o the boat, made our declaration, had our boxes examined
perfunctorily and passed, bought our tickets, saw our baggage
transferred, tipped a dozen people, more or less, and finally were
shut into a compartment two minutes before the hour.

Then, in that first moment of inactivity, the fear of Martigny came
back upon me. Had he really gone to the hotel? Had he deemed us not
worth watching? Or had he watched? Was he on the train with us? Was he
able to follow? The more I thought of him, the more I doubted my
ability to deceive him.

I looked out cautiously from the window, up and down the platform, but
saw no sign of him, and in a moment more we rattled slowly away over
the switches. I sank back into my seat with a sigh of relief. Perhaps
I had really blinded him!

An hour's run brought us to Beuzeville, where we were dumped out,
together with our luggage, in a little frame station. An official
informed us that we must wait there three hours for the train for Les
Ifs. Beyond that? He could not say. We might possibly reach Etretat
next day.

"How far is Les Ifs from here?" inquired my companion.

"About twelve kilometers, monsieur."

"And from there to Etretat?"

"Is twenty kilometers more, monsieur."

"Thirty-two kilometers altogether," said Mr. Royce. "That's about
twenty miles. Why can't we drive, Lester? We ought to cover it easily
in three hours--four at the most."

Certainly it seemed better than waiting on the uncertain railway, and
we set at once about the work of finding a vehicle. I could be of
little use, since English was an unknown tongue at Beuzeville, and
even Mr. Royce's French was sorely taxed, but we succeeded at last in
securing a horse and light trap, together with a driver who claimed to
know the road. All this had taken time, and the sun was setting when
we finally drove away northward.

The road was smooth and level--they manage their road-making better in
France--and we bowled along at a good rate past cultivated fields with
little dwellings like doll-houses dotted here and there. Occasionally
we passed a man or woman trudging along the road, but as the darkness
deepened, it became more and more deserted. In an hour and a half from
Beuzeville we reached Les Ifs, and here we stopped for a light supper.
We had cause to congratulate ourselves that we had secured a vehicle
at Beuzeville, for we learned that no train would start for Etretat
until morning. The damage wrought by the storm of t