Tidkins and his friend have just been put on board their lighter. We must contrive to watch their motions; and should they keep their appointment with you, Benstead, to-morrow night, our enterprise will speedily be brought to a conclusion."
"I will keep my watch now on deck till three o'clock," said the policeman; "and Morcar may turn in."
This was done; Richard also retired to rest; and the night passed away without any further adventure.