Barraclough pointed to the North East.
"Number fifty-seven," he said.
The old skipper focussed a pair of binoculars and steadied them against a stay of the funnel.
"Zere," he said, and pointed at a solitary sail to the West of its fellows. "Heem! You see?"
Barraclough nodded.
"Diamond's a reliable chap. Always as good as his word. How long shall we be?"
"Quarter hour—ten minit."
Nothing more was said until the "Felice" came alongside the solitary fishing boat from the bows of which a tall bronzed seaman gave them a welcoming hail.
"Good-bye and good luck, Jean Prevost," said Barraclough. "You'll hear from me in a day or two."
"And blerdy good luck to you," said the Frenchman gripping the extended hand.