CHAPTER XXIII A CHANGE OF TACTICS You pushed off without a word, and paddled out of sight of the beach. A voice was approaching, hailing us. Hail back, whispered Davis, pretender regaliate. Ho-wa, I shouted. Where am I? Off-memored came back. Where are you bound? Delphzil, whispered Davis. Delphzul, I bawled. A sentence ending with anchor was returned. The floods tearing east, whispered Davis, sit still. We heard no more, and after a few minutes drifting. What luck, said Davis. One or two clues and an invitation to supper. The clues are left till later. The invitation was the thing, and I explained its urgency. How will they get back? said Davis. If the fog lasts, the steamer's sure to be late. We can count for nothing, I answered. There was some little steamboat off the depot, and the fog may lift. Which is our quickest way. At this tide, a beeline to nor deny by compass, we should have water over all the banks. He had his preparations made, the lamp lit in advance, the compass in position, and we started at once, he at the bow-or, where he had better control over the bird's nose, lamp and compass on the floor between us. Twilight thickened into darkness, a choking, pasty darkness, and still we spared unfortunately over that trackless waist, sitting and swinging in our little pool of stifled orange light. To drown fatigue and suspense I conned over my clues, and tried to carve into my memory every fugitive word I had overheard. What are there seven of round here? I called back to Davis once, thinking of A to G. Sorry, I added, for no answer came. I see a star was my next word after a long interval. Now it's gone. There it is again, right aft. That's Borkham Light, said Davis presently, the fog's lifting. A keen wind from the west struck our faces, and as swiftly as it had come, the fog rolled away from us, in one mighty mass, stripping clean and pure the starry dome of heaven, still bright with the western afterglow, and beginning to redden in the east to the rising moon. Nor deny was flooding ahead, and Davis could take his tired eyes from the pool of light. Damn! was all he uttered in the way of gratitude for this mercy. And I felt very much the same, for in a fog Davis in a dinghy was a match for a steamer, in a clear he lost his handicap. It was a quarter to seven. An hour will do it if we buck up, he pronounced, after taking a rough bearing with the two lights. He pointed out a star to me, which we were to keep exactly a stern, and again I applied to their labour, my aching back and smarting palms. What did you say about seven of something, said Davis? What are there seven of hereabouts? Islands, of course, said Davis. Is that the clue? Maybe. Then followed the most singular of all our confabulations. Two memories are better than one, and the sooner I carved the cipher into his memory, as well as mine, the better record we should have. So with rigid economy of breath I snapped out all my story and answered his breathless questions. It saved me from being mesmerised by the star, and both of us, from the consciousness of over-fatigue, spying at Chatham the black-guard, he hissed. What do you make of it, I asked. Nothing about battleships, mines, forts? He said, no. Nothing about the Ems, Emden, Wilhelmshaven? No. Nothing about transports? No. I believe I was right, after all, something to do with the tunnels behind islands, and so that at-worn creed took a new lease of life, though for my part the words that clashed with it were those that had sunk the deepest. Easons are protested, that town behind Benzazil. Klosertiefer, Lortzen, Schlepporte, spluttered Davis. Kilometre, Eisenbahn, from me, and so on. I should earn the just execution of the reader, if I continued to report such a dialogue. Suffice it to say that we realised very soon that the substance of the plot was still the riddle. On the other hand there was fresh scent, abundance of it, and the question was already taking shape. Were we to follow it up or revert to last night's decision and strike with what weapons we had? It was a pressing question, too, the last of many. Was there to be no end to the emergencies of this crowded day? Pressing for reasons I could not define, while convinced that we must be ready with an answer by supper time to-night. One time we were nearing Nordenei, the sea-gut was crossed, and with the last of the flood-tide fair beneath us, and the red light of the west pier burning ahead, we began insensibly to relax our efforts. But I dared not rest, for I was at that point of exhaustion when mechanical movement was my only hope. Lightest an, I said, sickly. Two, white and red. Steamer, said Davies, going south, though. Three now. A neat triangle of gems, Topaz, Ruby, and Emerald, hung steady between us. Turned east, said Davies, buck up, steamer from used. No, by Jove, too small. What is it? One we laboured, while the gems waxed in brilliancy as the steamer overhauled us. Easy, said Davies, I seem to know there's lights, the blitzers launch, don't let's be caught rowing like madmen in a muck's sweat, paddle in shore a bit. He was right, and as in a dream, I saw hurrying and palpitating up the same little pinnish that had towed us out of Benzazir. What we'd done for now, I remember thinking, for the guilt of the runaway was strong in me, and an old remark of von Brunnings about police was in my ears. But she was level with and past us, before I could sink far into despair. Three of them behind the hood, said Davies, what are we to do? Follow, I answered, and essayed a feeble stroke. The blade scuttered over the surface. Let's waive about for a bit, said Davies. We're late anyhow. If they go to the yacht, they'll think we're ashore. Our shore-clothes lying about. Are you up to talking? No, but we must. The least suspicion will do for us now. Give me your scullo, chap, and put on your coat. He extinguished the lantern, lit a pipe, and then rode slowly on, while I sat on a slack heap in the stern, and devoted my last resources of will to the emancipation of the spirit from the tired flesh. In ten minutes or so, we were rounding the pier, and there was the yacht's top mast against the sky. I saw, too, that the launch was alongside of her, and told Davies so. Then I lit a cigarette, and made a lamentable effort to whistle. Davies followed suit, and emitted a strange melody which I took to be, Home Sweet Home, but he has not the slightest ear for music. Why, they're on board, I believe, said I, the cabins lighted. Ahoy there! I shouted as we came up. Who's that? Good evening, sir, said a sailor, who was fending off the yacht with a boat-hook. It's Commander von Brunning's launch. I think the gentleman wants to see you. Before we could answer, an exclamation of, Why, here you are! came from the deck of the Delta Bella, and the dim form of von Brunning himself emerged from the companion way. There was something of a scuffle down below, which the commander nearly succeeded in drowning by the breeziness of his greeting. Meanwhile the ladder creaked under fresh weight, and Dolman appeared. Is that you, Herr Davies? he said. Hello, Herr Dolman! said Davies. How are you? I must explain that we had floated up between the yacht and the launch, whose sailor said passed her a little aside in order to give us room. Her starboard sidelight was just behind and above us, pouring its green rays obliquely over the deck of the Delta Bella, while we and the dinghy were in the deep shadow between. The most studied calculation could not have secured us more favorable conditions for a moment which I had always dreaded, the meeting of Davies and Dolman. The former having shortened his skulls just sat where he was, half turned towards the yacht, and looking up at his enemy. No lineament of his own face could have been visible to the latter, while those pitiless green rays, you know their ravaging effect on the human physiognomy, struck full on Dolman's face. It was my first fair view of it at close quarters, and secure in my background of gloom I feasted with the luxury of superstitious abhorrence on the livid smiling mask that for a few moments stooped peering down towards Davies. One of the caprices of the crude light was to obliterate, or at any rate so penetrate, beard and moustache, as to reveal an outline, lips and chin, the features in which defects of character are most surely betrayed, especially when your victim smiles. Accus me, if you will, of stooping to melodramatic embroidery, object that my own prejudiced fancy contributed to the result, but I can nevertheless never face the impression of malignant perfidy amid base passion exaggerated to caracature that I received in those few instances. Another caprice of the light was to identify the man with the portrait of him when younger and clean shaven in the frontispiece of his own book, and another still the most repulsively whimsical of all, was to call forth a strong resemblance to the sweet young girl who had been with us yesterday. Enough! I shall never offend again in this way. In reality I am much more inclined to laugh than shudder over this meeting, for meanwhile the third of our self-invited guests had with stoutorus puffing risen to the stage, for all the world like a demon out of a trapped door, especially when he entered the zone of that unearthly light. And there they stood in a row, like delinquents at judgment, while we, the true culprits, had only passively to accept explanations. Of course these were plausible enough. Dolman, having seen the yacht in port that morning, had called on his return from Mehmet to ask us to supper. Finding no one aboard, and concluding we were ashore, he had meant to leave a note for Davis in the cabin. His friend, Herb Boomer, the distinguished engineer, was anxious to see over the little vessel that had come so far, and he knew that Davis would not mind the intrusion. Not at all, said Davis. Would not they stop and have drinks? No, but would we come to supper at Dolman's villa? With pleasure, said Davis, but we had to change fast. Up to this point we had been masters of the situation, but here von Bruning, who alone of the three appeared to be entirely at his ease, made the retour offensif. Where have you been? he asked. Oh, rowing about since the fog cleared, said Davis. I suppose he thought that evasion would pass muster, but as he spoke I noted to my horror that a stray beam of light was playing on the bunch of white cotton waste that adorned one of the rollox. Or we had forgotten to remove these tell-tale appendages. So I added, after ducks again, and lifting one of the guns, let the light flash on its barrel. To my own ears my voice sounded husky and distant. Always ducks, laughed von Bruning. No luck, I suppose. No, said Davis, but it ought to be a good time after sunset. What were the rising tide and the banks covered? We saw some, said Davis, sullenly. I tell you what, my zealous young sportsman, you're rash to leave your boat at anchor here after dark without a light. I came aboard to find your lamp and set it. Oh, thanks, said Davis. We took it with us. To see the shoot by? We laughed uncomfortably, and Davis compassed a wonderful German phrase to the effect that it might come in useful. Happily the matter went no farther, for the position was a strained one at the best, and would not bear lengthening. The launch went alongside, and the invaders evacuated British soil, looking, for all von Bruning's flippant nonchalance, a rather crestfallen party. So much so that, acute as was my anxiety, I took courage to whisper to Davis, while the trans-tripment of her boomer was proceeding, asked Dolman to stay while we dress. Why, he whispered, go on. I say, Herr Dolman, said Davis, won't you stay on board with us while we dress? There's a lot to tell you, and we can follow on with you when we're ready. Dolman had not yet stepped into the launch. With pleasure, he said, but there followed an ominous silence, broken by von Bruning. I'll come along, Dolman, and let them alone, he said, brusquely. You'll be horribly in the way down there, and we shall never get any suppo if you keep them yarning. And it's now a quarter past eight o'clock, grumbled her boomer from his corner behind the hood. Dolman submitted and excused himself, and the launch steamed the way. I think I twig, said Davis, as he helped, almost hoisted me aboard. Rather risky, though, eh? I knew that object only wanted to make sure. The cabin was just as we had left it, our shore-clothes lying in disorder on the bunks, a locker or two half open. Well, I wonder what they did down here, said Davis. For my part, I went straight to the bookshelf. Does anything strike you about this? I asked, kneeling on the sofa. Logbooks shifted, said Davis. I swear it was at the end before. That doesn't matter, anything else? By Jove, where's Dolman's book? It's here all right, but not where it should be. I had been reading it, you remember, overnight, and in the morning had replaced it in full view among the other books. I now found it behind them, in a wrenched attitude, which showed that someone who had no time to spare had pushed it roughly inwards. What do you make of that, said Davis. He produced long drinks, and we allowed ourselves ten minutes of absolute rest, stretched at full length on the sofas. I didn't trust Dolman, I said. I spotted that at Mehmet, even. How? First, when they were talking about you and me, he was on his defence, and in the use of a funk, too. Boomer was pressing him hard. Again at the end, when he left the room followed by Grimm, who I'm certain was sent to watch him. It was while he was away that the other two arranged that rendezvous for the night of the twenty-fifth. And again just now, when he asked him to stay. I believe it's working out as I thought it would. Von Bruning and through him Boomer, who is the engineer from Bremen, knew the story of that short cut and suspect that it was an attempt on your life. Dolman dared confess to that because, morality apart, it could only have been prompted by extreme necessity, that is, by the knowledge that you were really dangerous and not merely an inquisitive stranger. Now we know his motive, but they don't yet. The position of that book proves it. He shoved it in? To prevent them seeing it. There's no earthly reason why they should have hidden it. Then we're getting on, said Davis. That shows they know his real name, or why should he shove the book in? But they don't know he wrote a book, and that I have a copy. At any rate he thinks they don't, we can't say more than that. And what does he think about me and you? That's the point.  But they won't let him. They want to watch him in our company and us in his. You see it's an interesting reunion for you and him. Well, let's get into these beastly clothes for it, groaned Davis. I shall have a plunge overboard. Something drastic was required, and I followed his example, curious as the hour was for bathing. I believe I know what happened just now, I said, as replied rough towels in the warms below. They steamed up, and found nobody on board. I'll leave a note, says Dolman. No independent communications, say they, or think they, will come to and take the chance of inspecting this hornet's nest. Down they go, and Dolman, who knows what to look for first, sees that damning bit of evidence staring him in the face. They look casually at the shelf, among other things, examine the log-book, say, and he manages to put his own book out of sight. But he couldn't replace it, when the interruption came. The action would have attracted attention then, and Boomer made him leave the cabin in advance, you know. This is all very well, said Davis, pausing in his toilet. But do they guess how we've spent the day? By Joe Grothers, that chart, with a square cut out, there it is on the rack. We must chance it, unbluff, for all we're worth, I said. The fact was that Davis could not be brought to realize that he had done anything very remarkable that day, yet those fourteen sinuous miles traversed blindfold to say nothing of the return journey, at my own exploits, made up an achievement audacious and improbably enough to out-distance suspicion. Nevertheless, von Brüning's banter had been disquieting, and if an inkling of our expedition had crossed his mind or theirs, there were ways of testing us, which it would require all our effrontery to defeat. What are you looking for? said Davis. I was at the Colorin stud stage, but had broken off to study the timetable which we had bought that morning. Somebody insists on coming by the night train to somewhere on the twenty-fifth, I reminded him. Boomer von Brüning and Grimm are to meet the somebody. Where? At a railway station. I don't know where. They seemed to take it for granted, but it must be somewhere on the sea, because Boomer said, the tide serves. It may be anywhere from Emden to Hamburg. Oh, there's a limit. It's probably somewhere near. Grimm was to come, and he's at Mehmet. Here's the map. Emden and Norddijk are the only coast stations till you get to Wilhelmshaven. No, to Carolinensil. But those are a long way east. And Emden's a long way south. Say Norddijk, then. But according to this, there's no train there after 6.15 PM. That's hardly night. When's high tide on the twenty-fifth? Let's see. 8.30 here tonight. Norddijk will be the same. Somewhere between 10.30 and 11 on the twenty-fifth. There's a train at Emden at 9.22 from Lea and the south, and one at 10.50 from the north. Are you counting on another fog? said Davis, mockingly. No, but I want to know what our plans are. Can't we wait till this cursed inspection is over? No, we can't. We should come to grief. This was no barren truism, for I was ready with a plan of my own, though reluctant to broach it to Davis. Meanwhile, ready or not, we are to start. The cabin we left as it was, changing nothing and hiding nothing, the safest course to take, we thought, in spite of the risk of further search. But, as usual, I transferred my diary to my breast pocket and made sure that the two official letters from England were safe in a compartment of it. What do you propose, I asked, when we were in the dinghy again? It's a case of, as you were, said Davis. Today's trip was a chance we shall never get again. We must go back to last night's decision, tell them that we're going to stay on here for a bit. Shooting, I suppose, we shall have to say. And courting, I suggested. Well, they know all about that. And then we must watch for a chance of tackling Dolman privately, not to-night, because we want time to consider those clues of yours. Consider, I said, that's putting it mildly. We were at the ladder, and what a languid stiffness oppressed me, I did not know till I touched its freezing rungs, each one of which seared my sore palms like red-hot iron. The overdue steamer was just arriving as we set foot on the key. And yet by jove, why not to-night, pursued Davis, beginning to stride up the pier at a pace I could not imitate. Steady on, I protested, and look here, I disagree altogether. I believe today has doubled our chances, but unless we alter our tactics, it has doubled our risks. We've involved ourselves in two-tangled a web. I don't like this inspection, and I fear that foxy old Birmu who prompted it. The mere fact of there inviting us shows that we stand badly, for it runs in the teeth of Bruning's warning at Benzazil, and smells uncommonly like arrest. There's a rift between Dolman and the others, but it's a ticklish matter to drive our wedging, as to tonight, hopeless. They're on the watch, and won't give us a chance. But after all, do we know enough? We don't know why he fled from England and turned German. It may have been an extraditable crime, but it may not. Supposing he defies us. There's the girl, you see. She ties our hands, and if he once gets wind of that, and trades on our weakness, the game's up. What are you driving at? We want to detach him from Germany, but he'll probably go to any lengths rather than abandon his position here. His attempt on you is a measure of his interest in it. Now is to-day to be wasted. We were passing through the public gardens, and I dropped onto a seat for a moment's rest, crackling dead leaves under me. Davis remained standing, and pecked at the gravel with his toe. We have got two valuable clues, I went on. I've rendezvoused on the twenty-fifthest one, and the name Isens is the other. We may consider them to eternity. I vote we act on them. How? said Davis. We're under research light here, and if we're caught. Your plan? Ugh! It's as risky as mine, and more so, I replied, rising with a jerk, for a spasm of cramp took me. We must separate, I added as we walked on. We want, at one stroke, to prove to them that we are harmless, and to get a fresh start. I go back to London. To London, said Davis. We were passing under an arc lamp, and for the dismay his face showed, I might have said Kamchatka. Well, after all, it's where I ought to be at this moment, I observed. Yes, I forgot, and me? You can't get on without me, so you lay up the yacht here, taking your time. While you? After making inquiries about Dolman's past, I double back as somebody else, and follow up the clues. You'll have to be quick, said Davis, abstractedly. I can just do it in time for the twenty-fifth. When you say, making inquiries, he continued, looking straight before him, I hope you don't mean setting other people on his track. He's fair game, I could not help saying, for there were moments when I chafed under this scrupulous fidelity to our self-denying ordinance. He's our game, or nobody's, said Davis sharply. Oh, I'll keep the secret, I rejoined. Let's stick together, he broke out. I shall make a muck of it without you. And how are we to communicate, meet? Somehow, that can wait. I know it's a leap in the dark, but there's safety in darkness. Carothers, what are we talking about? If they have the ghost of a notion where we have been today, you give us away by packing off to London. They'll think we know their secret and are clearing out to make use of it. That means a rest, if you like. Pessimist, haven't I written proof of good faith in my pocket, official letters of recall received today? It's one deception the less, you see, for those letters may have been opened skillfully done it's impossible to detect, when in doubt tell the truth. It's a rum thing how often it pays in this spying business, said Davies thoughtfully. We have been tramping through deserted streets under the glare of electricity. I with my leaden shuffle, he with the purposeful forward stoop and swinging arms that always marked his gate ashore. Well, what's it to be? I said. Here's the swan early. I don't like it, said he, but I trust your judgment. We turned slowly down, running over a few last points where prior agreement was essential. As we stood at the very gate of the villa.  And my final word, as we waited at the door for the bell to be answered, was, don't mind what I say, if things look queer, we may have to lighten the ship. Lighten? whispered Davies. Oh, I hope I shan't bosh it. I hope I shan't get cramp. I muttered between my teeth. It will be remembered that Davies had never been to the villa before. End of Chapter 23, Chapter 24 of The Riddle of the Sands. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Gesine. The Riddle of the Sands by Erskine Childers. Chapter 24, Phinesse. The door of a room on the grand floor was opened to us by a man-servant. As we entered, the rattle of a piano stopped, and a hot wave of mingled scent and cigar smoke struck my nostrils. The first thing I noticed over Davies' shoulder as he proceeded me into the room was a woman, the source of the perfume I decided, turning round from the piano as he passed it and staring him up and down with the disdainful familiarity that I had once hotly resented. She was an evening dress, pronounced in cut and color, had a certain exuberant beauty not wholly inscribable to nature and a notable lack of breeding. Another glance showed me Dolman, putting down a liqueur glass of brandy and rising from a low chair with something of a start, and another, von Bruning, lying back in a corner of a sofa, smoking. On the same sofa, vis-a-vis to him, was, yes, of course it was, Clara Dolman. But how their surroundings alter people, I caught myself thinking. For the rest I was aware that the room was furnished with ostentation and was stuffy with stove-ingendered warmth. Davies steered a straight course for Dolman and shook his hand with business-like resolution. Then he tacked across to the sofa, abandoning me in the face of the enemy. Mr. said Dolman. Carothers, I answered distinctly. I was with Davies in the boat just now, but I didn't think he introduced me. And now he has forgotten again. I added, dryly, turning towards Davies, who, having presented himself to fallen Dolman, was looking feebly from her to von Bruning, the picture of tongue-tied awkwardness. The commander nodded to me and stretched himself for the yawn. Von Bruning told me about you, said Dolman, ignoring my illusion, but I was not quite sure of the name. No, it was not an occasion for formalities, was it? He gave a sudden, mirthless laugh. I thought him flushed and excitable, yet seen in a normal light. He was in some respects a pleasant surprise, the remarkable conformation of the head, giving an impression of intellectual power and restless, almost insanely restless, energy. What need, I said, I have had so much about you from Davies, and Commander von Bruning, that we seem to be old friends already. He shot a doubtful look at me, and a diversion came from the piano. And now, for heaven's sake, cried the lady of the perfume, let us join her boomhead supper. Let me present you to my wife, said Dolman. So this was the stepmother, unmistakably jammin' I may add. I made my bow, and underwent much the same sort of frank scrutiny as Davies, only that it was rather more favourable to me, and ended in a calming smile. There was a general movement and further introductions. Davies was led to the stepmother, and I found myself confronting the daughter with quickened pulses, and a sudden sense of added complexity in the issues. I had, of course, made up my mind to ignore our meeting of yesterday, and had assumed that she would do the same. And she did ignore it. We met as utter strangers, nor did I venture, for other eyes were upon us, to transmit any sign of intelligence to her. But the next moment I was wondering if I had not fallen into a trap. She had promised not to tell, but under what circumstances? I saw the scene again, the misty flats, the spruce little sailboat, and its sweet young mistress, fresh as a dewy flower, but blanched and demoralised by a horrid fear, appealing to my honour so to act that we three should never meet again, promising to be silent but as much in her own interest as ours, and under that implied condition which I had only equivocally refused. The condition was violated, not by her fault or ours, but violated. She was free to help her father against us, and was she helping him? What troubled me was the change in her, that she, how can I express it without offence, was less in discord with her surroundings than she should have been, that in dress, pose, and manner, as we exchanged some trivialities, she was too near reflecting the style of the other woman, that in fact she in some sort realised my original conception of her so brutally avowed to Davis, so signally, as I had sought, forciified. In the sick perplexity that this discovery caused me, I dare say I looked as foolish as Davis had done, and more so, for the close heat of the room and its tainted atmosphere, succeeding so abruptly to the wholesome nip of the outside air, were giving me a faintness, which this moral check lessened my power to combat. From wounding's face were a sneering smile that I winced under, and turning I found another pair of eyes fixed on me, those of Herb Boomer, whose squat figure had appeared at a pair of folding doors leading to an adjoining room. Napkin in hand he was taking in the scene before him with fat benevolence, but exceeding shrewdness. I instantly noticed a faint red wheel relieving the ivory of his bald head, and I had suffered too often in the same quarter myself to mistake its origin, namely, Al Cabin Doreway. This is the other young explorer of Boomer, said from Bruning. Her Davis kidnapped him a month ago, and bullied and starved him into submission. They'll drown together yet. I believe his sufferings have been terrible. His sufferings are over, are retorted. I've mutinied, deserted, haven't I, Davis? I caught Davis gazing with solemn gushery at Miss Dolman. Oh, what? He stammered. I explained in English. Oh yes, Carothers has to go home, he said, in his vile lingo. No one spoke for a moment, and even from Bruning had no perciflage ready. Well, are we never going to have supper? said Madame, impatiently, and with that we all moved towards the folding doors. There had been little formality in the proceedings so far, and there was still less in the supper room. Boomer resumed his repast with appetite, and the three of us sat down apparently at random, though an underlying method was discernable. As it worked out, Dolman was at one end of the small table, with Davis on his right and Boomer on his left, Frau Dolman at the other, with me on her right and von Bruning on her left. The seventh's personage, Fraulein Dolman, was between the Commander and Davis on the side opposite to me. No servants appeared, and we waited on ourselves. I have a vague recollection of various excellent dishes, and a distinct one of abundance of wine. Someone filled me a glass of champagne, and I confessed that I drained it with honest avidity, blessing the craftsman who coaxed forth the essence, the fruit that harboured it, the sun that warmed it. Why are you going so suddenly? said von Bruning to me across the table.  I got mine this morning, and among others a summons back to work. Of course I must obey. I found myself speaking in a frigid silence. The annoying thing was that there were two letters, and if I had only come here two days sooner, I should have got the first, which gave me an extension. You are very conscientious. How will they know? Ah, but the second's rather urgent. There was another uncomfortable silence, broken by Dolman. By the way, Herr Davies, he began, I ought to apologise to you for—this was no business of mine, and the less interest I took in it, the better. So I turned to Frau Dolman and abused the fog. Have you been in the harbour all day? she asked. Then how was it you did not visit us? Was Herr Davies so shy? Was he, or malice? Quite the contrary. But I was, I answered coldly. You see, we knew Herr Dolman was away, and we really only called here to get my letters, besides we did not know your address. I looked at Clara and found her talking gaily to von Bruning, deaf seemingly to our little dialogue. Anyone would have told you it, said Madame, raising her eyebrows. I daresay, but directly after breakfast the fog came on, and, well, one cannot leave a yacht alone in a fog, I said, with professional solidity. von Bruning picked up his ears at this. I'll be hanged if that was your maxim. He laughed. He had too fond of the shore. I sent him a glance of protest, as though to say, what's the use of your warning if you won't let me act on it? For, of course, my excuses were meant chiefly for his consumption and von Dolman's. That the lady I addressed them to found them unpalatable was not my fault.  All day, I said brazenly, it was the safest thing to do. And I looked again at von Dolman, frankly and squarely. Our eyes met, and she dropped hers instantly, but not before I had learnt something, for if ever I saw misery under a mask, it was on her face. No, she had not told. I think I puzzled the stepmother, who shrugged her white shoulders, and said in that case she wondered we had dared to leave our precious boat and come to supper. If we knew Frisian Fogg's as well as she did. Oh, I explained, we were not so nervous as that, and as for Saperon's shore, if she only knew what a Spartan life will lead. Oh, for mercy's sake, don't tell me about it! She cried with a grimace. I hate the mention of yachts, when I think of that dreadful Medusa coming from Hamburg. I sympathised with half my attention, keeping one strained ear open for developments on my right. Davis, I knew, wasn't as thick of it, and none too happy under Boomer's eye, but working manfully. My fault, sudden squall, quite safe, were some of the phrases I caught, while I was aware to my alarm that he was actually drawing a diagram of something with breadcrumbs and table knives. The subject seemed to gutter out to an awkward end, and suddenly Boomer, who was my right-hand neighbour, turned to me. You are starting for England tomorrow morning? He said. Yes, I answered. There is a steamer at 8.15, I believe. That is good. We shall be companions. Are you going to England too, sir? I asked, with hot misgivings. No, no, I am going to Bremen, but we shall travel together as far as you go by Amsterdam, I suppose. And as far as Lea, then? That will be very pleasant. I fancied there was a ghoulish gusto in his tone. Very, I assented.  As long as usual, I visit the work at Mehmet once a month or so, spend a night with my friend Dolman and his charming family. He leered round him and returned. Whether I was right or wrong in my next step, I shall never know, but obeying a strong instinct. Mehmet, I said, do tell me more about Mehmet. We had a good deal about it from Commander von Bruning, but— He was discreet, I expect, said Boomer. He left off at the most interesting part. What's that about me? Joined in von Bruning. I was saying that we're dying to know more about Mehmet, aren't we, Sir Davis? Oh, I don't know, said Davis, evidently aghasted my temerity, but I did not mind that. If he roughed my suit so much the better, I intended to rough his. You gave us plenty of history, Commander, but you did not bring it up to date. The triple-aligns laughed, Dolman boisterously. Well, said von Bruning, I gave you very good reasons, and you acquiesced. And now he is trying to pump me, said Boomer, with a rasping chuckle. Wait a bit, sir. I have an excuse. The Commander was not only mysterious, but inaccurate. I appeal to you, Herr Dolman, for it was a proposed view. When we fell in with him at Benzazil, Davis asked him if you were at home, and he said no. When would you be back? Probably soon, but he did not know when. Oh, he said that? Said Dolman. Well, only three days later we arrived at Nordenei, and find you have returned that very day. But have gone to Mehmet. Again, by the way, the mysterious Mehmet. But more than ever mysterious now, for in the evening, not only you and Herr Boomer. What penetration! laughed von Bruning. But also Commander von Bruning pay us a visit in his launch. All coming from Mehmet. And you infer, said von Bruning. Why that you must have known at Benzazil, only three days ago, exactly when Herr Dolman was coming back, having an appointment at Mehmet with him for to-day? Which I wished to conceal from you? Yes, and that's why I'm so inquisitive. It's entirely your own fault. So it seems, said he, with mock humility. But fill your glass and go on, young man. Why should I want to deceive you? That's just what I want to know. Come, confess now, wasn't there something important to-day at Mehmet? Something to do with the gold? You were inspecting it, sorting it, weighing it? Oh, I know, you were transporting it secretly to the mainland. Not a very good day for that. But softly, Herr Carruthers, no fishing for admissions. Who said we had found any gold? Well, have you, there? That's better, nothing like candor, my young investigator. But I am afraid, having no authority, I cannot assist you at all. Better try her boomer again. I'm only a casual onlooker. With shares. Ah! You remember that? He remembers everything. With a few shares, then, but with no expert knowledge. Now boomer is the consulting engineer. Rescue me, boomer. I cannot disclaim expert knowledge, said boomer, with humorous gravity. But I disclaim responsibility. Now Herr Dolman is chairman of the company. And I, said Dolman, with the noisy laugh, must fall back on the shareholders, whose interests I have to guard, one can't be too careful in these confidential matters. Here's one who gives his consent. I said, can't he represent the rest? Ex-torted by torture, said von Bruning, I retract. Don't mind them, Herr Carruthers, said Frau Dolman. They are making fun of you, but I will give you a hint. No woman can keep a secret. Ah! I cried triumphantly. You have been there? I? Not I. I detest the sea. But Clara has. Everyone looked at Clara, who in her turn looked a naive bewilderment from me to her father. Indeed, I said more soberly, but perhaps she is not a free agent. Perfectly free, said Dolman. I have only been there once, some time ago, said she, and I saw no gold at all. Guarded, I observed, I beg your pardon, I mean that perhaps you only saw what you were allowed to see. And in any case, the Frau Len has no expert knowledge and no responsibility, and perhaps no shares. Her province is to be charming, not to hold financial secrets. I have done my best to help you, said the stepmother. They are all against us, Davis. Oh, chuck at, Carruthers, said Davis in English. He is insatiable, said von Bruning, and there was a pause. Finally they meant to elicit more. Well, I shall draw my own conclusions, I said. This is interesting, said von Bruning, in what sense? It begins to dawn on me that you made fools of us at Benzazio.  I wonder if he feared our exploring propensities might possibly lead us to memmet. In my word, this is the blackest in gratitude, I thought I made myself particularly agreeable to you. Yes, indeed, especially about the duck-shooting, how useful your local man would have been, both to us and to you. Go on, said the Commander, imperturbably. Wait a moment, I am thinking it out. And thinking it out, I was in deadly earnest, for all my levity, as I pressed my hand on my burning forehead, and asked myself where I was to stop in this seductive but perilous fraud. To carry it too far was to court complete exposure. To stop too soon was equally compromising.  I was thinking about this supper-party, and the way it came about, I pursued slowly. Nothing to complain of, I hope, said Dolman. Of course not. Impromptu parties are always the pleasantest, and this one was delightfully impromptu. Now, I bet I know its origin. Didn't you discuss us at memmet? And didn't one of you suggest? One would almost think you had been there, said Dolman. You may thank your vile climate that we weren't. I retorted, laughing. But, as I was saying, didn't one of you suggest? Which of you? Well, I'm sure it wasn't the Commander. Why not? said Boomer. It's difficult to explain, and intuitions say. I am sure he stood up for us, and I don't think it was Herr Dolman, because he knows Davis already, and he's always on the spot, and in short I'll swear it was Herr Boomer, who's leaving early tomorrow and had never seen either of us. It was you, sir, who proposed that we should be asked to supper tonight. For inspection? Inspection? said Boomer. What an extraordinary idea. You can't deny it, though. And one thing more. In the harbour just now—no, this is going too far. I shall mortally offend you. I gave way to hearty laughter. Come, let's have it. The hallucinations are diverting. If you insist, but this is rather a delicate matter.  I am afraid that it was at a certain sacrifice of comfort that you inspected ours. And at glance at the token he bore of his encounter with our lintel. There was a burst of pent-up merriment in which Dolman took the loudest chair. I warned you, Boomer, he said. The engineer took the joke in the best possible part. We owe you apologies, he conceded. Don't mention it, said Davis. He doesn't mind, I said. I am the injured one. I'm sure you never suspected Davis. Who could? You indeed. I was on firm ground there. The point is, what did you take me for? Perhaps we take you for it still, said von Brüning. Ah-hoo! Still suspicious. Don't drive me to extremities. What extremities? When I get back to London I shall go to Lloyds. I haven't forgotten that flaw in the title. There was an impressive silence. Gentlemen, said Dolman, with exaggerated solemnity, we must come to Thames with this formidable young man. What do you say? Take me to Mehmed, I exclaimed. Those are my Thames. Take you to Mehmed. But I thought you were starting for England tomorrow. I ought to, but I'll stay for that. You said it was urgent. Your conscience is very elastic. That's my affair. Will you take me to Mehmed? What do you say, gentlemen? Boomer nodded. I think we owe some reparation, under promise of absolute secrecy then. Of course, now that you trust me, but you'll show me everything on a bright. Wreck, depot, and all? Nothing, if you don't object to a diver's dress. Victory! I cried, in triumph, with one eye at point, Davis. And now, gentlemen, I don't mind saying that as far as I'm concerned, the joke's at an end, and, in spite of your kind offer, I must start for England tomorrow under the good-haired Boomer's wing. And in case my elastic conscience troubles you, for I see you think me a weather-cock, here are the letters received this morning, establishing my identity as a humble but respectable clerk in the British Civil Service, summoned away from his holiday by a tyrannical superior. I pulled out my letters and tossed them to Dolman. Ah, you don't read English easily, perhaps? I dare say her Boomer does. Leaving Boomer to study dates, postmarks, and contents to his heart's content, and unobserved, I turned to sympathise with my fair neighbour, who complained that her head was going round, at no wonder. But at this juncture, and very much to my surprise, Davis struck in. I should like to go to Mehmet, he said. You? said von Bruning. Now I'm surprised at that. But you won't be staying here either, Davis, I objected. Yes, I shall, said Davis. Why, I told you I should. If you leave me in the lurch like this, I must have time to look round. You needn't pretend that you cannot sail alone, said von Bruning. It's much more fun with two, I think I shall wire for another friend. Meanwhile I should like to see Mehmet. That's only an excuse, I'm afraid, said I. I want to shoot ducks, too, pursued Davis, reddening. I always have wanted to, and you promised to help in that, Commander.  Certainly not, said he, unmoved. But honestly, I should advise her, Davis, if he is ever going to get home this season to make the best of this fine weather. It's too fine, said Davis, I prefer wind. If I cannot get a friend, I think I shall stop cruising, leave the god here, and come back for her next year. There was some mute telegraphy between the allies. You can leave her in my charge, said Dolman, and start with your friend tomorrow. Thanks, but there is no hurry, said Davis, growing redder than ever. I like Nordenei, and we might have another sail in your dinghy, Freiline," he blurted out. Thank you," she said, in that low, dry voice I had heard yesterday. But I think I shall not be sailing again. It is getting too cold. Oh, no, said Davis. It's splendid." But she had turned to von Bruning, and took no notice. Well, send me a report about Mehmet, Davis, I laughed, with the idea of drawing attention from his rebuff. Old Davis, having once delivered his soul, seemed to have lost his shyness, and only gazed at his neighbor with the placid, dogged expression that I knew so well. That was the end of those delicate topics, and conviviality grew pace. I am not indifferent at any time to good wine and good cheer, nor was it for lack of pressing that I drank as sparingly as I was able, and pretended to a greater elation than I felt. Nor certainly was it from any fine scruples as to the character of the gentleman whose hospitality we were receiving, scruples which I knew affected Davis, who ate little and drank nothing. In any case, he was adamant in such matters, and I variedly believe would at any time have preferred our own little paraffin-flavored messes to the best dinner in the world. It was a very wholesome caution that warned me not to abuse the finest brain tonic ever invented by the wit of man. I had finessed Mehmet, as one finesses a low card when holding a hire, but I had too much respect for our adversaries to trade on any fancied security we had won thereby. They had allowed me to win the trick, but I credited them with a better knowledge of my hand than they chose to show. On the other hand I hugged the axiom that in all conflicts it is just as fatal to underrate the difficulties of your enemy as to overrate your own. Their chief one, and it multiplied a thousandfold the excitement of the contest, was, I felt sure, the fear of striking an error, of using a sledgehammer to break a nut. In breaking it their risked publicity, and publicity, I felt convinced, was death to their secret. So even supposing they had detected the finesse and guessed that we had in fact got wind of imperial designs, yet even so I counted on immunity so long as they thought we were on the wrong scent, with Mehmet and Mehmet alone as the source of our suspicions. Had it been necessary, I was prepared to encourage such a view, admitting that the cloth von Bruning War had made his connection with Mehmet curious, and had suggested to Davies, for I should have put it on to him with his naval enthousiasms, that the rec works were really naval defence works. If they went farther, and suspected that we had tried to go to Mehmet that very day, the position was worse, but not desperate, for the fear that they would take the final step, and suppose that we had actually got there and overheard their talk, I flatly refused to entertain until I should find myself under arrest. Precisely how near we came to it I shall never rightly know, but I have good reason to believe that we trembled on the verge. The main issue was fully enough for me, and it was only in passing flashes that I followed the play of the warring undercurrents. And yet, looking back on the scene, I would warrant there was no party of seven in Europe that evening, where a student of human documents would have found so rich a field, such noble and ignoble ambitions, such base and holy fears, I and such pitiful agonies of the spirit. Roughly divided though we were into separate camps, no two of us were wholly at one. Each wore a mask and the grand imposture, accepting I am inclined to think the lady on my left, who, outside her own well-being, which she cultivated without reserve, had as far as I could see, but one axed a grind, the intimacy of von Bruning and her step-daughter, and ground it openly. Not even Boomer and von Bruning were wholly at one, and as moral distances are reckoned, Davis and I were leagues apart. Sitting between Dolman and Dolman's daughter, the living and breathing symbols of the two polar passions he had sworn to harmonize, he kept an equilibrium which, though his aims were nominally mine, I could not attain to. For me the man was the central figure, if I had attention to spare it was on him that I bestowed it, groping disgustfully after his hidden springs of action, noting the evidences of great gifts squandered and prostituted, questioning where he was most vulnerable, whom he feared most, us or his colleagues. Whether he was open to remorse or shame, or whether he meditated further crime, the girl was incidental. After the first shock of surprise I had soon enough discovered that she, like the rest, had assumed a disguise, for she was far too innocent to sustain the deception, and yesterday was fresh in my memory. I was forced to continue, turning her assumed character to account, but it would be far as aical in me to say that I rose to any moral heights in her regard. Wine and excitement had deadened my better nature to that extent. I thought she looked prettier than ever, and, as time passed, I fell into a cynical carelessness about her. This glimpse of her home life, and the desperate expedience to which she was driven, whether by compulsion or from her own regard for Davis, to repel and dismiss him, did not strike me as they might have done as the crowning argument in favour of the course we had adopted the night before, that of compassing our end with noise and scandal, disarming Dolman, but aiding him to escape from the allies he had betrayed. To Davis, the man, if not a pure abstraction, was at most a noxious vermin to be trampled on for the public good, while the girl, in her black-guardly surroundings and with her sinister future, had become the very source of his impulse. And the other players? Bermud was my abstraction, the fortress whose foundations we were sapping, the embodiment of that systemised force, which is congenital to the German people. In von Brunning the personal factor was uppermost. Kallus as I was this evening I could not help wandering occasionally, as he talked and laughed with Clara Dolman, what in his innermost thoughts, knowing her father, he felt and meant. It is a point I cannot and would not pursue, and, thank heaven, it does not matter now. Yet with fuller knowledge of the fact, and I trust a mellower judgment, I often return to the same debate, and, by I know not what illogical bypasses, always arrive at the same conclusion, that I like the man and like him still. We behaved as sportsmen in the matter of time, giving them over two hours to make up their minds about us. It was only when tobacco smoke and heat brought back my faintness, and a twinge of cramp warned me that human strength has limits, that I rose and said we must go, that I had to make an early start to-morrow. I am hazy about the farewells, but I think Herr Dolman was the most cordial to me at any rate, and I argued good therefrom. Boomer said he should see me again. Von Brunning, though bound for the harbour also, considered it was far too early to be going yet, and said good-bye. You want to talk us over? I remember saying, with the last flicker of gayity I could muster. We were in the streets again, under a silver breathless night, dizzily footing the greasy ladder again, in the cabin again, where I collapsed on her sofa just as I was, and slept such a deep and stringent sleep, that the men of the blitz's launch might have handcuffed and thrust and carried me away, without incomodin' me in the least. End of Chapter 24. Chapter 25 of the Riddle of the Sands. Head by Gesina. The Riddle of the Sands, by Erskine Childers. Chapter 25. I double back. Good-bye, old chap, called Davis. Good-bye. The whistle blew, and the ferris-deemer forged ahead, leaving Davis on the key, bare-headed, and wearing his old Norfolk jacket and stained grey flannels, as at our first meeting in Flensburg Station. There was no bandaged hand this time, but he looked pinched and depressed. His eyes had black circles round them, and again I felt that same undefinable pathos in him. "'Your friend is in low spirits,' said Boomer, who was installed on a seat beside me, voluminously caped and rugged against the biting air. It was a still, sunless day. So am I,' I grunted, and it was the literal truth. I was only half-awake, felt unwashed and dissipated, heavy in head and limbs. But for Davis I should never have been where I was.  While I swallowed my second cup, he was brushing the mould and smoothing the dents from my felt hat, which had been entombed for a month in the sail-locker. Working at it were the remorseful concern in his face. The only initiative I am conscious of having shown was in the matter of my bag. "'Put in my sea-clothes, oils and all,' I had said. I may want them again.' There was mortal need of a thorough consultation, but this was out of the question. Davis did not badger or complain, but only timidly asked me how we were to meet and communicate, a question on which my mind was an absolute blank. "'Look out for me about the twenty-sixth,' I suggested feebly. Before we left the cabin he gave me a scrap of penciled paper and saw that it went safely into my pocket-book. "'Look at it in the train,' he said. Unable to cope with boomer, I paced the deck aimlessly as we swung round the zee-gut into the boozer-teef, trying to identify the point where we crossed it yesterday blindfold. But the tide was full and the waters blank for miles round till they merged in haze. Soon I drifted down into the saloon and crouching over a stove pulled out that scrap of paper. I grabbed a boyish hand and much besmudged with tobacco ashes. I found the following notes. One. Your journey. Norddeich, 8.58. Emden, 10.32. Lear, 11.16. Boomer changers for Bremen. Reiner, 1.8. Change. Amsterdam, 7.17 PM. Leave again via Hook, 8.52. London, 9.00 AM. Two. The coast station, there rendezvous. Query, is it Norden? You pass it, 9.13. There was a tidal creek up to it. Highwater there on 25th, say, 10.30 to 11.00 PM. It cannot be Norddeich, which I find has a dredged out low-water channel for the steamer, so tide serves would not apply. Three. Your other clues. Tugs, pilots, depths, railway, asens, seven of something. Query, scheme of defence by land and sea for North Sea coast? Sea, seven islands, seven tunnels between, counting West Ems. Very small depths, what you said, in most of them. Tugs and pilots for patrol work behind islands, as I always said. Query, rendezvous for inspecting channels? Land, look at railway, map in Alster pocket. Running in a loop all round Friesland, a few miles from coast. Query, to be used as line of communication for Army Corps. Troops could be quickly sent to any threatened point. Asens, the base? It is in top centre of loop. Von Bruning dished us fairly over that, at Benser Seal. Chutham. D. was spying after our naval plans for war with Germany. Von Bruning runs naval part over here. Where does Burma come in? Query, you go to Bremen and find out about him?  Then I dozed to wake with a violin start and find the paper on the floor. Panic stricken a hidden way. And went on deck when I found we were close to Norddeich, running up to the bleakest of bleak jetties thrown out from the dyke-bound polders of the mainland. Burma and I landed together, and he was at my elbow, as I asked for a ticket for Amsterdam, and was given one as far as Reiner, a junction near the Dutch frontier. He was ensconced in an opposite corner to me on the railway carriage, looking like an Indian idol. Where do you come in? I pondered dreamily. Too sleepy to talk, I could only blink at him, sitting boat upright with my arms folded over my precious pocketbook. Finally I gave up the struggle, buttoned my ulster tightly up, and turned my back upon him with an apology, laid down to sleep, the precious pocket nethermost. He was at liberty to rifle my bag if he chose, but I dare say he did. I cannot say, for from this point till Reiner, for the best part of four hours, that is, I had only two lucid intervals. The first was at Emden, where we both had to change. Here as we pushed our way down the crowded platform, Burma, after being greeted respectfully by several persons, was at last button-hold without means of escape by an obsequious gentleman whose description is of no moment, at whose conversation is. It was about a canal. What canal I did not gather, though from a name dropped, I afterwards identified it as one in course of construction, as a feeder to the ems. The point is that the subject was canals. At the moment it was seed dropped in unreceptive soil, but it germinated later. I passed on, mingling with a crowd, and was soon asleep again in another carriage, but Burma this time did not follow me. The second occasion was at Lea, where I found myself called by name and woke to find him at the window. He had to change trains, and had come to say goodbye. Don't forget to go to Lloyd's, he grated in my ear. I expected was a wan smile that I returned, for I was at a very low ebb, and my fortress looked sarcastically impregnable. But the supper was free. Free was my last conscious thought. Even after Reiner, where I changed for the last time, a brutish drowsiness enchained me, and the afternoon was well advanced before my faculties began to revive. The train crept like a snail from station to station. I might, so a fellow passenger told me, have waited three hours at Reiner for an express which would have brought me to Amsterdam at about the same time, or if I had chosen to break the journey farther back, two hours at either Emden or Lea would still have enabled me to catch the said express at Reiner. These alternatives had escaped Davis, and I surmised, had been suppressed by Burma, who doubtless did not want me behind him, free either to double back or to follow him to Bremen. The pace then was execrable. And there were delays. We were behind time at Hengelow, thirty minutes late at Appeldorn, so that I might well have grown nervous about my connections at Amsterdam, which were on some jeopardy. But as I battled out of my lethargy, and began to take account of our position and prospects, quite a different thought at the outset affected me. Anxiety to reach London was swamped in reluctance to quit Germany, so that I found myself grudging every mile that I placed between me and the frontier. It was the old question of urgency. Today was the twenty-third. The visit to London meant a minimum absence of forty-eight hours, counting from Amsterdam. That is to say, that by travelling for two nights and one day, and devoting the other day to investigating Dolman's past, it was humanly possible for me to be back on the Frisian coast on the evening of the twenty-fifth. Yes, I could be at Norden, if that was the rendezvous, at seven p.m., but what a scramble! No margin for delays, no physical respite. Some pasts take a deal of raking up, other persons may be affected. Men are cautious. They trip you up with red tape, or the man who knows is out at lunch, a protracted lunch, or in the country, a protracted weekend. Will you see Mr. So-and-so, or leave a note? Oh, I know those public departments, from the inside, and the add-molty. I saw myself baffled and racing back the same night to Germany, with two days wasted, arriving good for nothing at Norden, with no leisure to reconnoitre my ground, or to be baffled again there, probably, for you cannot always count on fogs, as Davis said. Easons was another clue, and to follow Burma, there was something of that notion. But I wanted time, and had I time? How long could Davis maintain himself at Norden Eye, not so very long, from what I remembered of last night? And was he even safe there? A feverish dream recurred to me, a dream of Davis in a diving dress, of a regrettable hitch in the air supply. Stop, that was nonsense. Let us be sane. What matter if I had to go? What matter if I took my time in London? Then, with a flood of shame, I saw Davis's wistful face on the key, heard his grim ejaculation, he's our game or no one's, and my sullen, oh, I'll keep the secret. London was utterly impossible. If I found, my informant, what credentials had I, what claimed to confidences? None, unless I told the whole story. Why, my mere presence in Whitehall would imperil the secret. For, once on my native heath, I should be recognised, possibly hailed to judgement, at the best should escape in a cloud of rumour. Last heard of at Norden Eye. Only this morning was raising Cain at the admiralty about a mythical lieutenant. No, back to Friesland was the word. One night's rest, I must have that, between sheets on a feather bed, one long luxurious night, and then back refreshed to Friesland to finish our work in our own way, and with none but our own weapons. Having reached this resolve, I was nearly putting it into instant execution by alighting at Amherst Fort, but sought better of it. I had a transformation to effect before I returned north, and the more populist centre I made it in, the less it was likely to attract notice. Besides, I had in my mind's eye a perfect bed in a perfect hostelry, hard by the Amstel River. It was an economy in the end. So, at half-past eight, I was sipping my coffee in the aforesaid hostelry, with the London newspaper before me, which was unusually interesting, and some German journals, which, in hate of a wrong not theirs, were one and all seething with rancorous anglophobia. At nine, I was in the Jewish quarter, striking bargains in an infamous marine slop shop. At half-past nine, I was dispatching this unscrupulous telegram to my chief. Very sorry, could not call nor deny, hope extension all right. Please write to Hotel de Louvre, Paris. At ten, I was in the perfect bed, rapturously flinging my limbs abroad in its glorious redundancies. And at eight-twenty-eight, on the following morning, with the novel chilliness about the upper lip, and the vast excess of strength and spirits, I was sitting in a third-class carriage, banned for Germany, and dressed as a young seamen in a pea-jacket, a peaked cap, and comforter. The transition had not been difficult. I had shaved off my moustache, and breakfasted hastily in my bedroom, ready equipped for a journey in my ulster and cloth cap. I had dismissed the hotel porter at the station, and left my bag at the cloakroom, after taking out of it an umber bundle and substituting the ulster. The umber bundle, which consisted of my oil-skins, and within them my sea-boots, and a few other garments and necessaries, the hole tied up with the length of tarry-rope, was now in the rack above me, and, with his stout stick, represented my luggage. Every article in it, I shudder at their origin, was in strict keeping with my humble mitier, for I knew they were liable to search at the frontier custom house, but there was a bed of cove northern Germany in my jacket pocket. For the nonce, if questions were asked, I was an English seaman going to Emden to join a ship, with a ticket as far as the frontier. Beyond that, a definite scheme of action had still to be thought out. One thing, however, was sure. I was determined to be at Norden tomorrow night, the twenty-fifth. A word about Norden, which is a small town seven miles south of Norddeich. When hurriedly scanning the map for coast stations in the cabin yesterday, I had not sought of Norden, because it did not appear to be on the coast, but Davis had noticed it while I slept, and I now saw that his penciled hint was a shrewd one. The creek he spoke of, though barely visible on the map, flowed into the Ems estuary in a south-westerly direction. The night train tallied to perfection, for high tide in the creek would be, as Davis estimated, between 10.30 and 11.00 p.m. on the night of the twenty-fifth, and the timetable showed that the only night train arriving at Norden was one from the south, at 10.46 p.m. This looked promising. Emden, which I had inclined to in the spur of a moment, was out of court in comparison. For many reasons, not the least being that it was served by three trains between 9.00 p.m. and 1.00 a.m., so that the phrase night train would be ambiguous and not decisive, as with Norden. So far good. But how was I to spend the intervening time? Should I act on Davis' query and go to Bremen after Böhmel? I soon dismissed that idea. It was one to act upon if others failed. For the present it meant another scramble. Bremen is six hours from Norden by rail. I should spend a disproportionate amount of my limited time in trains, and I should want a different disguise. Besides, I had already learnt something fresh about Böhmel, for the seed dropped at Emden station yesterday had come to life. A submarine engineer I knew him to be before. I now knew that canals were another branch of his labours, not a very illuminating fact, but could I pick up more in a single day? There remained easins, and it was thither I resolved to go to-night, a tedious journey lasting till past eight in the evening, but there I should only be an hour from Norden by rail. And at easins? All day long I strove for light on the central mystery, collecting from my diary, my memory, my imagination, from the map, the timetable, and Davis's grubby jottings, every elusive atom of material. Sometimes I issued from a reverie with a start, to find a phlegmatic Dutch peasant staring strangely at me over his china pipe. I was more careful over the German border. Davis's paper I soon knew by heart. I pictured him writing it with his cramped fist in his corner by the stove, fighting against sleep, absently striking selvers of matches, while I snored in my bunk, absently diverging into dreams I knew of a rose-brown face under dewy hair and a greyed tamashanta. Though not a word of her came into the document, I smiled to see his undying faith in the channel theory, reconciled at the eleventh hour, with new data touching the neglected land. The result was certainly interesting, but it left me cold. That there existed in the German archives some such scheme for defence for the North Sea coast was very likely indeed. The seven islands, with their seven shallow channels, though, by the way, two of them, the twin branches of the Ems, are by no means so shallow, were a very fair conjecture, and fitted in admirably with the channel theory, whose intrinsic merits I had always recognised, my constant objection having been that it did not go nearly far enough to account for our treatment. The ring of railway round the peninsula, with easins at the apex, was suggestive too, but the same objection applied. Every country with a maritime frontier has, I suppose, secret plans of mobilisation for its defence, but they are not such as could be discovered by passing travellers. Not such as would warrant stealthy searches, or require for their elaboration so recondite a meeting place as Mehmet. Dolman was another weak point. Dolman in England spying. All countries, Germany included, have spies in their service, dirty though necessary tools, but Dolman in such intimate association with the principal plotters on this side, Dolman rich, influential, a power in local affairs, it was clear he was no ordinary spy. And here I detected a hesitation in Davis' rough sketch, a reluctance, as it were, to pursue a clue to its logical end. He spoke of a German scheme of coast defence, and in the next breath of Dolman spying for English plans in the event of war with Germany, and there he left the matter. But what sort of plans? Obviously, if he was on the right track, plans of attack on the German coast, as opposed to those of strategy on the high seas. But what sort of an attack? Obviously, again, if his railway ring meant anything, an attack by invasion on that remote and desolate littoral, which he had so often himself declared to be impregnably secure behind its web of sands and shallows. My mind went back to my questionnaire at Benzazir. Can this coast be invaded? To his denial and our fruitless survey of the dykes and polders. Was he now reverted to a fancy we had both rejected, while shrinking from giving it explicit utterance? The doubt was tantalising. A brief digression here about the phases of my journey. At Reiner I chained trains, turned due north and became a German seaman. There was little risk in a defective accent. Sailors are so polyglot, while an English sailor straying about easins might excite curiosity. Yesterday I had paid no heed to the landscape. Today I neglected nothing that could conceivably supply a hint. From Reiner to Empton we descended the valley of the Ems, at first through a land of thriving towns and fat pastures, degenerating farther north to spaces of heathery bog and moorland. A sad country, but looking at its best, such as it was. For I should mention here that the weather, which in the early morning had been as cold and misty as ever, grew steadily milder and brighter as the day advanced. While my newspaper stated that the glass was falling and the anti-cyclone giving way to pressure from the Atlantic. At Empton, where we entered the Eastland proper, the train crossed a big canal, and for the twentieth time that day, for we had passed numbers of them in Holland, and not a few in Germany, I said to myself, canals, canals, where does boom come in? It was dusk but light enough to see an unfamiliar craft, a torpedo boat, in fact, moored to stakes at one side. In a moment I remembered that page in the North Sea pilot, where the Ems Yarder Canal is referred to as deep enough to carry gun-boats, and as used for that strategic purpose between Wilhelm's Hafen and Empton, along the base, that is, of the Frisian Peninsula. I asked a peasant opposite, yes, that was the Ems Yarder Canal. Had Davis forgotten it? It would have greatly strengthened his halting sketch. At the bookstore at Empton, I bought a pocket ordnance map. There is, of course, no space to reproduce this, but here and henceforward the reader is referred to map B, of Friesland, on a much larger scale than anything I had used before, and when I was unobserved, studied the course of the canal, with an impatience which, alas, quickly cooled. From Empton Northwards I used the same map to aid my eyesight, and with its help saw in the gathering gloom more heaths and bogs, once a great glimmering lake, and at intervals cultivated tracts, a watery land as ever, pools, streams, and countless drains and ditches. Extensive woods were mugged also, but farther inland. We passed northern at seven, just dark. I looked out for the creek, and sure enough we crossed it just before entering the station. Its bed was nearly dry, and I distinguished barges lying around in it. This being the junction for easins, I had to wait three quarters of an hour, and then turned east through the uttermost northern wilds, stooping at occasional village stations and keeping five or six miles from the sea. It was during this stage, in a wretchedly lit compartment, and alone for the most part, that I finally assembled all my threads, and tried to weave them into a cable whose core should be easins. A town, so Bédica said, of three thousand five hundred inhabitants, and centre of a rich agricultural district, fine spire. Easons is four miles inland from Benzazille. I reviewed every circumstance of that day at Benzazille, and boiled to think how von Bruning had tricked me. He had driven to Easons himself, and read me so well that he actually offered to take me with him, and I had refused from excess of cleverness. Stay, though, if I had happened to accept, he would have taken very good care that I saw nothing important. The secret, therefore, was not writ large on the walls of Easons. Was it connected with Benzazille, too, or the country between? I searched the ordinance map again, standing up to get a better light and less jolting. There was the road northwards from Easons to Benzazille, passing through dots and chessboard squares, the former meaning fen, the latter fields, so the reference said. Something else, too, immediately caught my eye, and that was a stream running to Benzazille. I knew it at once for the muddy stream or drain we had seen at the harbour, issuing through this loose o' zeal from which Benzazille took its name. But it rested my attention now, because it looked more prominent than I should have expected. Charts are apt to ignore the geography of the mainland, except in so far as it offers sea-marks to mariners.  On the ordinance map it was marked with the dark blue line was labelled Benzazille, and was given a more resolute course. Benz became angles, and there were what appeared to be artificial straightnesses at certain points. One of the threads in my skein, the canal thread, tingled sympathetically, like a wire charged with current. Standing astral on both seats, with the map close to the lamp, I greedily followed the course of the teeth southward. It inclined away from the road to Easons, and passed the town about a mile to the west, diving underneath the railway. Soon after it took angular tacks to the eastward, and joined another blue line trending southeast, and lettered Easons-Wittmund Canal. This canal, however, came to an abrupt end halfway to Wittmund, a neighbouring town. For the first time that day there came to me a sense of genuine inspiration. Those shallow depths and short distances, fractions of meters and kilometers, which I had overheard from Boomer's lips at Mehmet, and which Davis had attributed to the outside journals, did they refer to a canal? I remembered seeing barters in Benzazille harbour. I remembered conversations with the natives in the inn, scraps of the postmaster's pompous loquacity, talks of growing trade, of bricks and grain passing from the interior to the islands. From another source was the grocer of Wangerurg, of expansion of business in the islands themselves as bathing resorts. From another source again, von Brunning himself surely, of Dolman's personal activity in the development of the islands. In obscure connection with these things, I saw the torpedo boat in the M's Yarder Canal. It was between Dornum and Easons that these ideas came, and I was still absorbed in them when the train drew up, just upon nine o'clock, at my destination, and after ten minutes' walk, along with a handful of other passengers, I found myself in the quiet cobbled streets of Easons, with a great church steeple, that we had so often seen from the sea, soaring above me in the moonlight. End of Chapter 25