After a really difficult and hazardous descent, they found the others awaiting them in a rock-shrouded cove. The barest standing-room was afforded by a patch of shingle and detritus. Alongside a flat stone lay three broad planks tied together with cowhide. The center plank was turned up at one end. This was the catamaran, which de Sylva had dignified by the name of boat. The primitive craft rested in a black pool in which the stars trembled, though they were hardly visible as yet in the brighter sky. The water murmured in response to the movement of the tide, but to the unaided eye there was no vestige of a passage through the volcanic barrier that reared itself on every hand.
"Were 'ave you bin?" growled Coke. "We've lost a good ten minnits. You ought to 'ave known, Hozier, that it's darkest just after sunset."
"We could not have started sooner, sir."
"W'y not? We were kep' waitin' up there, searchin' for you."
"That was our best slice of luck to-day. Had any of you appeared on the ledge you would have been seen from the launch."
"Wot launch?"
"The launch that visited us this morning. Ten minutes ago she was standing by at the foot of the rock."
Philip spoke slowly and clearly. He meant his news to strike home. As he anticipated, De Sylva broke in.
"You saw it?" he asked, and his deep voice vibrated with dismay.
"Yes. I even made out, by actions rather than words, that the darkness alone prevented the soldiers from coming here to-night. The skipper would not risk it."