"I do not think we shall be able to accept," said Peter. "We are sailing for Havre early to-morrow, if all's well."
One of the French Patrol Leaders shrugged his shoulders and threw out the palms of his hands in a characteristic Gallic attitude.
"I do not think you vill sail," he remarked.
"Why not?" asked Stratton.
The lad pointed in the direction of Fort l'Onglet, above which a cone, point uppermost, had been hoisted to the yard-arm of a mast.
"Regardez bien!" he exclaimed.
Mr. Armitage, following the direction of the French Patrol Leader's outstretched finger, noted the signal. It meant that bad weather—a gale from the nor'ard—was approaching. If any confirmation were necessary the barometer proved it. The glass had fallen four-tenths in less than a couple of hours.
"There's one thing," observed Stratton, after the visitors had taken their departure. "It's one of those short, sharp summer gales:
'Long foretold, long last,
Short warning, soon past'.
It's a good thing we're in a secure harbour."