"I know the way," whispered the garroter, and a few gathered around him. "We'll make a bee line for the dock and avoid 'em. Then, if we can't find a boat, we'll swim for it. It's the only way."
"Right," whispered another; "fall in here, behind Jenkins—all of you."
The whispered word was passed along, and in single file the dark-brown bodies, each marked on knee and elbow with a white number, followed the leader, Jenkins. He led them across the green, around corners where sentries were not, and down to the dock where lay the destroyer.
Here was a sentry, pacing up and down; but so still was their approach that he did not see them until they were right upon him.
"Who goes—" he started, but the challenge was caught in his throat. He, too, was choked until consciousness almost left him; then the stricture was relaxed while they questioned him.
"Got a boat around here?" hissed Jenkins in his ear. "Whisper—don't speak."
"No," gasped the sentry, unable to speak louder had he dared.
"How many men are aboard the destroyer?" was asked.
"None now. Crew joins in the morning."
"Nobody on board, you say? Lie quiet. If you raise a row, I'll drop you overboard. Come here, you fellows."