"Lay the table in the after-cabin, Phil," said his companion "I'll start up the stove. We'll have a jolly good feed ready for them when they return. They'll be here in twenty minutes or half an hour."
An hour passed, and no sign of the returning "liberty men". Roche took the hard-boiling kettle off the stove, lit the cabin lamp, and went on deck.
It was now quite dark, except for a few lights from the houses ashore and the distant gleam of the Fanal St. Paul against the sombre outlines of the Forêt du Trait.
The Tenderfoot, on his own initiative, had trimmed, lighted, and hoisted the riding-light.
"That's the sort!" exclaimed Roche approvingly. "You're getting quite a smart sailorman. How's the tide? Why, it's ebbing and we've swung down-stream."
"What's happened to the others, I wonder?" asked Rayburn, whose notions of a foreign country included danger for man and beast.
"Lost their way, perhaps," replied Roche. "'Twouldn't be the first time a Scout has done that, by any means. We'll hear them hail us very soon."
"P'r'aps Hepburn's been run in again," suggested Flemming, "and the others are trying to bail him out."
He looked meditatively over the side, and added:
"My word, isn't the tide running hard; I wouldn't like to have to go overboard on a dark night like this."