"The Malfilio perhaps?" suggested Branscombe.
"Not she," declared Withers. "That steam pipe of hers will take at least two days more before it's patched up."
"I can see her green, now," announced Alwyn "She's altering course. If she holds on she'll pile herself upon the reef."
Helpless to warn the on-coming vessel—for even had the three officers been provided with means of signalling they would have incurred heavy penalties by the pirates and the wrecking of all the formers' carefully laid plans—the watchers on the cliff awaited events.
The vessel was now steaming dead slow—at least she took an unconscionable time in approaching. That was in her favour. It might give the look-outs the opportunity to hear the roar of the surf; while, even if she did strike, and were held by the coral reef, she would not be likely to sustain serious damage.
Suddenly a dazzling glare leapt from the vessel and the giant beam of a searchlight swept the island. From where the three officers lay prone on the grass they could see the rim of the cliff outlined in silver. The crest of the Observation Hill was bathed in the electric gleams, but elsewhere, owing to the depression towards the centre of the plateau, the island was in darkness. So carefully chosen was the site of the various buildings that nowhere from seaward could they be visible.
"A warship!" declared Burgoyne. "I say, this complicates matters. Let's get back to the huts, or we'll be missed. We can return before dawn."
Cautiously the three officers made their way down the slight slope, where the darkness, by contrast with the slowly traversing beam of light overhead, was intense.
When within fifty yards of the nearest of the prisoners' huts Burgoyne gripped his companions' arms.
"Lie down!" he whispered.