Eight hours later the Alerte dropped anchor in Studland Bay. Here she was not likely to be disturbed, nor would her presence excite much attention. Since she flew no signal for a pilot, the pilots for Poole Harbour let her severely alone. A vessel might lie there for a week without attracting official notice, since that anchorage is frequently made use of by craft bound down Channel. Provided the wind kept between sou'sou'-west and north it was a secure berth, but should the wind fly round to any other point a heavy swell soon rolls into the bay, making it a matter of urgency for the vessels lying there to up-anchor and proceed.
The anchorage suited Captain Cain admirably. He was within a couple of hours' run of his rendezvous with the Fairy, and by this time Captain Silas Porthoustoc ought to be on his way down-Channel with his cargo of arms and ammunition. Until the Alerte received the Fairy's Belgian cargo little could be done to augment the pirates' treasury.
At length the evening fixed for the meeting of the pirate ship and her tender arrived. Seven in the evening, with neither moon nor stars to mitigate the darkness of a November night, the Alerte weighed, gave Old Harry Rocks a wide berth and shaped a course to carry her well clear of St. Alban's Head.
At ten o'clock she was at the rendezvous. The prearranged signals were made, but no reassuring reply blinked through the darkness.
Midnight came and went. At 4 a.m. the Middle watch was relieved, but still no sign of the motorlugger Fairy.
"Old Porthoustoc's let us down, Pengelly," declared Captain Cain petulantly. "He's made a lash-up of things. Shouldn't be surprised to hear that he's under arrest either at Dover or Dunkirk."
"Not he, sir," replied Pengelly confidently.
Both men had remained on deck all night, in their eagerness to welcome the Fairy alongside. Every quarter of an hour the flashing signals from the Alerte stabbed the darkness, but not the suspicion of an answer was received.
There was practically no wind. It was a belated St. Martin's summer. The air was warm and moist, with patches of haze sufficient to obscure the rays of Anvil Point light a bare twelve miles off.
"Flashing light on our starboard quarter, sir!" shouted one of the hands.