It was two hours after midnight. The streets of Nyborg were still and deserted. There was no moon in the heavens; but the sky was clear, and, in the faint starlight, two tall individuals, wrapped in hooded cloaks, issued from the outer gates of the palace. They walked silently and hastily towards the quay. Immediately afterwards, two horsemen, in gray cloaks, rode out of the palace-gate, and speedily disappeared in the same direction, without the slightest noise, as if their horses were shod with list. At the extremity of the quay lay a skiff, with red sails, upon which a number of silent figures were in motion. The quay was quiet and solitary. At length, a few rapid footsteps and the clank of spurs were heard, and, under the outer plank of the bulwark, a little, peeping, curly head concealed itself. The two tall persons in hooded cloaks now paused: one of them coughed, and, in a subdued voice, pronounced a name or pass-word, which was answered from the ship by a whistle; upon which they went on board. In a moment the red sails were set. A steady breeze blew from the south-west, and the skiff passed rapidly by the eastern point, out of the haven. As soon as the vessel was in motion, the little black curly head of the spy once more appeared from beneath the bulwark. At one bound, Claus Skirmen stood in a boat, and, with a few hasty strokes of the oars, came alongside a small yacht lying in the inner part of the haven, and in which his master and Sir Thorstenson already expected him. Scarcely had the red-sailed skiff passed Canute's Head, the extreme eastern point of coast, before the smaller and quicker yacht ran out from Nyborg haven. It bore away, at first with some difficulty, as near as possible to the wood-covered west coast of the firth, to avoid drifting too far northwards, and to be able to steer in a direct line south of Sporgoe, towards Zealand. Drost Peter seated himself silently by the rudder, and looked grave. Sir Thorstenson and Skirmen also preserved a deep silence; and, during the whole passage, the usual and necessary words of command to the boatmen only were heard. The skiff with the red sails had just disappeared from sight, and was steering to the north of Sporgoe. As the morning dawned, they were close by Korsöer. Drost Peter gazed incessantly, and somewhat uneasily, towards the north. At length he caught a glimpse of the red sail, and saw that the strange skiff was bearing down the Belt. He now ordered the yacht to be run in to Korsöer harbour.