“Very well,” said the inspector, “anchor as noiselessly as possible.”
The anchor chain was slipped out slowly with hardly any of its customary whirring and rattling. The engines ceased to revolve. The River Swallow swung noiselessly at her moorings. Then came the command to lower the launch tender.
When this was done, they all descended into it and, using the oars—for they did not want to announce their coming by the popping of the engine—they set off through the darkness for the shore.
Presently, like a tall ghost, the white finger of the windmill tower upreared itself through the surrounding gloom.
Ralph, who sat next Harry, felt the lad give a shiver.
“Goose flesh?” he laughed, nudging the boy.
“Goose flesh nothing!” exclaimed Harry indignantly. “It’s fighting flesh.”
The bow of the tender grated on the beach. It was after ten o’clock. No light or other evidence of human habitation was visible.
“Maybe our birds have skipped,” said the chief inspector, in disappointed tones.
“Hold on a minute!” whispered Ralph, in a low, tense voice. “What’s that coming?”