It seemed to him his own
heart had stopped, so still it was, and he felt a cold perspiration
break out on his flesh. Something was wrong, must be wrong. Where were
they--at anchor in some harbour? or helplessly adrift on the lake? The
sea must have gone down; waves no longer dashed against the side, and
there was no shriek of wind overhead; the yacht rocked gently, as though
the swell of the sea no longer buffeted her; there was no sound of action
on the deck above. Then he heard a voice again, outside, reaching him
this time plainly through the open port.
"All set, Mapes," it said sharply. "Come on down. You finished the job?"
"Ay, ay, sir," the answer gruff, but with a tinge of excitement in the
tone. "She's fixed all right. Hold hard, now, mate."
West, thoroughly aroused, realizing instantly the importance of this
new move, and as quickly suspecting its purpose, leaped to the
port-hole, and, endeavoured to gain a glimpse without. The night was
still intensely black, the sky overcast and starless, the only glimmer
of light the reflecting of foam tipped surges. If land was near it
remained invisible, nor could he even be sure of the close proximity of
a boat. There seemed to be a smudge there at the left, a black, lumping
shadow, shapeless against the background of sea; yet he could not be
sure. Even as he gazed at it doubtfully, the dim object disappeared,
fading away like a mirage. No sound reached him to cause the vision to
seem real--no voice, no creak of oars, no flap of a sail; yet something
told him that mysterious shadow was a boat, a boat filled with men,
creeping away silently into the night, fleeing from the yacht, and
vanishing into the darkness.
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