Miles Burton’s commands were brief and explicit. “There is an old closet in the cellar,” he said, “just about opposite where the box was buried. Mason and I will hide there. We have oiled the hinges of the door so that it moves noiselessly. You boys better keep close here in the woods till you hear from us. Then you can make as much noise as you want to and come in at the capture. There ought not to be so very much excitement about it, for we shall have them before they know what’s the matter.” It certainly seemed as though the detective could not be mistaken, but the sequel would show. Mason remained at his post, and Miles Burton and the boys sat together in the shadow of the woods. It was wearisome waiting, and there was a chilliness in the night air which had crept into it with the east wind. When eleven o’clock had come and the moon should have shone over the cape, a bank of clouds drifted up just ahead of it and half-obscured its light. As the moon arose these clouds drifted higher in the sky, still just preceding it, and the heavens grew but little brighter. Still it was not absolutely dark, for most of the stars were as yet unhidden. Twelve o’clock came, and then one, and then a half-hour went by. At just half-past one o’clock by the detective’s watch they saw the figure of Mason stealing swiftly up the path. “It’s time to make ready now,” he said to Burton, as he joined the party. “They’ll be at the landing soon. As near as I can make out, there’s Chambers and French, besides Craigie. It’s the men we want all right. Chambers is rowing, and he will probably stay in the boat while the other two come ashore.” Then, bidding the boys to preserve the utmost silence, the two detectives left them, and a moment later the boys saw them disappear through the doorway of the haunted house. There was little need of warning the boys to make no noise. From what the detectives had said, they knew that the men they had to deal with were desperate adventurers, who would not balk at any means to escape capture. So they lay close in the underbrush and peered through the trees down toward the landing. The night was still, save for the rustling of a light wind through the trees. The breeze had held through, as Captain Sam had prophesied, though it had abated somewhat, ready, however, to increase with the next turn of the tide a few hours later. They could hear noises across in the village: a solitary cart rattling along the country road, the tinkle of a distant cow-bell in a pasture, and here and there a dog barking. Presently the sound of oars grinding in the rowlocks came to their ears, and a few moments later the sound of a boat gently grating on the edge of the stone landing. There was as yet no sound of voices.