Then he cast off the mooring-buoy. Hand-waving from the shore and the sea-wall wished them success. The white yawl, lying down to her work in a steady-going fashion, looked very business-like--no frills at all, sheer labour. Christobel was steering, while Adrian watched the sails; the red and green lights made rays on wave-tops sometimes, and then the situation took on an eerie kind of feeling, very dramatic. "I feel as though we were doing a film play," said Crow; "one might, you know, but it would be desperately difficult." So they talked, and the _Messenger_ ploughed her way, out and out, making a long tack, really for want of a better idea. Christobel hoped they would presently see the dinghy. The tide appeared to be rising--that would be going towards Salterne--but the wind was strongly from the south-west; consequently this went some way to nullify the force of the tide, and a small light boat might be expected to be affected much by the wind. "What would she do; row, or drift?" said Crow. "To tell the honest truth, I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if she had landed at Champles," answered Adrian. "Could she?" "Why not? The tide is rising, and wind on the shore. She’s the sense to know that the creek is sheltered by the Bell cliff." "But, Addie, _why_ go out, and then go back to Champles?" "Don’t ask me any more riddles, my dear child. Why go at all? The point seems to be that, as the whole proceeding is insane, we’ve got to calculate with perfectly impossible proceedings." After this they talked in low voices, sitting close together in the well. Reasonably sheltered, comfortable after a fashion, but anxious and strained; going out and out, and always watching. At least once every few minutes one or other of them thought they saw something dark--on a wave--in a hollow--against a creaming smother of foam; yet always it was nothing. They heard the thump of engines on the wind coming from the thick distance, and thought they saw a long trail of black smoke blowing forwards, as a steamer went out west by north. Also they certainly saw an old barque, close hauled, jamming away into the heart of the dirt. "Evidently tide is rising," reasoned Adrian. "That old thing wouldn’t be going up if it wasn’t; she’s tacking. They always use tides, whatever the weather is. Ripping sailors those fellows are."