barely possible feat for a boat of our low speed to perform in only
two tides; and though we just succeeded, it was only by dint of
tireless vigilance and severe physical strain.

'Lay out the anchor when you've had a smoke,' said Davies, and keep
an eye on the riding-light; it's my only guide back.'

He lowered himself, and I heard the scrunch of his sea-boots as he
disappeared in the darkness. It was a fine starry night, with a touch
of frost in the air. I lit a cigar, and stretched myself on a sofa
close to the glow of the stove. The cigar soon languished and
dropped, and I dozed uneasily, for the riding-light was on my mind. I
got up once and squinted at it through the half-raised skylight, saw
it burning steadily, and lay down again. The cabin lamp wanted oil
and was dying down to a red-hot wick, but I was too drowsy to attend
to it, and it went out. I lit my cigar stump again, and tried to keep
awake by thinking. It was the first time I and Davies had been
separated for so long; yet so used had we grown to freedom from
interference that this would not have disturbed me in the least were
it not for a sudden presentiment that on this first night of the
second stage of our labours something would happen. All at once I
heard a sound outside, a splashing footstep as of a man stepping in a
puddle. I was wide awake in an instant, but never thought of shouting
'Is that you, Davies?' for I knew in a flash that it was not he. It
was the slip of a stealthy man. Presently I heard another
footstep--the pad of a boot on the sand--this time close to my ear,
just outside the hull; then some more, fainter and farther aft. I
gently rose and peered aft through the skylight. A glimmer of light,
reflected from below, was wavering over the mizzen-mast and bumpkin;
it had nothing to do with the riding-light, which hung on the