d was like an oasis in the
middle of a flat stretch of sand and marsh. It consisted only of a few
raised planks and a rude shelter--built, indeed, for the convenience of
St. David's Hall alone, for the nearest village was two miles away. The
station-master, on his return from escorting the young lady to her car,
stared at this other passenger in some surprise.

"Which way to the sea?" Hamel asked.

The man pointed to the white gates of the crossing.

"You can take any of those paths you like, sir," he said. "If you
want to get to Salthouse, though, you should have got out at the next
station."

"This will do for me," Hamel replied cheerfully.

"Be careful of the dikes," the station-master advised him. "Some of them
are pretty deep."

Hamel nodded, and passing through the white gates, made his way by a
raised cattle track towards the sea. On either side of him flowed a
narrow dike filled with salt-water. Beyond stretched the flat marshland,
its mossy turf leavened with cracks and creeks of all widths, filled
also with sea-slime and sea-water. A slight grey mist rested upon the
more distant parts of the wilderness which he was crossing, a mist which
seemed to be blown in from the sea in little puffs, resting for a time
upon the earth, and then drifting up and fading away like soap bubbles.

More than once where the dikes had overflown he was compelled to change
his course, but he arrived at last at the little ridge of pebbled beach
bordering the sea. Straight ahead of him now was that strange-looking
building towards which he had all the time been directing his footsteps.
As he approached it, his forehead slightly contracted. There was ample
confirmation before him of the truth of his fellow-passenger's words.
The place, left to itself for so many years, without any attention from
its actual owner, was neither deserted nor in ruins. Its solid grey
stone walls were sea-stained and a trifle worn, but the arched wooden
doors leading into the lifeboat shelter, which occupied one side of the
building, had been newly painted, and in the front the window was hung
with a curtain, now closely drawn, of some dark red material. The lock
from the door had been removed altogether, and in its place was the
aperture for a Yale latch-key. The last note of modernity was supplied
by the telephone wire attached to the roof of the lifeboat shelter. He
walked all round the building, seeking in vain for some other means
of ingress. The