I groped my way forward in the darkness till I came to a room used for
storing purposes. Well up near the beams was a porthole. Too high for
me to reach, I presently found a large box which I upended cautiously
until it lay beneath the port. Standing on this I could look through
into the heavy foliage of the bushes projecting from the shore.

Except for the lapping of the waves the night was very still. The moon
rode low in the sky. A fan-shaped wedge of light silvered the inky
river.

I gave the signal agreed upon between me and my men, but no answering
flash of white replied to the wave of my handkerchief. Again I shook the
piece of linen from the porthole, and at intervals for fully five
minutes.

Did Alderson see me? Or was there a reason why he could not answer? It
was impossible they could have been captured without some sound having
reached me. Nor was it more likely that they had deserted their post.

The bushes stirred at last and the bow of a boat pushed through. Smith
stood up so that his face was just below mine. His finger was on his
lips.

"Couldn't come any sooner, sir. Captain Bothwell was leaning over the
rail smoking a cigarette. I wonder he didn't see your handkerchief," he
whispered.

I gave him orders concisely and the men backed the boat till the bushes
hid them. For me there was nothing left to do but wait. How long it
might be before Blythe would get back with a rescue party I could not
tell. The men in the boat would not dare to stir from their hiding-place
until the moon went under a cloud.

The tide must now be at the full, so that it would be running out strong
before they got started. This would carry them swiftly back to the bay.

I found myself giving my friends two hours as a minimum before they
could return to me. At the worst they should be here within four, unless
my messenger met with bad luck.

But what about Bothwell? Would he force my hand before Blythe arrived? I
thought it very likely. There is something in the tropical air that
calls to the passion of a man, and reduces his sense of law till
restraint ebbs away.

In Bothwell's case desire and interest went together. He was a criminal
on more than one count, but the charges against him would in a measure
fall to the ground if he could drive Evie to marry him.

Once she was his wife the kidnaping charge would not stick, and even his
black record on the _Argos_ could be made to appear the chivalry of a
high-minded man