Ruxton was gazing down at the little boat lying the other side of the natural breakwater. It was a petrol launch of some kind, but small and light as a cockle-shell. There was another man in the stern, and he observed that both he and the man beside him were in some sort of uniform.
"I didn't see you come in," he went on curiously.
"We've been lying here half an hour, sir. Our orders were to wait till just before the tide turned. We've got about half an hour, sir," the man added significantly.
"Where's the vessel?" enquired Ruxton.
"Just outside, sir."
"I didn't see her."
"She's lying submerged."
"And Miss Vladimir is—aboard?"
"The lady is, sir," replied the man, with a shadow of a smile in his deep-set blue eyes.
The stranger stood aside, a direct invitation to Ruxton to climb down into the boat. But the latter made no move to do so.