"The bird is ready to flit away at the first alarm," whispered the captain. "See, he has got his anchor hove short and has taken in none of his sails but the jib. He could get under way again in half a minute. He's wary all right."
"We had better not talk any more," cautioned Charley in a whisper. "Sound carries a long ways over the water and the launch is nearly here."
With nerves at highest tension the little party waited.
The loud throbbing of the launch's engine suddenly ceased. There came a splash from a dropped anchor, and more splashing as its crew waded ashore. Then came a murmuring of voices and the sound of footsteps, and the watchers drew further back into their hiding place as four figures came into view. They passed so close to the bunch of palms that their features were plain to the hiders. One was Hunter, himself, the other three they recognized as members of his gang.
The four hurried down to the water's edge.
"Ahoy," Hunter hailed the schooner. "It's all right. Come ashore."
"Are you sure no one else is around?" cautiously inquired a voice from the schooner.
The response had been in perfect English but something in the tones and the faint foreign accent made the chums stare at each other as though they had heard a voice from the grave.
"No, there's no one here but ourselves," Hunter replied, impatiently. "Do you think I would be here if everything wasn't all right? Come, get a move on you, and hustle that stuff ashore. There's a lot to do, and it ain't many hours till daylight."
Those on the schooner fell to work with feverish haste. A small dingy carried on deck was launched over the side. Two figures leaped into it and received the cases, two others brought up from the hold.