ed
water, and here at this moment, unseen, was a boat rowing stealthily,
stopping, and, perhaps, making soundings.

He laid his hand on Francis's arm with a gesture for silence, then,
invisible below, someone said, "Fifteen fathoms," and again the oars
creaked audibly in the rowlocks.

Michael took a step towards his cousin, so that he could whisper to him.

"Come back to the boat," he said. "I want to row round and see who that
is. Wait a moment, though."

The oars below made some half-dozen strokes, and then were still again.
Once more there came the sound of something heavy dropped into the
water.

"Someone is making soundings in the channel there," he said. "Come."

They went very quietly till they were round the point, then quickened
their steps, and Michael spoke.

"That's the uncharted channel," he said; "at least, only the Admiralty
have the soundings. The water's deep enough right across for a ship
of moderate draught to come up, but there is a channel up which any
man-of-war can pass. Of course, it may be an Admiralty boat making fresh
soundings, but not likely on Boxing Day."

"What are you going to do?" asked Francis, striding easily along by
Michael's short steps.

"Just see if we can find out who it is. Aunt Barbara asked me about it.
I'll tell you afterwards. Now the tide's going out we can drop down
with it, and we shan't be heard. I'll row just enough to keep her head
straight. Sit in the bow, Francis, and keep a sharp look-out."

Foot by foot they dropped down the river, and soon came into the thick
mist that lay beyond the point. It was impossible to see more than
a yard or two ahead, but the same dense obscurity would prevent any
further range of vision from the other boat, and, if it was still at its
work, the sound of its oars or of voices, Michael reflected, might guide
him to it. From the lisp of little wavelets lapping on the shore below
the woods, he knew he was quite close in to the bank, and close also to
the place where the invisible boat had been ten minutes before. Then,
in the bewildering, unlocalised manner in which sound without the
corrective guidance of sight comes to the ears, he heard as before the
creaking of invisible oars, somewhere quite close at hand. Next moment
the dark prow of a rowing-boat suddenly loomed into sight on their
starboard, and he took a rapid stroke with his right-hand scull to bring
them up to it. But at the same moment, while yet the occupants of