The ebb was now running at a good four knots, the water gurgling past the sides of the Olivette as she rode to her tautened mooring-bridle.
A tug, towing a train of barges, was laboriously creeping up-stream in an endeavour to make Rouen before morning. Farther down, the triple lights of a large steamer under way could be discerned rounding the bend abreast of Le Marais. Presently the red and green lights were extinguished. She had anchored for the night, preferring to negotiate the intricate channel by daylight.
"I'll get the dinghy alongside ready to go ashore," said Flemming. "She'll lie there quietly now we're head to wind."
"Don't forget to haul in the bucket," Roche reminded him, "or when we begin to row we'll be wondering what's wrong with the dinghy."
Eric brought the dinghy alongside on the starboard quarter and clambered on board.
"She'll do," he reported. "She's as quiet as a lamb. Wonder what those fellows are doing ashore? It's nearly midnight. You'd better turn in, Rayburn."
The Tenderfoot was about to go below, when he startled the others by exclaiming:
"What's that coming towards us?"
It was a heavily laden barge, drifting broadside on to the wind and tide. Already it was close upon the bows of the Olivette, its long, low-lying outlines grotesquely magnified in the darkness.
"She'll hit us!" shouted Roche. "Stand by and fend her off. Phil, put the helm hard over, and see if we can sheer clear of her."