"If that's it," said Jack, "we can easily make sure. Remain here by the wall so that you can't be seen. I'll go on."
He ran on tiptoe along the road past Gudgeon's house standing black and silent, crossed the little bridge over the chine, and, vaulting the wall, hastened to the edge of the cliff. He should now at least be level with the Frenchman if he was still walking along the beach eastward, for on the road Jack had run much faster than was possible on the shingle.
Here again, however, the cliff cast a black shadow. He could see nothing; nor, listening intently, could he detect any sound from below, save the slow wash of the high tide. But in a few moments his practised ear caught another sound. Surely that was the faint thud of oars working in row-locks out at sea. Yes: a quarter of a mile eastward he saw a boat cross the white path of the moonbeam across the water and creep shoreward. And beyond, straining his eyes, he thought he saw in the shimmering moonlight the shape of a larger vessel, motionless.
"Whew!" he whistled softly, "that's the Frenchman's little game!"
He was convinced that there must be some connection between the approach of the boat and De Fronsac's suspicious movements. What was it? He thought of Arthur, remaining by himself in Gudgeon's field.
"Better fetch the youngster," he said to himself.
He raced back to the spot and told Arthur what he had seen.
"You had better come with me. Who knows what this will lead to?"
They returned together and hurried along the cliffs, keeping well away from the edge to avoid being seen.
"She's making for Laxted Cove," said Arthur when he saw the boat.