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He knew the ship would be approaching from the north, but his grasp on the distances involved was tenuous at best and he moved to look out over the starboard side of the ship in a vain attempt to see Saint Albans Island. He knew it was out there some where, but it was invisible in the gathering dusk. He thought about Bailey and Arkwright and wondered if they had sat out last night under the stars with Stokes whilst he had lain in his comfortable bed in the inn. For a brief moment he felt slightly guilty, but then the memory of the bitter cold of the fields of Saint Albans returned and he shuddered at the thought. Around him the night grew closer and a seaman passing to the rear of the ship asked him if he was alright.
“Yes thank you” he replied. “I was just admiring the stars.”
The seaman replied in a gruff reply that Melchior did not understand and moved away shaking his head. Melchior smiled at the man’s back and began humming. He understood he was out of place here, and he understood that the crew were a suspicious lot, but still, he felt so very much at home, here under the night sky that he wondered if he was ever going to be comfortable once he returned to the sterile grey environment of London and the treasury department.
He walked across to lean against the ships port side and stared at the Alert still keeping station a hundred yards or so away. No longer minding the cold, he stood there for close to an hour, listening to the wind and the sea, and watching the smaller ship as the darkness gradually swallowed it up.

Neither ship had her running lights lit, and when they turned south a few hours later, they separated and each eventually took up station several miles apart, off Saint Albans Island; the Alert to the east and the Pegasus to the west.
Coming on deck, Captain Fellows regarded his pocket watch.“A quarter to eight” he observed, then with a jovial chuckle he added, “and now we wait.”

Four hours later, Bailey and his men took up their positions on the island. Only an hour previously, Arkwright had met with a small lugger coming out of the Medway carrying seven constables and quietly led them to the rendezvous point where Bailey and Norris stood waiting impatiently with Stokes.
When the men had gathered around him, Bailey had quickly gone over the plan again and each man had nodded to show they understood the game. Stokes had had them all draw, clean and reload their weapons, despite Bailey’s insistence that they should refrain from shooting even if they were shot at.
Now, as the slim crescent moon rode the sporadic clouds they lay in wait, ignoring or enduring the cold as the night passed them by.
Not long after midnight a single figure appeared on the worn path way from the village and unaware of the watchers around him, made his way into the tower. Bailey had given strict orders that the signaller was to be given free passage until the blue rocket had been sent up and the men from Chatham remained still and vigilant.
The minutes dragged by and Bailey fell to pondering the mystery of the three deaths. All last night with Arkwright, Norris and Stokes he had lain in the fields, watching over the landscape in vain, wrapped in a sodden rain coat and miserable with the lack of results. This was his fourth night spent out doors and he was beginning to suffer for it. His knee’s ached and his throat was sore, and generally he felt awful.
A quiet rustle of leaves broke his ponderings and announced Norris’s approach.
“We just saw the light flashing” Norris whispered. “It must be one o clock”
Bailey realised then that he had been dozing off, and thanked his good fortune that his companions were in better condition than he was. He pulled out the heavy flintlock coach mans gun and pulled back the lock which gave a satisfying double click, awakening his anticipation and bring his half sleeping mind into focus.
Nothing happened.Bailey knew that even as he stood there in the dark undergrowth by the path, out to sea the two ships would be closing about the smugglers.