"We shall have to get through the window, Harry."
There was a small window on the right of the shed, just wide enough to get through.
"All right. Follow my leader, Paul."
Paul soon mounted to the window and climbed through. Harry quickly followed him. As he reached the ground there came another lurid gleam of light; then it died out as quickly as before.
"There it goes again, Paul. What is it?"
Paul was asking himself the same question. What was it? Whence did the light come? It was a dark night—no moon and few stars. But in the distance they could see lights flitting about like will-o'-the-wisps from the mastheads of ships; so they knew they were not far from the Medway.
"Thought so. We're close to the river," said Paul. "Now that we've found out all that we can, we'd better make for Garside."
"Yes. Hallo! there it goes again! Why—why, it's a ship on fire!" exclaimed Harry.
It was now clear enough to see that Harry was right. A ship was on fire. The flames, at first spasmodic, uncertain, had now gained a complete hold of the ship, and were shooting upward, like fiery serpents, into the sky.
All thought of Garside vanished from the boys' minds as they raced towards the river. As they drew nearer, they could see that the unusual spectacle had already attracted a great throng of spectators to the banks.