"What's the matter?" asked Alan.
"Matter?" echoed Jack. "They must be sending the whole Russian Navy
here in detachments to capture our unworthy selves. There's a second
boat coming from the east-- nearer by two miles than the yacht. If I
hadn't been all taken up with the other from the moment I climbed here
I'd have seen her before."
"Is she a yacht, too?"
"No. Looks like a passenger tramp. Dirty and--"
"Merchantman, maybe."
"No. She's got guns on her--"
"Merchantman fitted out for privateersman, probably. That's the sort
of craft Russia would be likeliest to send to a secret prison like
this. What flag does--"
"No flag at all. Neither of them. They're both making for the rock,
full steam, and from opposite sides. Neither can see the other, I
suppose. I--"
"From opposite sides? That doesn't look like a joint expedition. One
of those ships isn't Russian. But which?"
Jack had clambered down and stood by Alan's side.
"We must make ready for defense in either case," he said. "In a few
minutes we'll be able to see them both from the platform below."
"One of those boats means to blow us out of existence if it can,"
mused Jack. "The other cannot know of our existence. And yet, if she
doesn't, what is she doing here, headed for the rock?"
With that Jack scrambled, slid and jumped down. Drummond was very
quiet and serious. Repeating rifles stood in a row on the opposite
wall, easy to get at, but as far off as might be from the effects of a
possible shell.
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