The Sultan's Daughter by Dennis Wheatley

to be put ashore.’
    At the Lieutenant’s command the sloop altered course to north-east. Twenty minutes later they picked up a winking light on their starboard quarter which they decided must be the harbour beacon of the little fishing village of Le Touquet. Although the sky was mainly overcast, a faint starlight percolated through a few rents in the scudding clouds and, as they drew closer inshore, it was just sufficient for them to make out patches of white cliff against the dead blackness of the night sky above them.
    While the sloop ploughed on until the Le Touquet beacon had become only a speck astern, Roger and Formby alternately studied the coast through the latter’s night glass, until Roger said, ‘Somewhere here should serve.’
    Formby gave orders to stand in, start sounding and prepare to lower a boat. For some minutes a monotonous chant broke the silence as a seaman swung the lead. When he called four fathoms the command was given to heave to, and the sails came rustling down. A kedge-anchor was thrown out and the boat lowered and manned. Formby wished Roger luck, they shook hands, then Roger climbed down into the stern of the boat.
    It had a crew of six: the coxswain, four oarsmen and aman in the bow to jump out with the painter. No sooner had it started to pull away than Roger’s attention was caught by the loud splashing of the oars. For a secret landing such as this the oars should have been muffled and it was another indication of Formby’s lack of experience that this precaution had been neglected. It was now too late to do anything about it, but Roger said to the coxswain in a low voice:
    â€˜Go easy. Tell the men to dip their oars gently; and there’s to be no talking.’
    As the coxswain passed on his order, Roger reflected that it was hardly necessary to observe caution to the point where it would double the time it would take for the boat to reach the shore, and he realised that he had given it only as a result of habit. Even so, perhaps it had been wise, since the coast here was so much nearer to England than at Dieppe that it was much more frequently patrolled, and one could not be too careful.
    Slowly the boat nosed its way in, was lifted slightly by the surf and grounded on the beach. The bowman jumped out and threw his weight on the painter to keep the boat from being sucked back by the undertow. But the man was still standing calf-deep in water and as the wavelets broke they were wetting him up to the thighs. Seeing this by the faint starlight, Roger said to the coxswain:
    â€˜Be good enough to have the boat hauled up for me. It will be many hours before I can secure a change of clothes and I have no mind to spend the night in those I am wearing half soaked with seawater.’
    â€˜Aye, aye, sir!’ The coxswain spoke sharply to his crew. The four oarsmen shipped their oars, scrambled over the side into the surf and set about dragging the boat up out of the sea. When the bow was clear of the water Roger stood up, with a word of thanks slipped a guinea into the coxswain’s hand, scrambled over the thwarts and jumped ashore.
    When he sprang out the men were still heaving and cursing, and as they dragged at the boat the keel was making a loud, grating sound on a patch of shingle. It was these noises which had prevented any of them hearing other sounds up by the cliff face. Before Roger caught them he had taken a dozen paces along the shore in the direction of Le Touquet.His heart began to hammer. They were, unmistakably, the footfalls of men running towards the sea. At this hour, in such a deserted spot, it could only be a French patrol that had seen the faint outline of the sloop or heard the boat approaching from her.
    He gave a swift glance round. The seamen were now endeavouring to re-launch the boat. He could dash back to it. But would they get it off in time? Even if they did it was certain that the French patrol would be armed with muskets and