Hilliard made fast the painter with a slip hitch that could be
quickly released. Then with the utmost caution both men stepped
ashore, and slowly mounting the steps, peeped out over the deck
of the wharf.

As far as they could make out in the gloom, the arrangement here
also was similar to that in France. Lines of narrow gauge tramway,
running parallel from the hut towards the water, were connected
along the front of the wharf by a cross road and turn-tables.
Between the lines were stacks of pit-props, and Decauville trucks
stood here and there. But these details they saw afterwards. What
first attracted their attention was that lights shone in the third
and fourth windows from the left hand end of the shed. The manager
evidently was still about.

"We'll go back to the boat and wait," Hilliard whispered, and they
crept down the steps.

At intervals of half an hour one or other climbed up and had a look
at the windows. On the first two occasions the light was unchanged,
on the third it had moved to the first and second windows, and on
the fourth it had gone, apparently indicating that the manager had
moved from his sitting-room to his bedroom and retired.

"We had better wait at least an hour more," Hilliard whispered again.

Time passed slowly in the darkness under the wharf, and in a silence
broken only by the gentle lapping of the water among the piles. The
boat lay almost steady, except when a movement of one of its
occupants made it heel slightly over and started a series of tiny