Storm, darkness, despair--these had been the sole comrades for the two who lay bound in their old quarters in the _Santa Margarita's_ lazaret. Within a few minutes of the moment in which Padre Sigismondi had succumbed to the islander's treacherous hospitality, those who had sought his protection had been prisoners once more, and the felucca's mast had been stepped anew. For three hours it had bent before the strength of the northern wind--the hot, oppressive breath which seemed to blow no longer from Nature's lips but in her very face. For it was an unnatural wind--in temperature, in the quarter from which it came, in dampness. The rigging slackened in the humid gusts, but the great sail bellied out magnificently. They had torn across the broad waste of waters at racing speed. Captain Luigi announced with legitimate pride that they had come a matter of five and fifty kilometres. The land loomed up before them mountainously a short five miles away. Landon peered into the darkness. Lights shone far to the left of their position--lights in rows, lights white, lights dusky orange, and far beyond the main mass of the illumination one red star which winked in solemn intervals. "Messina," explained Luigi, tersely. "The red beam? That is the Faro." "And we land where?" asked Landon. "Here, if the Holy Mother gives us her protection," said the skipper, and pointed straight ahead. "In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred there is no difficulty about it. The port police--there are three of them--are cousins of my own and, it is needless to say, controlled by the Society. In fifteen minutes you will see." "The hundredth chance?" said Landon. "That is--?" "The Carbineers, Signor. Or rather one Carbineer--Sergeant Pinale, who has been at the bottom of many an honest contrabandist's misfortune. _Brutta bestia!_ He will not keep to any ordered sequence in his goings and comings. But the men of the Society will know. If they answer our signals, all is well." Landon looked at him debatingly. "Who is to answer signals at this hour of the night, my good Luigi? Your colleagues will be in their more or less virtuous beds." The smuggler smiled a superior smile. "The Society never sleeps, Signor, and it has trained the men in its ranks to remember as much. High on the blank wall of hill above the port is a watch-tower, though only a private dwelling-house to all seeming. There is a need for the sons of the Mafia to have an open door into Sicily at any moment of the day or night." He called one of the hands to the tiller as he finished speaking and went forward. He came back, holding a ship's lantern. There were wings of glass on hinges on either side of it--one red, one green.