Again fortune favored him.
Two men were stretched out under the bluff asleep, and two more were down close to the shore.
"Now or never!" muttered Vance, and he stepped forth.
Had the men on the shore been close enough they might have discovered that something was wrong; but, at the distance, as they glanced at the detective, they evidently mistook him for Arbella.
The detective did not attempt to slink away—he was too cool and ready-witted. He calmly lit a pipe and wandered around, seemingly in a listless manner; but, at the proper moment, he moved away from the beach and soon disappeared behind some bushes.
"Well done!" was the glad exclamation that fell from his lips.
Once beyond sight he moved along rapidly, and made for the point where he and Taylor had landed the previous night.
Vance reached the spot in safety and stood a moment on the bluff looking for the boat, when he saw a man rowing directly across the bay.
"I hope that fellow lands here," was the detective's muttered exclamation.
The boat Taylor had left for him was gone, and he had made up his mind to appropriate the boat of the rower, in case a chance offered.