Marston got up and they set off. Straight and nearly blank walls now shut them in, for the houses got light from the patios. Wyndham's steps echoed in the dark, but except for this all was quiet. It looked as if nobody were about. A strange smell hung about the houses, for the street was narrow and the land-breeze did not sweep it clean. By-and-by they crossed a square and kept back from a lamp at the end of another street. To meet one of the armed police would be awkward, for although the fellow's curiosity might be appeased by a bribe, to persuade him would occupy some time. They met nobody, but after some minutes Wyndham thought it prudent to cross the _alameda_, where shady paths wound among tall trees. The gloom would hide them and from one end a dark street ran down to the harbor. Marston agreed and set his lips as he struggled on, for the walks were covered by sharp, fresh gravel. Stealing along the dark street, they reached the mole and stopped for a moment. So far as they could see, the tug had not arrived, and although they distinguished _Columbine_'s masts against the sky, she was moored to a buoy some distance from the wall. Wyndham had warned the crew to keep a watch, but there was a risk in hailing them. "One of the port-guards is generally about this side of the harbor," he said. They listened, but only heard the sea splash against the wall and the wind in a neighboring vessel's rigging. The land-breeze was fresh and blew down the harbor. If they could get on board, it would not be long before _Columbine_ was at sea. "We might swim," Marston suggested. "I think not," said Wyndham. "There's a nasty, splashing ripple that would break in our faces; besides, the gig would be quicker. We must chance a hail." He shouted and Marston clenched his fist when no answer came. It was unthinkable that they should be stopped by the negligence of a sleepy look-out. Before long the port-guard would walk up the mole, and if they were not gone, would take them to the captain's office. One must get leave to go on board, because the port was closed at night. They waited for two or three minutes, since Wyndham dared not shout again, and then a soft rattle came out of the dark. Marston started and thrilled. "I believe that's somebody jumping into the gig," he said. "It is," said Wyndham softly, and after a few moments added: "She's coming." They could not see the boat and she made very little noise. There was no splash; it looked as if somebody sculled her cautiously. By and by a dark object glided out of the gloom beside the wall and they went to the steps. "Go back softly, softly," Wyndham said to the indistinct figure in the stern as they got on board. In a few minutes they reached the schooner and Marston's spirits rose. He had done with tracks and plots; now his job was straightforward. Moreover, he knew it well.