ade no answer and we stood staring at the black bulk lying
motionless on the grey water; stood for a long time, listening. I, to
tell the truth, was straining my ears to catch the plash of oars: I
thought it possible that some of those on board the yawl might take a
violent desire to get ashore.

But the silence continued. And now we said no more of setting out on
our homeward journey: curiosity as to what had happened kept us there,
whispering. The time passed--almost before we realized that night was
passing, we were suddenly aware of a long line of faint yellow light
that rose above the far horizon.

"Dawn," I muttered. "Dawn!"

And then, at that moment, we both heard something. Somewhere outside
the bar, but close to the shore, a steam-propelled vessel was tearing
along at a break-neck speed.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE FOURTH CHINAMAN

As we stood there, watching, the long line of yellow light on the
eastern horizon suddenly changed in colour--first to a roseate flush,
then to a warm crimson; the scenes around us, sky, sea and land
brightened as if by magic. And with equal suddenness there shot round
the edge of the southern extremity of the cove, outlining itself
against the red sky in the distance the long, low-lying hulk of a
vessel--a dark, sinister-looking thing which I recognised at once as a
torpedo-destroyer. It was coming along, about half a mile outside the
bar, at a rare turn of speed which would, I knew, quickly carry it
beyond our field of vision. And I was wondering whether from its decks
the inside of the cove and the yawl lying at anchor there was visible
when it suddenly slackened in its headlong career, went about,
seaward, and describing the greater part of a circle, came slowly in
towards the bar, nosing about there beyond the line of white surf, for
all the world like a terrier at the lip of some rat-hole.

Up to that moment Miss Raven and I had kept silence, watching this
unexpected arrival in our solitude; now, turning to look at her, I saw
that the thought which had come into my mind had also occurred to
hers.

"Do you think that ship is looking for the yawl?" she asked. "It's a
gunboat--or something of that sort, isn't it?"

"Torpedo-destroyer--latest class, too," I answered.

"Rakish, wicked-looking things, aren't they? And that's just what I,
too, was wondering. It's possible, some news of the yawl may have got
to the ears of the authorities, and this thing may have been sent