It was now about ten o'clock on a
flawless August morning, and not easily shall I forget the picture of
that blue sea gently heaving far out to a bright horizon, and the
semi-circle of white sand fringing the little cove, and the glimpse of
green and smiling inland country, and the group of low grey farm
buildings just out of reach of the wash of the waves. Whatever part of
the world it might be, I felt entirely satisfied with it.
I stood for a few minutes gazing absently out to sea, and rehearsing in
my mind my plan of campaign. My voice, manners and conduct must be such
that if by some stroke of luck I actually fell in with my friend of last
night or one of his confederates they would assume I was a friend and at
least give me a nod, wink, password, or something to test me--and I vowed
I would overlook nothing suspicious this time.
If, however, as was unfortunately far more likely, I met mere honest
folk, they would quickly spread the news that a suspicious stranger was
in the neighbourhood, and surely the report would reach at least one of
the gang (for I confidently assumed a gang), and they would make it
their business to seek me out. Finally I decided I had no time to waste,
for several reasons. Through the clucking hens I strolled across to the
dwelling house and there in the kitchen I found the mother, one of the
pink-cheeked daughters, and the idiot son.
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