He knelt and busied himself in lighting it in the shelter of the companion. The breeze had driven them right in under the shadow of the land by now. The steep above the shore seemed almost to overhang them. Here and there a faint oil lamp flickered along the Marina; a larger, nearer, and brighter gleam was evidence of a tiny jetty which was washed by waves which were dwindling under the protection of the land. Luigi lifted his lamp and held it clear of the companion. Rapidly he shut the green shield over the untinted glass, as rapidly opened it again, shut the red wing twice in quick succession, and finally left the green signal closed. Landon's eyes probed the darkness. His companion stood silent, his face raised towards the hill. There was no apprehension in his attitude, only expectancy. Quite suddenly it seemed that the wind had dropped. The shelter of the shore might account for this in part, Landon mused, but surely not altogether. It was weird, in a sense, this abrupt alternation to perfect stillness after the uproars of the outer seas, but it was not unpleasant. It gave one a sense of relaxation; but the heat, untempered by the faintest breath of air, was incredibly oppressive. December was aping the temperatures of August. Luigi sighed contentedly and spoke. "All is well, Signor. It remains to get our merchandise ashore." Landon became aware of a blue speck of light in the darkness--a speck which wavered, grew to a suddenly unexpected point of brightness and disappeared. So quickly did it come and go, so evanescent was its effect, that none but those who searched for it would have been likely to give its appearance a second thought. It might have been caused by the passing of a candle behind one of the many panes of frosted glass which disfigure Italian villas in _villeggiatura_. Luigi gave an order. The two deck hands clutched the halliards. The sail was lowered. A moment later the anchor set the ripples herding towards the shore as it plunged into the calm below the jetty. Landon and his companion descended to the cabin. Stretched on a bunk was Miller, sleeping the sleep of the justly tired. He roused himself at their touch and sat up. He looked about him meditatively. "The wind has dropped, absolutely?" he said. "Since when?" "Half an hour ago. We are in port," said Landon. "We are ready to land, when you will." The gray man smoothed the creases in his gray coat. "When _I_ will?" he repeated. "I am a prisoner--the captive of your bow and spear." He smiled with sombre sarcasm. "That position is to be maintained?" asked Landon. "Naturally. Your cousin may make my continued residence in Gibraltar well-nigh impossible, otherwise."