up?"

A moving shadow duskier than the shadows themselves came through the
door and hovered over Osterbridge Hawsey. Claggett Chew suddenly
started up.

"I smell him!" he muttered thickly. "He's here! Hullo! Night
watchman!" he shouted drunkenly.

As he got up, stumbling and thrashing about in the uncertainty of his
movements, his chair crashed to the floor and the monkey made a leap,
cuffing the lantern from its hook. The light was dashed out, and in
the dark as he jumped, the monkey seized the creased, well-thumbed
paper as he leaped back toward the pale square that was the window.
Behind it Claggett Chew's oaths and exclamations became fainter as
the spicy scent grew stronger, and at last his mutterings trailed off
into snorts and, finally, snores. The monkey, clutching the paper to
itself, sat on the window ledge stuffing it into the pouch about its
neck, and a monkey smile flitted across its face as it heard a final
dreaming sound from Osterbridge Hawsey.

"Hm-mm. Hic! Jewels! Hup!" came from Osterbridge Hawsey.

Down the anchor rope scrambled the monkey with the agility and speed
for which monkeys are famous. Mr. Wicker was already in the boat.

"How shall it be, sir?" came the low voice of Chris. "Shall I become a
beaver and go down and gnaw the rope off at the anchor?"

"No," said Mr. Wicker. "It can be more easily done than that and
nothing to trace it. Get in the boat. Here comes the _Mirabelle_."

Taking his own shape once more, Chris saw the white ghost-like sides
of the _Mirabelle_ soundlessly passing down stream. Not a creak nor a
splash of water came from her as she passed, but from the stern a tiny
light, struck by a flint perhaps, blinked once, and twice, and then a
third time.

"Now!" came Mr. Wicker's low voice. "Let me have my hand upon that
rope!"

He only seemed to hold the anchor rope a moment and give it an easy
pull. The tugging strain was suddenly gone and the _Venture_ veered
away like a frightened waterfowl.

"Will she go where she should, sir?" Chris wanted to know, leaning
forward.

"That she will, Christopher!" came the familiar voice in the dark.
"And we must get out of her way, for here she comes down at us. The
wind and the tide and--hm-m--other forces will drive her solidly upon
the bar. If I mistake not, it will be several days before they get her
off," and on the night air Chris heard a faint short chuckle.

"Pull, boy!" his master told him sharply. "Here she comes!"