They were home by nine o'clock, and from there they could see plainly the great Turkish ship, as large as a church, lying close to the quay, showing that they were in time. The attack, as Petrobey had told Mitsos, must, of course, be at night, and through the café-keeper Lelas they learned that she would sail the same evening at midnight, or thereabouts. This was quite to their convenience, for had she sailed during the day they would have had to follow her till the fall of night gave cover to their approach, thus, perhaps, attracting suspicion, and certainly finding themselves many miles from home out at sea when their work was done. Lelas, the café-keeper, to whom they were referred, showed them the caique which Nicholas had told him to keep for Mitsos, and the boy, saying that he would go out a little way at once to see how it sailed, got into it, leaving Yanni on the shore. The latter winked at Mitsos as he got in, and remarking "I am sorry I cannot go with you," for he knew precisely where Mitsos was going, though his chance of seeing Suleima by day was absolutely nil, went back to Constantine's house and waited patiently for his return.
Lelas, who was an arrant gossip-monger, had the news of the town: the Turks were flying in all directions, some to Tripoli, some to Constantinople, some to Athens, such was their consternation at the taking of Kalamata. Many of those about Nauplia were going on board the war-ship, which was bound for the Piræus, and to return with arms. "And tell me," he said, "what is Mitsos going to do with the caique? I am sure it is some plot against the Turk."
But Yanni, seeing Nicholas had not thought fit to tell him, denied any knowledge of the purpose of the boat.
Meantime Mitsos had put out, and was sailing straight to the white wall. The wind was blowing lightly from the east, and he ran straight before it. The boat, slimly built and carrying more sail than his, was certainly a faster goer than his own before the wind, and he suspected would sail closer to it. Certainly it took the air like a bird, and, though the breeze was but light, was a very sea-gull for moving. That, no doubt, was why Nicholas, whose knowledge of boats was as of one who had never set foot on dry land, had chosen it, and Mitsos glanced towards the big ship moored off the quay at Nauplia, and mentally gave it fifteen minutes' start in an hour's run. "And, oh, I love a blaze!" thought he.