All was in readiness. Nothing was to be gained by waiting, and the word to cast off soon came. Through the fast falling gloom the River Swallow slipped out into the St. Lawrence, while a thrill ran through all of those on board as they thought of the night’s work that depended upon them.
“Want the search-light?” asked Harry, as they moved along.
Old man Whey, who acted as pilot, from his thorough knowledge of the river, had just told them they were not far from Windmill Island.
“Not on your life,” snapped the chief inspector; “we don’t want to herald the fact that we are coming. I would suggest, captain, that you extinguish even your side-lights.”
“Taking a chance,” said Ralph, scanning the compass card.
“Never mind. We’ll have to risk it.”
The next instant a sharp click showed that the lights were out.
Stealthily as a shadow the River Swallow crept over the dark water, not a light showing on board her. With her under-water exhaust, too, her engines were perfectly silent. Like a ghost ship she crept along, with old man Whey guiding Ralph’s steering.
After a while the old man signaled to the chief inspector.
“Better take to the small boat here,” he advised, “and anchor the River Swallow. I’m not sure of the rocks and shoals, and Windmill Island lies right off there.”