"My cousin?" Landon repeated the words with a certain doubtfulness. "He is my cousin," he said slowly, "and we sha'n't break one of his blood except in one way. It's the girl, remember, that is our strong suit. There's to be no bleating about that. To win, the trick has to be taken with her alone." Miller nodded woodenly. "If I had the inclination to interfere, I have not the power," he said. "Do you forget that I am a prisoner, like herself?" "Yes," said Landon, and there was more than doubt in his expression this time, there was suspicion. "I forget it all the time. I want your assurance that _you_ won't!" Miller made a gesture of assent. "Let's get on," he said. "I understand that it's within a couple of hours of dawn." For an instant Landon hesitated. Then, with Luigi at his heels, he entered the lazaret. Neither of them spoke. They bent and lifted Aylmer methodically, holding him by his shoulders and his lashed ankles. They bore him on deck. They gagged him with the cork float of a fishing-net and left him, stark and motionless as a log. They turned back to the cabin, and a minute later placed Claire Van Arlen beside him, as helpless as himself. The dingy--a new one, picked up in the island--was lowered. The prisoners were thrust beneath the seats. A deck hand and Muhammed took their places at the oars. Luigi steered; the child, half asleep and wrapped in a blanket, drowsed at his feet. Miller and Landon sat on the thwarts. The two rowers dipped their oars without splashing in long, slow strokes. The thole-pins were muffled with rags. The boat stole along in the shadow of the jetty into the darkness which hid the port. It was noiseless, ghost-like, this entry into the little haven. To the two dumb prisoners who lay along the bottom of the boat it was ominous of hope entirely lost. They stifled under the cloaks which hid them; the perspiration dripped from the rowers, despite the unhurried nature of their work. The weight of a dozen atmospheres seemed to have replaced the exhilarating breath which Sicily flings seaward from her sun-brimmed shores. Luigi, at the helm, gasped and passed his hand across his eyes. "Thunder in December! Not natural, Signor, but that is what we must expect. I suffocate. _Per Dio!_ The bay is an oven." He let the prow nose in towards the jetty. Moored boats began to appear dimly, right and left of them. The lamplight from the Marina showed an empty quay. Luigi steered for the shadow cast by a shed, and took the ground silently on a strand of mud and garbage. The deck hand drew in his oar and skipped nimbly ashore. Muhammed followed him. They both laid their hands upon the painter. They bent their backs to haul. Two shadows appeared right and left of them, shadows which seemed to have detached themselves from the framework of the shed. Something clicked. A yellow beam flared out, full on Luigi's face. He gasped, he yelled. "God's Mother--the Carbineers!"