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“I should hate to have to kill that dog, but it may be necessary before long,” said the specialist. “But why didn’t you tell Miss McLeod her dog was blind?”
“We were afraid it would upset her too much,” I answered, and then suddenly realising the point of the question, I added, “but how on earth did you know we hadn’t?”
“Because,” he said thoughtfully, “if you had, she strikes me as the sort of girl who would have asked me straight away what I thought I could do for him.”
“You seem to understand human nature as well as you do science,” I said admiringly.
“The two are identical, or at least co-incident, Mr. Ewart,” he replied solemnly. “But what was it you did tell her?”
“We said he was suffering from a sort of eczema, which looked as if it might be infectious, and we thought she ought not to be near him for a bit. Otherwise, of course, she would have wanted him with her all the time.”
When the examination was over for the time being, I chained Sholto to a hook in an old harness-rack, for he was strong and unused to captivity, and the door had no lock, only a small bolt outside. Garnesk packed away his instruments, carried them carefully to the house, and then we sprinted upstairs to dress hurriedly for dinner.
Myra, poor child, was sensitive about joining us, but the specialist was very anxious that she should do so, and we all dined together. There was no allusion whatever to the strange events which had brought us together, but, with my professional knowledge of the mysteries of cross-examination, I noticed that Garnesk contrived to acquire more knowledge of various circumstances on which he seemed to wish to be enlightened than Sir Gaire Olvery had gleaned from forty minutes’ blunt questioning.
Myra had hardly left us after the meal was over when the butler handed the General a card, and almost simultaneously a tall, shadowy figure passed the window along the verandah.
“’Pon my soul, that’s kind of him,” said the simple-hearted old man. “Run after him, Ronald, and fetch him back.”
“Who is it?” I asked, rising.
“‘Mr. J. G. Hilderman wishes to express his sympathy with General McLeod in his daughter’s illness.’ Very neighbourly indeed.”
I ran out after Hilderman, and found that his long legs had taken him nearly half-way to the landing-stage by the time I overtook him. He stopped as I called his name.
“Why, Mr. Ewart,” he exclaimed in surprise, “you back again already? I hope you had a very satisfactory interview with the specialist.”
I told him briefly that our visit to London had given us no satisfaction at all, and gave him the General’s invitation to come up to the house.
“I wouldn’t think of it, Mr. Ewart,” he declared emphatically. “Very kind of General McLeod, but he don’t want to worry with strangers just now.”
He was very determined; but I insisted, and he eventually gave way. I was glad he had come. I had a somewhat unreasonable esteem for his abilities and resource, and every assistance was welcomed with open arms at Invermalluch Lodge at that time. His extensive knowledge even included some slight acquaintance with the body’s most wonderful organ, for he told us some very interesting eye cases he had heard of in the States. He was genuinely dumbfoundered when we told him that Sholto was an additional victim.
“You don’t say so!” he exclaimed. “Well, that is remarkable. It sounds as if it came out of a book. In broad daylight a young lady goes out, and is as well as can be. An hour later she is stone blind. Two days afterwards her dog goes out, and he comes in blind. Yes, it’s got me beaten.”
“It’s got us all beaten,” said Garnesk deliberately, and I was shocked to hear him say it. I reflected that he had not even examined Myra, and my disappointment was the keener that he should admit himself nonplussed so early. But he left me no loophole of doubt.
“I can make nothing whatever of it,” he added, ruefully shaking his head. “I wonder if I ever shall?”
“Come, come! my dear sir,” said Hilderman cheerily. “You scientist fellows have a knack of making your difficulties a little greater than they really are, in order to get more credit for surmounting them. I know your little ways. I’m an American, you know, professor; you can’t get me that way.”
Garnesk laughed – fortunately. And again I was grateful to Hilderman for his timely tact, for it cheered the old man immensely, and helped me a little, too. Presently the General left the room, and Garnesk leaned forward.
“Mr. Hilderman,” he said earnestly, “do everything in your power to keep the old man’s spirits up. I can give him no hope, professionally – I dare not. But you, a layman, can. It is difficult in the circumstances for Mr. Ewart to give much encouragement, but I know he will do his best.”
“J. G. Hilderman is yours to command,” said the American, with a bow that included us both. And then the oculist suggested that we should have a look at Sholto. I led the way to the coach-house with a heavy heart. I should not have minded a mystery which would have endangered my own life. Apart from any altruism, the personal peril would have afforded a welcome stimulant. But this unseen horror, which stabbed in the dark and robbed my beautiful Myra of her sight, chilled my very soul. I climbed wearily up the wooden stair to Sholto’s new den, carrying a stable lantern in my hand, for it was getting late, and the carefully darkened room would be as black as ink. The other two followed close on my heels. I opened the door and called to the dog. A faint, sickly-sweet odour met me as I did so.
“You give your dogs elaborate kennels,” said Hilderman, as he climbed the stairs, and I laughed in reply.
At that instant Garnesk stood still and sniffed the air. With a sudden jerk he wrenched the lantern from my hand and strode into the room. Sholto was gone. Only half his chain dangled from the hook, cut through the middle with a pair of strong wire-nippers.
The oculist turned to us with an expression of acute interest.
“Chloroform,” he said quietly.
CHAPTER VII.
THE CHEMIST’S ROCK
By the time we gave up our hunt for Sholto that night and saw Hilderman into the Baltimore II. at the landing-stage, the harvest moon had splashed the mountain side with patches of silver in reckless profusion. But we were in no mood for æsthetics. We applied the moonlight to more practical purposes.
“Show me the river, Mr. Ewart,” said Garnesk, as we turned away from the shore. Accordingly I took him up stream till we came to Dead Man’s Pool.
“What do you make of things now?” I asked, as we walked along.
“I can’t make anything of the stealing of a dog except that someone coveted it and has now got it. Can you?”
“No,” I answered thoughtfully, “I can’t. But it’s an extraordinary coincidence, at the least; and who on earth could have stolen him? You see, no one round here would dream of taking anything that belonged to Miss McLeod. And, though Sholto is well enough bred, he’s never been in a show, and has no reputation. I can’t make it out.”
“I’m very sorry it happened just now,” said the oculist. “I was in hopes that by experimenting on the animal I could cure the girl. But at any rate that is beyond grieving about now. Is this the place?”
“Yes,” I said, “this is Dead Man’s Pool. That dim white shape there is the Chemist’s Rock. It was there that Miss McLeod lost her sight, and here that the General had his extraordinary experience. It looks innocent and peaceful enough,” I added, with a sigh.
“The General was very lucky – very lucky indeed!” murmured my companion.
“Why?” I asked.
“He was down here looking at the rock, and he saw some sort of vision; Miss McLeod was up at the rock looking down at the pool, and she lost her sight. The General might have been looking this way instead of that, in which case we might have had another case on our hands.”
“Then you think the two adventures are different aspects of the same thing? If only we knew where Sholto was it might give us even more to go on.”
“Have you any tobacco?” he asked abruptly. “I’ve got a pipe, but I left my tobacco in my room.”
We were in evening dress, and my pouch and pipe were in the house; so I left him there while I ran in to fetch them. When I returned he was nowhere to be seen, and for a moment I half suspected some new tragedy; but as I looked round I caught the gleam of the moonlight on his shirt-front. I found him kneeling on the Chemist’s Rock, looking out to sea.
“Many thanks, Mr. Ewart,” he said, as he handed me back my pouch and took the light I offered him. “Ah! I’m glad to see you smoke real tobacco. By the way,” he added, “have you a friend – a real friend – you can trust?”
“I have, thank God!” I replied fervently. “Why?”
“I should like you to send for him. Do anything you can to get him here at once. Go and drag him here, if you like – only get him here.”
“But why this urgency?” I asked again. “I admit that we have some very horrible natural phenomena to deal with; but, apart from the fact that some wretched poacher has stolen a dog, we have no human element to fear. I don’t see how he can help, and he might run a risk himself.”
“Never mind – fetch him or send for him. If you could have seen yourself start when you returned to the pool yonder to find me missing, you would realise that your nervous system would be the better for a little congenial companionship. Frankly, Mr. Ewart, I don’t like the idea of you being left alone here during the next few days with a blind girl and an old man – if you’ll pardon me for being so blunt.”
“But you’ll be here,” I said; “and I hope you will have something to say to us that will put nerves out of the question when you have examined Myra.”
Garnesk rose to his feet and laid a friendly hand on my arm.
“As soon as I’ve seen what this place looks like at a quarter-past four to a quarter-past five in the afternoon I shall leave you.”
“But – good heavens, man!” I cried, aghast, “you won’t leave us like that. We hoped for so much from your visit. You can’t realise, man, what it may mean to – to us all! You see – ”
“My dear chap,” said my companion, cutting me short with a laugh, “it is just because I do realise that my presence here may be dangerous to Miss McLeod that I propose to leave.”
“Dangerous to her?” I gasped. “What on earth do you mean now?” The whole world seemed to have taken leave of its senses, and I mentally vowed that I should wire for Dennis first thing in the morning.
“I say that because her dog has been drugged and taken away.”
“But some fool of a poacher was responsible for that!” I cried.
My companion looked at me thoughtfully as he puffed at his pipe.
“I was the cause of the dog’s disappearance,” he said quietly.
“I see what you’re driving at,” I said. “You pretended to steal the dog because you were afraid Myra would make overwhelming objections to your vivisecting him, or whatever you want to do. Of course, now I see you would be the only person about Invermalluch Lodge likely to have chloroform. But even then I don’t see what you mean by saying that your presence here would be dangerous to Miss McLeod.”
“That’s a very ingenious construction to put on my words, my dear fellow,” he said; “but in my mind I was relying on you to overcome my patient’s objections to any experiments that might be deemed advisable on her dog. I meant something much more serious than that. I have known you only a few hours, Mr. Ewart; but nobody need tell me you are anything of a fool, unless he wants a very flat contradiction. You are looking at this affair from a personal point of view – and no wonder, either. But if you were not so worried about your fiancée your brain would have grasped my point at once. That is why I want you to send for a friend.”
“I will,” I promised solemnly. “Now tell me – what did you mean?”
“When I said I was the cause of the dog’s disappearance, I meant that if I hadn’t arrived on the scene the dog would never have been touched. The dog was taken by someone who knew he was blind, who knew that I would experiment on him, and who was determined to get there first.”
“But,” I exclaimed, “that would be carrying professional jealousy a bit too far – if that’s what you mean!”
“It would be carrying it so far that we can rule it out of court,” he answered. “So that’s what I don’t mean. Let’s go back and analyse the occurrence. I say the dog was not stolen by poachers, because of the chloroform; you said the same yourself. I say that the thief knew the dog was blind, because he knew he was in a darkened room above the coach-house, and he stole him from there. A poacher would have gone to the kennel, and found it empty – and that would have been the end of that. But the man who knew the dog was in a special room must have known why he was there; and it seems to me that the man who steals a blind dog steals him because, for some reason or other, he wants a blind dog – that very one, probably. Have you got me?”
“Yes,” I said, “I follow you so far. Go on.” And I was surprised to find how relieved I was at this suggested complication. I felt that if we could only attribute this amazing week of mysteries to some human agent I should be able to grapple with it.
“Now I come to my main point,” Garnesk continued, “and it’s this: The man who wanted Sholto because he was blind wanted him to experiment on. But no professional man would do a thing like that, even supposing there to be one about. That motive again is ruled out of court. There remains one possible solution – ”
“Well?” I asked breathlessly, for even now I failed to grasp the conclusion my scientific companion could be coming to. “Go on!”
“If this thief did not want Sholto to experiment on himself, he stole the dog in order to prevent me from experimenting on him.”
I laughed aloud from sheer excitement and the relief of finding some tangible thing to go on, for the oculist’s argument struck me as very nearly perfect.
“You ought to be at Scotland Yard,” I said. “You seem to me to have hit the nail on the head.”
“The two callings are very closely allied,” he said modestly. “Detectives deal with murderers and thieves, and I with nerves and tissues. It is all a question of diagnosis.”
“I must say I think you’ve diagnosed this case very well, Mr. Garnesk,” I said, “though we are just at the beginning of our troubles if what you suppose is correct.”
“I can’t think of any other solution,” he answered thoughtfully; “and we are, as you say, just at the beginning of our troubles. The first thing to do is – ”
“To find the man who stole the dog,” I cut in.
“To find the man who knew the dog was blind,” he corrected. “By that means we may come to the man who stole the dog; then we may get his reason from his own lips, if we are exceptionally lucky. But I fancy I can supply his motive, failing a full confession.”
“You can?” I cried. “Let’s hear it.”
“You’ve thought of one yourself, of course?” he asked.
“The only motive I can think of is too fantastic altogether. It is weak enough to presuppose that someone has a grievance against Miss McLeod or the General, and that someone took advantage of the extraordinary circumstances to steal Sholto, and if possible prevent Myra getting her sight back. Oh, it’s too ridiculous!”
“We have to remember,” my companion suggested, “that our unknown quantity not only knew that the dog was blind, but also knew that I was coming or had arrived, and would probably experiment on the beast. It argues a very terrible urgency that the animal disappeared within an hour or two of my arrival. From all that I deduce what seems to me the only possible motive. The dog was stolen by the man who made Miss McLeod blind.”
“Made her blind!” I cried. “You don’t seriously mean that you think someone – some fiend of hell – deliberately blinded her?”
“Not deliberately,” my companion replied. “But I believe it was through some human agency that she was blinded. I think some person or persons were anxious that Miss McLeod should remain blind, in case we should, in the process of recovering her sight, hit upon the cause of her losing it.”
In silence I sat for a few moments, thinking over this extraordinary new outlook. I must certainly wire for Dennis in the morning.
“Mr. Garnesk,” I said presently, “you are bringing a very terrible charge against some human monster whom we have yet to discover. But I must admit that you seem to have logic on your side. It remains for me to discover who these people are – if there are more than one.”
“Yes,” he mused; “that is what we must discover.”
“We!” I exclaimed. “Then you’re not going away?”
“Yes,” he said. “I think it would be fairer to you all if I left you. I think my arrival has done some good – my departure may do more. But I assure you, Mr. Ewart, I shall not give up this case till Miss McLeod recovers her sight. I give you my hand on that.”
I shook hands with him warmly.
“Thank you,” I said, as I noticed the eager look on his keen, handsome face. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart. To-morrow I hope I shall find the man who knew Sholto was blind.”
“I only know of one outside the General’s household,” he answered.
“But I don’t even know that!” I cried, forgetting Dennis for the moment. As for Olvery, he had gone clean out of my mind. “Who do you mean?”
“The American,” said my companion.
“Hilderman!” I exclaimed. “Surely you must be mistaken. Why, he was absolutely astonished when we told him. He can’t have known.”
“Still,” Garnesk insisted, “I felt sure he knew. I suspected something about him, but I was wrong to do that, quite wrong; I admit that now. I couldn’t at first see why he pretended he hadn’t heard that Sholto was blind. You may have noticed that I tried to give him the impression that I had examined Miss McLeod and come to the conclusion that I could do nothing. I confess I did that to see how he took it. But I was on a wrong scent altogether. He knew about the dog, that was obvious, but it was also obvious that he hadn’t been told from an official source, so to speak. He kept fishing for information. He brought up the dog several times, each time with a query mark in his voice – as you might say. He remarked that the last time he saw Miss McLeod she had her beautiful dog with her. That made me suspicious, because from what you told me she always had her dog with her. Then he said her dog must be feeling it very keenly, you remember. I tried him with my pessimistic conclusions to see how he took it. You see, as soon as I saw the dog I put contagious disease out of the question. Natural forces unguided seemed impossible, but natural forces of some nature that we can’t yet understand seemed probable. Still I was wrong to suspect Hilderman, quite wrong. Besides he couldn’t possibly have stolen the dog.”
“I’m glad you feel you were wrong there,” I said, “because I rather like the man. I shouldn’t care to have to suspect him.”
“Don’t suspect him, whatever you do,” said the oculist earnestly. “Whatever you do, don’t do that. He might be very useful. Make a friend of him. You’ll want all your friends.”
He rose and stretched his legs, and I followed suit. We stood for a moment on the Chemist’s Rock and gazed up the river, over the top of the falls, into the silver and purple symphony of a highland night. Presently my companion turned and took my arm.
“I’ve seen all I want to see,” he said as he began to lead me down to the pool again. “They’ll wonder what has become of us. And as I’ve seen enough for one night, let’s get back to the house.”
“It’s a wonderful view at any time of the day or night,” I agreed, and I sighed as I thought of poor Myra.
“It must be,” said Garnesk absently, picking his way across the rocks. “It must be a magnificent view. I haven’t noticed it; you must bring me here to-morrow.”
CHAPTER VIII.
MISTS OF UNCERTAINTY
When we got back to the house we found Myra and her father – not unnaturally – wondering what had become of us.
“What have you been doing, and where have you been, and what do you mean by it?” she asked, playfully. “I wish I could see you. I’m sure you must be looking very guilty.”
Garnesk and I exchanged hurried glances. It was obvious from her remark that the General had not told her of Sholto’s disappearance. I decided there and then that I would have to tell her the whole truth myself, and I gave the others a pretty broad hint that we would like to be left alone. I left the drawing-room and went with them to the library, and answered the old man’s feverish questions as to the result of our search.
Then I returned to Myra. It was a difficult and unpleasant task that I had to perform, but I got through it somehow; and, as I expected, Myra was very distressed about her dog, but not in the least frightened. I had thought it wiser not to acquaint her with the specialist’s deductions as to the connection between her own affliction and the theft of Sholto. When I had given her as many particulars as I thought advisable, the other two rejoined us.
“Can you think of anyone at all, Miss McLeod,” the specialist asked, “who would be likely to steal Sholto?”
“I can’t,” the girl replied helplessly. “I wish I could.”
“The two classes of people we want to find,” I suggested, “are those who like Sholto so much as to be prepared to steal him, and those who dislike him so much as to be anxious to destroy him.”
“You don’t think they’ll hurt him,” she cried, anxiously. “Poor old fellow! It’s bad enough his being blind; but I would rather know he was dead than being ill-treated.”
“It’s much more likely to be the act of some very human person who covets his neighbour’s goods,” said Garnesk, reassuringly. “But, at the same time, we must not overlook the other possibility. Can you remember anyone who does dislike the dog?”
“Only one,” said Myra, thoughtfully, “and I don’t think he could have done it. He has a small croft away up above Tor Beag, and Sholto and I were up there one day; but it’s months ago. Sholto went nosing round as usual, and the man came out and got very excited in Gaelic – and you know how excited one can be in that language. He was very rude to me about the dog, and it made me rather suspicious. I told daddy about it after.”
“Yes, and I hope you won’t go wandering about so far from home without saying where you’re going in future, my dear; because – ” said the old man, and pulled himself up in pained confusion as he realised the tragic significance of his words.
“Some sort of poacher, perhaps,” suggested Garnesk, coming quickly to the rescue.
“An illicit whisky still somewhere about, more likely,” Myra replied. And as she could think of no other likely person, and the crofter seemed out of the question, we had to confess ourselves puzzled. I had hoped that Myra would have been able to give us some clue with which we could have satisfied her, while we kept our suspicions to ourselves. Then we left Myra with the specialist, who made a temporary examination. In twenty minutes he assured us that he could make nothing of the case, but that he was willing to stake his reputation that there was nothing organically wrong; and he gave us, so far as he dared, distinct reason to hope that she would eventually regain full possession of her lost faculty. So, after general rejoicings all round, in which I quite forgot the mystery of the man who stole the dog, I went to bed feeling ten years younger, and slept like a top.
When I awoke in the morning much of my elation of spirit had evaporated, and I felt again the oppression of surrounding tragedy. I got up immediately – it was just after six – dressed, and went down to bathe. I was strolling down the drive, with a towel round my neck, when Garnesk put his head out of his window and shouted that he would join me. The tide being in, we saved ourselves a walk to the diving-rock, as the point was called, and bathed from the landing-stage. Refreshed by the swim, we determined to scour the country-side for any tracks of the thief.
“What beats me is how anybody in a place like this, where everybody for miles round knows more about you than you do yourself, could get rid of an enormous beast like Sholto. He was big even for a Dane, and his weight must have been tremendous when he was drugged,” said Garnesk, as we walked up the beach path. “Have you ever tried to carry a man who’s fainted?”
“I have,” I answered with feeling, “and I quite agree with you. If the thief wanted to do away with the dog the beast’s body is probably somewhere near.”
“What about the river?” my companion suggested.
“More likely the loch,” I decided, “or the sea. But that would mean a boat, because it would have to be buried in deep water, or the body would be washed up again on the rocks, even with a heavy weight attached. There are many deep pools in the river, but they are constantly fished, and that would lead to eventual detection. We are dealing with a man who knows his way about. It might be the loch or one of the burns, easily.”
Accordingly we decided to try the loch first; but though we followed the path from the house, carefully studying the ground every foot of the way, and examined the banks equally carefully, we were forced to the conclusion that we were on the wrong scent. Then we came down one of the burns that runs from the loch to the sea, and met with the same result.
“We’ll walk along the beach and go up the next stream,” Garnesk suggested. “Hullo,” he exclaimed suddenly, as we clambered over the huge rocks into a tiny cove, “there’s been a boat in here!”
I looked at the shingly beach, and saw the keel-marks of a boat and the footprints of its occupants in the middle of the cove. We went up gingerly, for fear of disturbing the ground of our investigations. I looked at the marks, and pondered them for a moment. By this time my senses were wide awake.
“What do you make of it?” the oculist asked.
“Well,” I replied, with an apologetic laugh, “I’m afraid you’ll think me more picturesque than businesslike if I tell you all the conclusions I’ve already come to; but the man who came ashore in this boat didn’t steal Sholto.”
“Go on,” he said. “Why, I told you I knew you weren’t a fool.”
“Thank you!” I laughed. “It seems to me that if a man arrived in a boat and went ashore to steal a dog, he would go away again in the same boat.”
“And didn’t he?”
“I feel convinced he didn’t,” I replied, and pointed out to him what must have been obvious to both of us. “Compare the keel-marks with high-water mark. There is less than half a boat’s length of keel-mark, and it is just up above high-water mark. This craft, which appears to have been a small rowing-boat, was run ashore at high tide, or very near it, and run out again very quickly. It might conceivably have come in and been caught up by the sea. But Sholto was stolen between a quarter past eight and half-past nine, when the tide was well on the way out. If Sholto went out to sea it was not in this boat.”
“Well,” said Garnesk, thoughtfully, “your point is good enough for me. We must look somewhere else.”
“I hope my attempts at detective work will not put us off the scent,” I said, doubtfully.
“I don’t think they will, Ewart,” said my companion, graciously. “Not in this case, anyway. I’m sure you’re right, because this bay can be seen from the top windows of the house.”
“You evidently reached my conclusions with half the effort in half the time,” I laughed.
“Oh, nonsense!” he exclaimed. “It was you who pointed out that the one man in this boat came in daylight.”
“Why ‘one man’ so emphatically?” I asked.
“When two men come in a boat to commit a theft, and only one of them goes ashore, the other would hardly be expected to sit in the boat and twiddle his thumbs. It’s a thousand pounds to a penny that he would get out and walk about the beach. Now, only one gentleman came ashore from this boat, and only one got on board again. One set of footprints going and one coming decided me on that. Besides, if anyone came along and saw a solitary man sitting in a boat, they might ask him how his wife and children were, and he would have to reply; whereas an empty boat, being unable to answer questions, would raise no suspicions.”
“You seem to be arguing that this boat may have been the one we are looking for,” I pointed out; “and yet we are agreed that the state of the tide made it impossible for Sholto to have been taken away in it.”
“Yes,” said Garnesk, “I agree to that. But I fancy the thief came by that boat. It seems to me that our man jumps out of the boat, runs ashore, and his friend pulls away and picks him up elsewhere – probably nearer the house. It would look perfectly natural for a man who has apparently been giving a companion a pull across from Skye, say, to land him and then go back. The more I think of this the more it interests me. You see, if the top windows of the house can be seen from the bay, it means that the lower windows can be seen from the top of the cliff. If we can find where our thief lay in wait on the cliff and watched the house, probably with his eyes glued on the dining-room windows to see when we commenced dinner, if we can also find where he left his sea-boots while he went to the house, and then where he rejoined his companion, we are getting on.”
“What makes you say ‘sea-boots’?” I asked. “You can’t tell a top-boot by the footmarks.”
“Indirectly you can,” Garnesk replied, puffing thoughtfully at his pipe. “That boat was pulled in and pushed out by a man who exerted hardly any pressure, although the beach only slopes gently. His companion did not lend a hand by pushing her out with an oar; if he had done so we should have seen the marks, and I couldn’t find any. The only other way to account for it is that our friend, who exerted so little pressure, was wearing sea-boots and walked into the water with the boat. Had he been alone, the jerk of his final jump into the boat would have left a deeper impression on the beach. The tide was just going out; it would have no time to wash this mark away. I looked for the mark, and it wasn’t there; so I came to the final conclusion that two men arrived in the cove shortly after seven last night in a small open boat. One of them – a tall, left-handed man in sea-boots – pushed the boat out again and went ashore.”
