ad.

Across the open roadstead Flanagan's old boat crept under her patched
lug sail. Priscilla, standing on the shore of Craggeen, watched eagerly.
At first she could see the occupants of the boat quite plainly, a man at
the tiller, a woman sitting forward near the mast. She had no difficulty
in recognising them. The man wore the white sweater which had attracted
her attention when she first saw him, a garment most unusual among
boatmen in Rosnacree Bay. The woman was the same who had mopped her
dripping companion with a pocket handkerchief on Inishark. They talked
eagerly together. Now and then the man turned and looked back at
Craggeen. The woman pointed something out to him. Priscilla understood.

They could see the patch of the _Tortoise_'s sail above the rocks
which blocked the entrance of the passage. They were no doubt wondering
anxiously whether they were still pursued. Flanagan's old boat, her sail
bellied pleasantly by the following wind, drew further and further away.
Priscilla could no longer distinguish the figures of the man and woman.
She watched the sail. It was evident that the boat was making for one of
the three northern islands. Soon it was clear that her destination
was the eastern end of Curraunbeg. Either she meant to run through the
passage between that island and Curraunmor, or the spies would land on
Curraunbeg. The day was clear and bright. Priscilla's eyes were
good. She saw on the eastern shore of Curraunbeg a white patch,
distinguishable against the green background of the field. It could be
nothing else but the tents of the spies' encampment. Flanagan's old boat
slipped round the corner of the island and disappeared. Priscilla was
satisfied. She knew where the spies had settled down.

She returned to the _Tortoise_. Frank had left the boat and was sitting
on the shore. Miss Rutherford, with the recovered rudder on her knees,
sat beside him. Jimmy Kinsella was standing in front of them apparently
delivering a speech. The two boats lay side by side close to the shore.

"What's Jimmy jawing about?" said Priscilla.

"I'm after telling the lady," said Jimmy, "that you'll sail no more
today."

"Will I not? And why?"

"You will not," said Jimmy, "because the rudder iron is broke on you."

"That's the worst of these boats," said Priscilla. "The rudder sticks
down six inches below the bottom of them and if there happens to be
a rock anywhere in the neighborhood it's the rudder that it's sur