"Thank goodness it is a fairly black night," muttered Captain Restronguet. Beyond the pontoon lights at Saltash, the signal lamps of the railway, and the riding lights of a few vessels lying at the buoys on the west side of the river, all was in darkness. To gain the entrance to Coombe Bay it was necessary to pass between two cruisers, whose anchor lamps glimmered fitfully, throwing scintillating reflections on the placid water.
"Boat ahoy!" challenged the look-out on the nearest vessel.
The captain of the "Aphrodite" was equal to the occasion.
"Passing!" he roared, using the shibboleth laid down in the Naval Regulations for this contingency.
This reply apparently satisfied the look-out, and without further interruption the canvas boat drew into the shallow waters of Coombe Bay. Fortunately the tide was nearly at the full, and still rising, and hence no danger of being stranded on the mud was likely to occur.
"Easy, men," cautioned Captain Restronguet, as the gaunt outlines of the railway bridge spanning the creek loomed up against the darkness. Then, "Lay on your oars."
Gradually losing way the boat drifted on till it grounded on the shingle hard at the foot of the bridge. The boat's crew listened intently; beyond the distant rumble of a belated train, and the faint hoot of a liner's syren away out in the Sound, all was still.
Ten minutes passed. Captain Restronguet knitted his brows in perplexity.
"There's some one, sir," whispered Gwennap, as the cautious scrunching of a man's boots upon the shingle could be faintly heard. Then a dark figure appeared out of the night.
"Is that you, Kenwyn?" demanded the Captain in a low voice.