It was after ten o'clock when he slipped out of the house. Hector Woodridge followed at some distance, keeping him in sight.
"He's going to the harbor," thought Hector. "What will he do there?"
Brack looked round in every direction as he went down the steps and hauled in his boat. It was no unusual thing for a boat to go out at night to a man-o'-war, or to some craft lying in the bay, but he was not fond of such work and knew if any of his mates saw him it would attract notice. Looking up, he saw Hector leaning over, and beckoned him to come down.
"Once we're out of the inner harbor there'll not be much danger," said Brack. "Chuck that waterproof over yer shoulders; it'll keep yer warm and it looks seaman-like. Now we're ready."
"Hallo, Brack!"
He looked up and saw Carl Hackler on the steps peering at the man in the boat. Brack had wonderful control. It was a matter of more than life or death to Hector Woodridge; if Hackler got him he would be sent back to his living tomb, for such it was to him.
"Oh, it's you!" said Brack with as much contempt as he could master. "And pray what are you doing here? Want another trip in the bay? If you do, jump in and I'll take you. I've got the mate of the London Belle here; he's a bit overseas and I'm taking him out. Ain't that right, Harry?"
"That's the job, Brack, that's it," hiccoughed Hector, who guessed the danger was great.
"I've half a mind to come," said Carl, not quite satisfied, but utterly deceived by Brack's cool manner.
"You'll have ter make up the other half quick," said Brack.