“Deep water, apparently right to the foot of the
rock,” said the leadsman in the bow, drawing in the wet string with its knob of lead on the end, and reading the record.
“We’ll lay here under shelter of the rock until we hear Inspector Burton’s signal,” Ensign Warwick told the boys. “On this still night, with no other sounds about, the sound of his shots will carry plainly to our ears.”
He was about to give orders to drop the grapnel, when Jack laid a hand on his arm:
“Listen.”
The sound of three shots fired in rapid succession came faintly to their ears. It was followed by distant shouts, and then several more shots at ragged intervals, then silence.
“The signal.”
“Yes,” said Ensign Warwick, springing into instant activity, “and our men are meeting with resistance. We’ll have to go in at once.”
He turned away to issue the necessary order. In a trice, the rakish craft quivered with the sudden picking-up of the engines, the screw began to revolve with increased violence, her head was put out to sea and she started to run away from shore.
“I suppose we’ll go out to where we can get a better view into the creek, and then speed in,” said Frank.