Almost as he spoke, was an answering beam of light upon the grim headland, a light that winked once or twice and then was swiftly lowered until it hung suspended half-way down the cliff. “O Geordie-man—O Geordie!” whispered Sir Hector. “’Tis betrayed ye are, lad—yon proves it beyond a’ doot!” “Aye, by the Pize,” whispered Mr. Potter, “yonder’s black treachery! A light a-top o’ cliff any fule might show ... but a light a-dangle ’arf-way down!... Look, sir—God love us ... Sharkie be a-standin’ in——” “To his death, Geordie—himsel’ and a’ his lads!” “Not whiles Potter can waarn ’em, sirs!” And, speaking, Mr. Potter got to his knees, but there Mr. Pym’s grip on his leg arrested him. “What’s to do, George?” he inquired. “Liddle enough, sir, but arl I can.... Potter be a-goin’ down yonder to th’ edge o’ the tide, an’ soon as they be nigh enough I lets fly with both my pistols——” “And commit suicide, George Potter!” “Why, they sojers may miss me, sir ... an’ I shall run amazin’ quick and—hark, sir ... Sharkie be a-towin’ in wi’ his boats!” Sure enough, faint though distinct was the sound of oars. “Lord love me!” exclaimed Mr. Potter, his placidity quite gone. “They be closer ashore than I thought ... loose my leg, sir!” “Not so, George!” answered the painter. “Your plan is extreme clumsy and offers but problematical chance o’ success whiles you run great risk o’ wounds or death, and Captain Nye may be nothing advantaged. Now, upon the other hand——” “Mus’ Pym, Mus’ Pym, it be no time to arg’—lemme go, sir!” “Heark’ee now, George Potter, ’twill take Sharkie Nye some half-hour to tow into musket-shot in this dark whiles yon lanthorn, though a fairish distance, is yet well within range ... nay, patience, George, lie still and listen to me! The trouble seems to be yonder lanthorn—very well, let us incontinent extinguish yon lanthorn....” “Aye, but how, sir—how?” “Hold thy tongue, George, and give me elbow-room.” “Why—why, Mus’ Pym,” gasped Potter, “you never think as you can manage ... so fur ... sich a liddle bit of a thing as yon lanthorn?” “With a bow and arrow, George, which was a weapon of less precision than such musket as mine, the worthy Tell split an apple imposed upon his small son’s head ... and to-night ... hum! Give me room, George!” Mr. Pym extended himself comfortably at full length; they heard the sharp click as he cocked his long piece, watched him level it across convenient rock, held their breaths while he dwelt upon his aim; a spurt of fire, a roar that reverberated far and wide, a puff of smoke ... and the swinging light was not. Ensued a moment of utter stillness, then from seaward came an answering flash, hoarse commands, the red and white lights vanished, and thereafter a riot of sound as the gloom of cliff and foreshore was stabbed by musketry fire; and, lying face down upon the grass, Sir John heard the whistle and hum of bullets in the air above him.