"Yes, sir. But it didn’t look as if it was ever used now. The only doorway is barricaded, and my young cousin told me it had been like that ever since he could remember. He said the top was supposed to be dangerous, and the place was boarded up after an accident that happened ever so many years ago. There was no other way in; the youngster—an inquisitive little chap—has tried more than once, and always failed." "Humph! Is it worth trying again?" "I’d be mighty glad to see, sir. But I couldn’t do it in daylight. I might be seen from the village. Yet I could hardly do much good at night unless some one happened to be there at the time." "Well, we can’t risk discovery. We don’t want to scare the signalers away." "Wouldn’t it be best to land some distance down the coast one night, and get to the Folly about daybreak? I’d have the place to myself then." "Right. We’ll bide our time. Meanwhile, there’s this anonymous letter to remember. I gave out at Wynport that we’re going to run over to Weymouth; perhaps that will put our smuggling friends at Luscombe off the scent." The _Fury_ kept away all day, returning to a point opposite Luscombe after nightfall. Lieutenant Blake told off Babbage and Turley and eight more of the men to accompany Jack, and, a boat being lowered and provided with muffled oars, the little party set off, while the _Fury_ set a course for Totley Point, where Mr. Goodman had a posse of preventive men on the watch. It was more than an hour and a half’s steady rowing to the shore, and Jack was not at all sure where he would strike the beach. Thinking over the likely places along the shore, he felt certain that the run would probably be attempted at a spot not far east of the path up which he had followed De Fronsac. He wished the smugglers to get there before him, for if the vessel they expected had not yet arrived, they would be keeping a good watch seaward, and his boat would run a great risk of being discovered. But he had found out that Turley was born at Wynport and knew the coast pretty well, having spent several years as a fisherman in the neighborhood, so that he was likely to recognize any landmarks as soon as they came in view. It was a still night, and very dark. The oars made scarcely any noise as the men pulled steadily in toward the shore. At last Turley declared that he could just see the copse that crowned a chine leading down to the beach, near the path that Jack had followed. "You’re sure, Turley?" asked Jack in a whisper. "Sartin sure, sir." "He’ve got cat’s eyes, sir," murmured Babbage. "We need them to-night," said Jack, peering anxiously into the darkness. "Easy all, men." He listened for sounds along the shore or from the sea. The breeze was very slight; it had become less as the boat neared the shore; and if it continued to die away there would soon be scarcely enough wind to carry a vessel in. "We’re about half a mile off, I think, Turley?" "Just so, sir," replied Turley.