Presently he went out to look at the weather. The rain had stopped and low mist hung about, but a half-moon was rising in a patch of clear sky. The swell heaved, long and smooth, about the sloop, which swung up and down with a regular motion. Jimmy could see the yacht’s anchor light not far away and the yellow blink from her saloon windows, but he could hear nothing that suggested preparations for sending off a boat. As it was cold in the cockpit, he returned to the cabin, where the others had lighted the lamp, and none of them said much for the next hour. They could hear the loose halyards slap the mast and the water splash about beneath the floorings, and the soft lapping of the tide along the planking.
Moran suddenly raised his hand, and, after their long wait in suspense, it was a relief to hear the measured splash of oars.
“That means he’s willing to make terms,” Bethune said.
Five minutes later the yacht’s boat ran alongside and Clay climbed on board.
“You can take a run ashore, boys, and come off when we signal,” he said to his crew, and then turned to Jimmy. “I’ve come for a talk.”
“Will you come below,” said Jimmy, moving back the scuttle-slide. “Be careful how you get down: there’s not much room.”
Clay bumped his head before he found a place on a locker, where he sat silent for a moment, looking about. The light of the bulkhead lamp revealed the rough discomfort of the narrow cabin. Condensed moisture glistened on the low roof-beams; the floorings were damp and littered with coils of rope. The end of a torn sail projected from the forecastle door, and damp blankets were loosely spread on the lockers to dry in the warmth of the rusty stove. All this indicated stern, utilitarian economy, and the men’s ragged, work-stained clothes were in keeping with it; but Clay noticed that their expression was resolute.
In the meanwhile they were studying him, and it struck them that he looked ill. His face was flabby and there were heavy pouches under his eyes.
“So my invitation didn’t bring you off!” he said. “Were you afraid I might carry you out to sea?”
“Not exactly,” Bethune replied. “One would not suspect you of so crude a plan. Can’t you take it that we were afraid of a change of wind? You see, it’s a rather exposed position.”