Once on the rock, they had set about their preparations: crawling all over it, making sure of knowing every inch in the dark, and becoming acquainted with each boulder that lay upon its surface. They tested them with their crowbars in the darkness, and found it possible to move all but two or three. The great fragment that balanced near the edge they levered nearer still, so that only a little effort would be needed to send it crashing down; and then they moved others near it, working with caution that was almost painful, lest even a scratch of rock on rock should carry a warning across the dark water. Below them, the waves had at first rippled and splashed against the crags; but gradually they receded, and leaning over, lying flat on the stone, they could make out the position of the great boulder that marked the entrance to the cave, and so make sure that their balanced rock was in the right place. Then there was nothing to do but wait. How the minutes dragged! Far up on the northern headland, Norah crouched among sparse furze and heather, unheeding the prickly branches that forbade comfort. The edge of the low cliff prevented her seeing the inlet; she could only watch the dim outline of the coast, stretching northward, and the stormy sky with its hurrying clouds. Before her loomed dimly the heap of petrol-soaked wood and furze which they had roughly piled in the darkness behind a boulder that hid it from watching eyes, should any be on the alert. She had expected to be afraid when at last they had all shaken hands with her and wished her luck before creeping away to their posts; but now she found that she had no sense of fear. Jim had stayed behind for a moment and kissed her, calling her “old kiddie” in the way she loved. In the agony of wondering if she would ever hear his voice again there was no room for fear for herself. John O’Neill had had longer to wait before climbing down to the beach. He had lain on the edge of the high ground, motionless, taking advantage of every moonlit moment to learn by heart the scene below as the tide crawled backward. Jim’s plan was fresh in his memory: now he stared at each boulder, studying opportunities for cover and making out the path that the Germans must take to the cave. He knew where it was, though he could not see it: it relieved him, too, that he was unable to discern Jim and Wally, or to hear the faintest sound of their presence, although he knew they must be on the rock. Finally, he made his cautious way to the beach, and followed the tide out yard by yard, creeping from one shadow to another: a shadow himself, white-faced and frail, among the rugged boulders.