Ruxton had remained in obscurity watching the light as it passed through the opening. It came on swiftly against the racing tide. There was no hesitation or indecision. The light steered straight for the spit of rock forming a sort of natural quay, upon which he was standing under cover of a projecting boulder. There was no longer any doubt in his mind. He remembered that other time when he had embarked at the same spot.
The launch slowed down and crept towards the rocky tongue. The landing was brilliantly lit up by the searching headlight. Slower, slower, it finally glided into the landing-place and was held fast by two heavy figures now clearly outlined.
A third figure rose up amidships—a tall, familiar figure, clad in a long enveloping cloak. He spoke once. Then he stepped actively on to the landing. Ruxton emerged from the shadow.
"Welcome, Prince. It is I, Ruxton Farlow."
He had stepped forward with hand outheld.
At the first sound of his voice the men in the boat had become still. The Prince had swung round, and his right hand had been plunged deeply into the pocket of his great cloak. But a moment later it was withdrawn, and a deep-throated laugh expressed his relief.
"Ah, my friend," he cried. "I thought"—then he grasped the outstretched hand in warm cordiality,—"then I heard your name, and knew my alarms were groundless. You have come here to—meet me?"
"Yes. We guessed."
"Ah. Forgive me. I must give some orders."
He was about to turn away to the men in the boats, but Ruxton detained him.