They lay on the grass at the edge of the cliff, gazing out to sea. It was a cloudless night, and although there was as yet no moon, the stars shone brightly and covered the world with a dim silvery radiance. Starlight is the most deceptive and baffling of lights, but water is the easiest thing on earth to see over in the dark. The starlight etched in the tiny ripples over the sea, making it a wide, smooth expanse of glistening black and luminous grey; the island called the Old House sheered up from the calm flatness like some fabulous swarthy beast rising from the depths of the ocean.
“I can see the jolly old tub,” breathed Algy excitedly.
The girl’s hand closed over his arm like a vice.
“The Saint was right,” she said.
But it was not so much seeing the ship as detecting a shadowy mast silhouette against the sleek darkness of the waters. The hull could be picked out in a profile of blurred outline, where there showed no flicker of reflected luminosity from the facets of the wrinkled sea. The Tiger’s barque must still have been six miles out from the coast, if not more.
Patricia watched it till her eyes ached.
“They must be coming in very slowly,” she said. “They hardly seem to have moved in the last five minutes. Right under the Saint’s bedroom window, they’d have to be careful.”
“Smugglers and pirates all up to date—what?” remarked Algy. “Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of Bass. . . .”
He was as eager as a schoolboy.
They returned to the Pill Box, and Patricia consulted her watch and made a rough calculation.