A HUMAN "CATCH"
It's not often that the weather in England is really appropriate
to one's mood, but the sunshine that was streaming down into Edith
Terrace as I banged the front door at half-past eight the next morning
seemed to fit in exactly with my state of mind. I felt as cheerful as
a schoolboy out for a holiday. Apart altogether from the knowledge
that I was going to spend a whole delightful day with Tommy and Joyce,
the mere idea of getting on the water again was enough in itself to
put me into the best of spirits.
I stopped for a moment at the flower-stall outside Victoria Station to
buy Joyce a bunch of violets--she had always been fond of violets--and
then calling up a taxi instructed the man to drive me to Fenchurch
Street.
I found Tommy and Joyce waiting for me on the platform. The former
looked superbly disreputable in a very old and rather dirty grey
flannel suit, while Joyce, who was wearing a white serge skirt with
a kind of green knitted coat, seemed beautifully in keeping with the
sunshine outside.
"Hullo!" exclaimed Tommy. "We were just getting the jim-jams about
you. Thought you'd eloped with Sonia or something."
I shook my head. "I never elope before midday," I said. "I haven't the
necessary stamina."
I offered Joyce the bunch, which she took with a smile, giving my hand
a little squeeze by way of gratitude. "You dear!" she said. "Fancy
your remembering that."
"Well, come along," said Tommy. "This is the train all right; I've got
the tickets and some papers."
He opened the door of a first-class carriage just behind us, and we
all three climbed in. "We shall have it to ourselves," he added.
"No one ever travels first on this line except the Port of London
officials, and they don't get up till the afternoon."
We settled ourselves down, Tommy on one side and Joyce and I on the
other, and a minute later the train steamed slowly out of the station.
Joyce slipped her hand into mine, and we sat there looking out of the
window over the sea of grey roofs and smoking chimney-stacks which
make up the dreary landscape of East London.
"Have a paper?" asked Tommy, holding out the _Daily Mail_.
"No, thanks, Tommy," I said. "I'm quite happy as I am. You can tell us
the news if there is any."
He opened the sheet and ran his eye down the centre page. "There's
nothing much in it," he said, "bar this German business. No one seems
to know what's going to happen about that. I wonder what the Kaiser
thinks he's playing at. He can't be such a fool as to want to fight
half Europe."
"How is the Navy these days?" I asked. "One doesn't worry about
trifles like that in Dartmoor."
"Oh, we're all right," replied Tommy cheerfully. "The Germans haven't
got a torpedo to touch yours yet, and we're still a long way ahead of
'em in ships. We could wipe them off the sea in a week if they came
out to fight."
"Well, that's comforting," I said. "I don't want them sailing up the
Thames till I've finished. I've no use for a stray shell in my line of
business."
"I tell you what I'm going to do, Neil," said Tommy. "I was thinking
it over in bed last night after you'd gone. If there is any possible
sort of anchorage for a boat in this Cunnock Creek I shall leave the
_Betty_ there. It's only a mile from your place, and then either Joyce
or I can come down and see you without running the risk of being
spotted by your charming pals. Besides, at a pinch it might be
precious handy for you. If things got too hot on shore you could
always slip away by water. It's not as if you were dependent on the
tides. Now I've had this little engine put in her she'll paddle off
any old time--provided you can get the blessed thing to start."
"You're a brick, Tommy," I said gratefully. "There's nothing I'd like
better. But as for you and Joyce coming down--"
"Of course we shall come down," interrupted Joyce. "I shall come just
as soon as I can. Who do you think is going to look after you and do
your cooking?"
"Good Lord, Joyce!" I said. "I'm in much too tight a corner to worry
about luxuries."
"That's no reason why you should be uncomfortable," said Joyce calmly.
"I shan't come near you in the day, while you're working. I shall stay
on the _Betty_ and cook dinner for you in the evening, and then as
soon as it's dark you can shut up the place and slip across to the
creek. Oh, it will be great fun--won't it, Tommy?"
Tommy laughed. "I think so," he said; "but I suppose there are people
in the world who might hold a different opinion." Then he turned to
me. "It's all right, Neil. We'll give you two or three clear days to
see how the land lies and shove along with your work. Joyce has got to
find out where George is getting that cheque from, and I mean to look
up Latimer and sound him about his dinner at Parelli's. You'll be
quite glad to see either of us by that time."
"Glad!" I echoed. "I shall be so delighted, I shall probably blow
myself up. It's you two I'm thinking of. The more I see of this job
the more certain I am there's something queer about it, and if there's
going to be any trouble down there I don't want you and Joyce dragged
into it."
"We shan't want much dragging," returned Tommy. "As far as the firm's
business goes we're all three in the same boat. We settled that last
night."
"So there's nothing more to be said," added Joyce complacently.
I looked from one to the other. Then I laughed and shrugged my
shoulders. "No," I said, "I suppose there isn't."
Through the interminable slums of Plaistow and East Ham we drew out in
the squalid region of Barking Creek, and I looked down on the mud and
the dirty brown water with a curious feeling of satisfaction. It was
like meeting an old friend again after a long separation. The lower
Thames, with its wharves, its warehouses, and its never-ceasing
traffic, had always had a strange fascination for me; and in the old
days, when I wanted to come to Town from Leigh or Port Victoria, I had
frequently sailed my little six-tonner, the _Penguin_, right up as far
as the Tower Bridge. I could remember now the utter amazement with
which George had always regarded this proceeding.
"Are you feeling pretty strong this morning?" asked Tommy, breaking a
long silence. "The _Betty's_ lying out in the Ray, and the only way of
getting at her will be to tramp across the mud. There's no water for
another four hours. We shall have to take turns carrying Joyce."
"You won't," said Joyce. "I shall take off my shoes and stockings and
tramp too. I suppose you've got some soap on board."
"You'll shock Leigh terribly if you do," said Tommy. "It's a beautiful
respectable place nowadays--all villas and trams and picture
palaces--rather like a bit of Upper Tooting."
"It doesn't matter," said Joyce. "I've got very nice feet and ankles,
and I'm sure it's much less immoral than being carried in turns. Don't
you think so, Neil?"
"Certainly," I said gravely. "No properly-brought-up girl would
hesitate for a moment."
We argued over the matter at some length: Tommy maintaining that he
was the only one of the three who knew anything about the minds of
really respectable people--a contention which Joyce and I indignantly
disputed. As far as I can remember, we were still discussing the point
when the train ran into Leigh station and pulled up at the platform.
"Here you are," said Tommy, handing me a basket. "You freeze on to
this; it's our lunch. I want to get a couple more cans of paraffin
before we go on board. There is some, but it's just as well to be on
the safe side."
We left the station, and walking a few yards down the hill, pulled up
at a large wooden building which bore the dignified title of "Marine
and Yachting Stores." Here Tommy invested in the paraffin and one or
two other trifles he needed, and then turning off down some slippery
stone steps, we came out on the beach. Before us stretched a long bare
sweep of mud and sand, while out beyond lay the Ray Channel, with a
number of small boats and fishing-smacks anchored along its narrow
course.
"There's the _Betty_," said Tommy, pointing to a smart-looking little
clinker-built craft away at the end of the line. "I've had her painted
since you saw her last."
"And from what I remember, Tommy," I said, "she wanted it--badly."
Joyce seated herself on a baulk of timber and began composedly to take
off her shoes and stockings. "How deep does one sink in?" she asked.
"I don't want to get this skirt dirtier than I can help."
"You'll be all right if you hold it well up," said Tommy, "unless we
happen to strike a quicksand."
"Well, you must go first," said Joyce, "then if we do, Neil and I can
step on you."
Tommy chuckled, and sitting down on the bank imitated Joyce's example,
rolling his trousers up over the knee. I followed suit, and then,
gathering up our various belongings, we started off gingerly across
the mud.
Tommy led the way, his shoes slung over his shoulder, and a tin of
paraffin in each hand. He evidently knew the lie of the land, for he
picked out the firmest patches with remarkable dexterity, keeping
on looking back to make sure that Joyce and I were following in his
footsteps. It was nasty, sloppy walking at the best, however, for
every step one took one went in with a squelch right up to the ankle,
and I think we had all had pretty well enough by the time we reached
the boat. Poor Joyce, indeed, was so exhausted that she had to sit
down on the lunch basket, while Tommy and I, by means of wading out
into the channel, managed to get hold of the dinghy.
Our first job on getting aboard was to wash off the mud. We sat in a
row along the deck with our feet over the side; Tommy flatly refusing
to allow us any farther until we were all properly cleaned. Then,
while Joyce was drying herself and putting on her shoes and stockings,
he and I went down into the cabin and routed out a bottle of whisky
and a siphon of soda from somewhere under the floor.
"What we want," he observed, "is a good stiff peg all round"; and the
motion being carried unanimously as far as Joyce and I were concerned,
three good stiff pegs were accordingly despatched.
"That's better," said Tommy with a sigh. "Now we're on the safe side.
There's many a good yachtsman died of cold through neglecting these
simple precautions." Then jumping up and looking round he added
cheerfully: "We shall be able to sail the whole way up; the wind's
dead east and likely to stay there."
"I suppose you'll take her out on the engine," I said. "This is a nice
useful ditch, but there doesn't seem to be much water in it for fancy
work."
Tommy nodded. "You go and get in the anchor," he said, "and I'll see
if I can persuade her to start. She'll probably break my arm, but
that's a detail."
He opened a locker at the back of the well, and squatted down in front
of it, while I climbed along the deck to the bows and proceeded
to hand in several fathoms of wet and slimy chain. I had scarcely
concluded this unpleasant operation, when with a sudden loud hum the
engine began working, and the next moment we were slowly throbbing our
way forwards down the centre of the channel.
The Ray runs right down to Southend Pier, but there are several narrow
openings out of it connecting with the river. Through one of these
Tommy steered his course, bringing us into the main stream a few
hundred yards down from where we had been lying. Then, turning her
round, he handed the tiller over to Joyce, and clambered up alongside
of me on to the roof of the cabin.
"Come on, Neil," he said. "I've had enough of this penny steamer
business. Let's get out the sails and shove along like gentlemen."
The _Betty's_ rig was not a complicated one. It consisted of a
mainsail, a jib, and a spinnaker, and in a very few minutes we had set
all three of them and were bowling merrily upstream with the dinghy
bobbing and dipping behind us. Tommy jumped down and switched off the
engine, while Joyce, resigning the tiller to me, climbed up and seated
herself on the boom of the mainsail. She had taken off her hat, and
her hair gleamed in the sunshine like copper in the firelight.
I don't think we did much talking for the first few miles: at least I
know I didn't. There is no feeling in the way of freedom quite so fine
as scudding along in a small ship with a good breeze behind you; and
after being cooped up for three years in a prison cell I drank in the
sensation like a man who has been almost dying of thirst might gulp
down his first draught of water. The mere tug of the tiller beneath my
hand filled me with a kind of fierce delight, while the splash of
the water as it rippled past the sides of the boat seemed to me the
bravest and sweetest music I had ever heard.
I think Joyce and Tommy realized something of what I was feeling, for
neither of them made any real attempt at conversation. Now and then
the latter would jump up to haul in or let out the main sheet a
little, and once or twice he pointed out some slight alteration which
had been recently made in the buoying of the river. Joyce sat quite
still for the most part, either smiling happily at me, or else
watching the occasional ships and barges that we passed, most of which
were just beginning to get under way.
We had rounded Canvey Island and left Hole Haven some little distance
behind us, when Tommy, who was leaning over the side staring out
ahead, suddenly turned back to me.
"There's someone coming round the point in a deuce of a hurry," he
remarked. "Steam launch from the look of it. Better give 'em a wide
berth, or we'll have their wash aboard."
I bent down and took a quick glance under the spinnaker boom. A couple
of hundred yards ahead a long, white, vicious-looking craft was racing
swiftly towards us, throwing up a wave on either side of her bows that
spread out fanwise across the river.
I shoved down the helm, and swung the _Betty_ a little off her course
so as to give them plenty of room to go by. They came on without
slackening speed in the least, and passed us at a pace which I
estimated roughly to be about sixteen knots an hour. I caught a
momentary glimpse of a square-shouldered man with a close-trimmed
auburn beard crouching in the stern, and then the next moment a wave
broke right against our bows, drenching all three of us in a cloud of
flying spray.
Tommy swore vigorously. "That's the kind of river-hog who ought to be
choked," he said. "If I--"
He was interrupted by a sudden exclamation from Joyce. She had jumped
up laughing when the spray swept over her, and now, holding on to the
rigging, she was pointing excitedly to something just ahead of us.
"Quick, Tommy!" she said. "There's a man in the water--drowning.
They've swamped his boat."
In a flash Tommy had leaped to the side. "Keep her going," he shouted
to me. "We're heading straight for him." Then scrambing aft he grabbed
hold of the tow rope and swiftly hauled the dinghy alongside.
"I'll pick him up, Tommy," I said quietly. "You look after the boat:
you know her better than I do."
He nodded, and calling to Joyce to take over the tiller sprang up on
to the deck ready to lower the sails. I cast off the painter, all but
one turn, and handing the end to Joyce, told her to let it go as soon
as I shouted. Then, pulling the dinghy right up against the side of
the boat, I waited my chance and dropped down into her.
I was just getting out the sculls, when a sudden shout from Tommy of
"There he is!" made me look hurriedly round. About twenty yards away a
man was splashing feebly in the water, making vain efforts to reach an
oar that was floating close beside him.
"Let her go, Joyce!" I yelled, and the next moment I was tugging
furiously across the intervening space with the loose tow rope
trailing behind me.
I was only just in time. Almost exactly as I reached the man he
suddenly gave up struggling, and with a faint gurgling sort of cry
disappeared beneath the water. I leaned out of the boat, and plunging
my arm in up to the shoulder, clutched him by the collar.
"No, you don't, Bertie," I said cheerfully. "Not this journey."
It's a ticklish business dragging a half-drowned man into a dinghy
without upsetting it, but by getting him down aft, I at last managed
to hoist him up over the gunwale. He came in like some great wet fish,
and I flopped him down in the stern sheets. Then with a deep breath I
sat down myself. I was feeling a bit pumped.
For a moment or two my "catch" lay where he was, blowing, gasping,
grunting, and spitting out mouthfuls of dirty water. He was a little
weazened man of middle age, with a short grizzled beard. Except for
a pair of fairly new sea-boots, he was dressed in old nondescript
clothes which could not have taken much harm even from the Thames mud.
Indeed, on the whole, I should think their recent immersion had done
them good.
"Well," I said encouragingly, "how do you feel?"
With a big effort he raised himself on his elbow. "Right enough,
guv'nor," he gasped, "right enough." Then, sinking back again, he
added feebly: "If you see them oars o' mine, you might pick 'em up."
There was a practical touch about this that rather appealed to me. I
sat up, and, looking round, discovered the _Betty_ about forty yards
away. Tommy had got the sails down and set the engine going, and he
was already turning her round to come back and pick us up. I waved my
hand to him--a greeting which he returned with a triumphant hail.
Standing up, I inspected the surrounding water for any sign of my
guest's belongings. I immediately discovered both oars, which were
drifting upstream quite close to one another and only a few yards
away; but except for them there was no sign of wreckage. His boat and
everything else in it had vanished as completely as a submarine.
I salvaged the oars, however, and had just got them safely on board,
when the _Betty_ came throbbing up, and circled neatly round us.
Tommy, who was steering, promptly shut down the engine to its slowest
pace, and reaching up I grabbed hold of Joyce's hand, which she held
out to me, and pulled the dinghy alongside.
"Very nice, Tommy," I said. "Lipton couldn't have done it better."
"How's the poor man?" asked Joyce, looking down pityingly at my
prostrate passenger.
At the sound of her voice the latter roused himself from his recumbent
position, and made a shaky effort to sit up straight.
"He'll be all right when he's got a little whisky inside him," I said.
"Come on, Tommy; you catch hold, and I'll pass him over."
I stooped down, and, taking him round the waist, lifted him right up
over the gunwale of the _Betty_, where Tommy received him rather like
a man accepting a sack of coals. Then, catching hold of the tow rope,
I jumped up myself, and made the dinghy fast to a convenient cleat.
Tommy dumped down his burden on one of the well seats.
"You've had a precious narrow squeak, my friend," he observed
pleasantly.
The man nodded. "If you hadn't 'a come along as you did, sir, I'd 'ave
bin dead by now--dead as a dog-fish." Then turning round he shook his
gnarled fist over the _Betty's_ stern in the direction of the vanished
launch. "Sunk me wi' their blarsted wash," he quavered; "that's what
they done."
"Well, accidents will happen," I said; "but they were certainly going
much too fast."
"Accidents!" he repeated bitterly; "this warn't no accident. They done
it a purpose--the dirty Dutchmen."
"Sunk you deliberately!" exclaimed Tommy. "What on earth makes you
think that?"
A kind of half-cunning, half-cautious look came into our visitor's
face.
"Mebbe I knows too much to please 'em," he muttered, shaking his head.
"Mebbe they'd be glad to see old Luke Gow under the water."
I thought for a moment that the shock of the accident had made him
silly, but before I could speak Joyce came out of the cabin carrying
half a tumbler of neat whisky.
"You get that down your neck," said Tommy, "and you'll feel like a
two-year-old."
I don't know if whisky is really the correct antidote for Thames
water, but at all events our guest accepted the glass and shifted its
contents without a quiver. As soon as he had finished Tommy took him
by the arm and helped him to his feet.
"Now come along into the cabin," he said, "and I'll see if I can fix
you up with some dry kit." Then turning to me he added: "You might get
the sails up again while we're dressing, Neil; it's a pity to waste
any of this breeze."
I nodded, and resigning the tiller to Joyce, climbed up on to the
deck, and proceeded to reset both the mainsail and the spinnaker,
which were lying in splendid confusion along the top of the cabin.
I had just concluded this operation when Tommy and our visitor
reappeared--the latter looking rather comic in a grey jersey, a pair
of white flannel trousers, and an old dark blue cricketing blazer and
cap.
"I've been telling our friend Mr. Gow that he's got to sue these
chaps," said Tommy. "He knows who they are: they're a couple of
Germans who've got a bungalow on Sheppey, close to that little creek
we used to put in at."
"You make 'em pay," continued Tommy. "They haven't a leg to stand on,
rushing past like that. They as near as possible swamped us."
Mr. Gow cast a critical eye round the _Betty_. "Ay! and you'd take a
deal o' swampin,' mister. She's a fine manly little ship, an' that's a
fact." Then he paused. "It's hard on a man to lose his boat," he added
quietly; "specially when 'is livin' depends on 'er."
"What do you do?" I asked. "What's your job?"
Mr. Gow hesitated for a moment. "Well, in a manner o' speakin', I
haven't got what you might call no reg'lar perfession, sir. I just
picks up what I can outer the river like. I rows folks out to their
boats round Tilbury way, and at times I does a bit of eel fishing--or
maybe in summer there's a job lookin' arter the yachts at Leigh and
Southend. It all comes the same to me, sir."
"Do you know Cunnock Creek?" asked Tommy.
"Cunnock Crick!" repeated Mr. Gow. "Why, I should think I did, sir. My
cottage don't lie more than a mile from Cunnock Crick. Is that where
you're makin' for?"
Tommy nodded. "We were thinking of putting in there," he said. "Is
there enough water?"
"Plenty o' water, sir--leastways there will be by the time we get up.
It runs a bit dry at low tide, but there's always a matter o' three to
four feet in the middle o' the channel."
This was excellent news, for the _Betty_ with her centre-board up only
drew about three feet six, so except at the very lowest point the
creek would always be navigable.
"Is it a safe place to leave a boat for the night with no one on
board?" inquired Tommy.
Mr. Gow shook his head. "I wouldn't go as far as that, sir. None o'
the reg'lar boatmen or fishermen wouldn't touch 'er, but they're a
thievin' lot o' rascals, some o' them Tilbury folk. If they happened
to come across 'er, as like as not they'd strip 'er gear, to say
nothin' of the fittings." Then he paused. "But if you was thinkin' o'
layin' 'er up there for the night, I'd see no one got monkeyin' around
with 'er. I'd sleep aboard meself."
"Well, that's a bright notion," said Tommy, turning to me. "What do
you think, Neil?"
"I think it's quite sound," I answered. "Besides, he can help me look
after her for the next two or three days. I shall be too busy to get
over to the creek much myself." Then putting my hand in my pocket
I pulled out Joyce's envelope, and carefully extracted one of the
five-pound notes from inside. "Look here, Mr. Gow!" I added, "we'll
strike a bargain. If you'll stay with the _Betty_ for a day or so,
I'll give you this fiver to buy or hire another boat with until you
can get your compensation out of our German friends. I shall be living
close by, but I shan't have time to keep my eye on her properly."
Mr. Gow accepted the proposal and the note with alacrity. "I'm sure
I'm very much obliged to you, sir," he said gratefully. "I'll just run
up to my cottage when we land to get some dry clothes, and then I'll
come straight back and take 'er over. She won't come to no harm, not
with Luke Gow on board; you can reckon on that, sir."
He touched his cap, and climbing up out of the well, made his way
forward, as though to signalize the fact that he was adopting the
profession of our paid hand.
"I'm so glad," said Joyce quietly. "I shan't feel half so nervous now
I know you'll have someone with you."
Tommy nodded. "It's a good egg," he observed. "I think old whiskers
is by way of being rather grateful." Then he paused. "But what swine
those German beggars must be not to have stopped! They must have seen
what had happened."
"I wonder what he meant by hinting that they'd done it purposely," I
said.
Tommy laughed. "I don't know. I asked him in the cabin, but he
wouldn't say any more. I think he was only talking through his hat."
"I'm not so sure," I said doubtfully. "He seemed to have some idea at
the back of his mind. I shall sound him about it later on."
With the wind holding good and a strong tide running, the _Betty_
scudded along at such a satisfactory pace that by half-past twelve
we were already within sight of Gravesend Reach. There is no more
desolate-looking bit of the river than the stretch which immediately
precedes that crowded fairway. It is bounded on each side by a low sea
wall, behind which a dreary expanse of marsh and salting spreads away
into the far distance. Here and there the level monotony is broken by
a solitary hut or a disused fishing hulk, but except for the passing
traffic and the cloud of gulls perpetually wheeling and screaming
overhead there is little sign of life or movement.
"You see them two or three stakes stickin' up in the water?" remarked
Mr. Gow suddenly, pointing away towards the right-hand bank.
I nodded.
"Well, you keep 'em in line with that little clump o' trees be'ind,
an' you'll just fetch the crick nicely."
He and Tommy went forward to take in the spinnaker, while, following
the marks he had indicated, I brought the _Betty_ round towards her
destination. Approaching the shore I saw that the entrance to the
creek was a narrow channel between two mud-flats, both of which were
presumably covered at high tide. I called to Joyce to wind up the
centre-board to its fullest extent, and then, steering very carefully,
edged my way in along this drain, while Mr. Gow leaned over to leeward
diligently heaving the lead.
"Plenty o' water," he kept on calling out encouragingly. "Keep 'er
goin', sir, keep 'er goin'. Inside that beacon, now up with 'er a bit.
That's good!"
He discarded the lead and hurried to the anchor. I swung her round
head to wind, Tommy let down the mainsail, and the next moment we
brought up with a grace and neatness that would almost have satisfied
a Solent skipper.
We were in the very centre of a little muddy creek with high banks
on either side of it. There was no other boat within sight; indeed,
although we were within three miles of Tilbury, anything more desolate
than our surroundings it would be difficult to imagine.
Mr. Gow assisted us to furl the sails and put things straight
generally, and then coming aft addressed himself to me.
"I don't know what time you gen'lemen might be thinkin' o' leavin';
but if you could put me ashore now I could be back inside of the
hour."
"Right you are," I said. "I'll do that straight away."
We both got into the dinghy, and in a few strokes I pulled him to the
bank, where he stepped out on to the mud. Then he straightened himself
and touched his cap.
"I haven't never thanked you properly yet, sir, for what you done," he
observed. "You saved my life, and Luke Gow ain't the sort o' man to
forget a thing like that."
I backed the boat off into the stream. "Well, if you'll save our
property from the Tilbury gentlemen," I said, "we'll call it quits."
When I got back to the ship I found Tommy and Joyce making
preparations for lunch.
"We thought you'd like something before you pushed off," said Tommy.
"One can scout better on a full tummy."
"You needn't apologize for feeding me," I replied cheerfully. "I've a
lot of lost time to make up in the eating line."
It was a merry meal, that little banquet of ours in the _Betty's_
cabin. The morning's sail had given us a first-rate appetite, and in
spite of the somewhat unsettled state of our affairs we were all three
in the best of spirits. Indeed, I think the unknown dangers that
surrounded us acted as a sort of stimulant to our sense of pleasure.
When you are sitting over a powder mine it is best to enjoy every
pleasant moment as keenly as possible. You never know when you may get
another.
At last I decided that it was time for me to start.
"I tell you what I think I'll do, Tommy," I said. "I'll see if there's
any way along outside the sea-wall. I could get right up to the place
then without being spotted, if there should happen to be any one
there."
Tommy nodded. "That's the idea," he said. "And look here: I brought
this along for you. I don't suppose you'll want it, but it's a useful
sort of thing to have on the premises."
He pulled out a small pocket revolver, loaded in each chamber, and
handed it over to me.
I accepted it rather doubtfully. "Thanks, Tommy," I said, "but I
expect I should do a lot more damage with my fists."
"Oh, please take it, Neil," said Joyce simply.
"Very well," I answered, and stuffing it into my side pocket, I
buttoned up my coat. "Now, Tommy," I said; "if you'll put me ashore
we'll start work."
It was about a hundred yards to the mouth of the creek, and with the
tide running hard against us it was quite a stiff little pull. Tommy,
however, insisted on taking me the whole way down, just to see whether
there was any chance of getting along outside the sea-wall. We landed
at the extreme point, and jumping out on to the mud, I picked my way
carefully round the corner and stared up the long desolate stretch
of river frontage. The tide was still some way out, and although the
going was not exactly suited to patent-leather boots, it was evidently
quite possible for any one who was not too particular.
I turned round and signalled to Tommy that I was all right; then,
keeping in as close as I could to the sea-wall, I set off on my
journey. It was slow walking, for every now and then I had to climb up
the slope to get out of the way of some hopelessly soft patch of mud.
On one of these occasions, when I had covered about three-quarters of
a mile, I peered cautiously over the top of the bank. Some little
way ahead of me, right out in the middle of the marsh, I saw what I
imagined to be my goal. It was a tiny brick building with a large
wooden shed alongside, the latter appearing considerably the newer and
more sound of the two.
I was inspecting it with the natural interest that one takes in one's
future country house, when quite suddenly I saw the door of the
building opening. A moment later a man stepped out on to the grass,
and looked quickly round as though to make certain that there was no
one watching. Although the distance was about three hundred yards I
recognized him at once.
It was my friend of the restaurant--Mr. Bruce Latimer.