“What are we going to do?” inquired Harry Brackett, once more.
“Wait till we run her down alongshore between here and the crew’s camp,” replied Mr. Carleton. “Then you’ll see.”
It was a quarter to eleven, by Mr. Carleton’s watch, when he at length arose and motioned for the boy to follow him.
“Any skiffs along the beach?” he asked.
“There are, ’most always,” replied Harry Brackett. “The cottagers have them.”
They found what they wanted, shortly, a little flat-bottomed affair, that just sufficed to float the two. They got in and rowed out to the yacht. Stepping aboard, Mr. Carleton dragged the light skiff also aboard after him. Then he paused abruptly, as though a thought had occurred to him. He shot one quick glance at Harry Brackett, and another off through the darkness.
“We need another small boat,” he said. “When we get down alongshore we’ll use them both.”
“There’s a rowboat moored off that cottage just below,” said Harry Brackett.
“Get it,” said Mr. Carleton, “when we sail up to it.”
Harry Brackett expressed surprise.