"We heard something about it," remarked Pengelly. "Rumours, of course. What did happen?"
"She blew herself up over t'other side of Godrevy Island," announced the man, with a sweep of his hand in the direction of St. Ives Bay. "Just as the Windrush—destroyer, she be—was about to nab her. They'll be starting salvage operations when the swell settles—maybe to-morrow."
"That's something to be thankful for," said Pengelly sententiously. "Not that they'd have got much out of the old Eldorado out yonder. There are enough risks at sea without the chance of being scuppered by a bloomin' pirate.... Where's the post office, mate?"
The Customs man gave the required information. Pengelly walked away, posted Silas Porthoustoc's instructions and purchased a quantity of provisions and a big budget of newspapers.
He returned to the harbour and found that none of the boat's crew had deserted. He would not have been greatly surprised if some of them had made themselves scarce. He himself felt tempted to clear out, when his feet touched honest Cornish soil. It would be an easy matter to make his way to Penzance and arrange with Old Silas to share the plunder. But there were difficulties. He might betray Cain and obtain King's pardon, but what would happen to the booty then? Its secret hiding-place would be divulged. He would not be a penny the better. And, if Cain evaded capture, his—Pengelly's—life would not be worth a moment's purchase. Possibly, similar fears had exercised a restraining influence on the boat's crew. Once "in the swim" it was a difficult matter to escape the whirlpool.
"Better look alive," cautioned the Customs man, looking down from the lofty quay-side. "There's a nasty sea-fog banking up."
The boat shipped a considerable amount of water in clearing the harbour, and by the time she ran alongside the Alerte the fog was so thick that the shore was entirely blotted out.
"Well, what's the news?" demanded Captain Cain.
"Haven't looked, sir," replied Pengelly, tossing the bundle from the boat to the deck of the Alerte. "From what I've heard, they think us properly scuppered."
The boat was hoisted up and secured. At slow speed the pirate submarine nosed her way through the fog, intending to make for a certain secluded "sound" in the Scillies, there to await the arrival of the Fairy with the oil.