She seized the sack, called on him to help her, and between them they ran it down to the water’s edge. Then they got the dinghy afloat, the sack on board, and started.
“What’s up?” again asked Ratcliffe, as they rowed.
“Sail,” said Jude.
He had seen nothing, perhaps because of the sun-dazzle on the water or because he had not looked in the right direction. The sensitiveness of the Tylers to the approach of strangers and their hawklike vision struck him as belonging almost to the uncanny.
Satan had rigged a tackle, and without a word uttered the sack was got aboard and below. Then and not till then did Satan speak.
“It’s Cleary,” said he.
Jude took the old glass he had been using, and examined the stranger, then she handed it to Ratcliffe. He turned it on the fleck of sail which sprang gigantic into the form of a big fore-and-aft-rigged boat, beating up for the island, the late afternoon sunlight flashing back from the foam at the forefoot and her foam-wet bows.
“Who is Cleary?” asked he, handing back the glass.
“Cark’s partner,” said Satan, “sort of half and half partner. They’re always bestin’ one another. Cleary is by way of bein’ a ship breaker and dealer in odds and ends; owns a couple of ratty old schooners besides that old ketch. Wonder what he’s doin’ down here? Curse him!”
“He’s after Cark, most likely,” said Jude. “Maybe he’s got a smell of the wreck.”