Not a word was spoken after they had once started; carefully the sweeps were dipped, slowly they were pulled; the skiff progressed steadily and with scarcely a ripple of the water.
Gradually the lights of a vessel grew nearer. There was a rattling and clinking of metal from her low-lying deck; then a hoarse voice, startlingly loud after all their caution, hailed them.
“Ahoy!” cried the voice. “Belay there, and give an account of yourself.”
“Is that the ‘Scorpion’?” asked Pennington.
“It is. For whom?”
“For King George.”
“Come alongside and let’s have a look at you.”
The skiff approached the gun vessel; as its bow scraped the side a man leaned over the rail with a ship’s lantern.
“Ay, ay,” he said in a tone of recognition. “So it’s you, once more, is it, Pennington?”
“Once more, Mr. Halsey,” returned the spy.