at excursion. No doubt they could have tea on board....
He mustn't forget to buy some decent cakes in Bordeaux.... Perhaps she
would help him to get it ready while Hilliard steered and pottered over
his old engines.... He could just imagine her bending over a tea tray,
her graceful figure, the little brown tendrils of her hair at the edge
of her tam-o'-shanter, her brown eyes flashing up to meet his own....

Dover came unexpectedly soon and Merriman had to postpone the further
consideration of his plans until he had gone on board the boat and
settled down in a corner of the smoker room. There, however, he fell
asleep, not awaking until roused by the bustle of the arrival in Calais.

He reached Paris just before six and drove to the Gare d'-Orsay, where
he had time for a bath and breakfast before catching the 7.50 a.m.
express for Bordeaux. Again it was a perfect day, and as the hours
passed and they ran steadily southward through the pleasing but
monotonous central plain of France, the heat grew more and more
oppressive. Poitiers was hot, Angouleme an oven, and Merriman was not
sorry when at a quarter to five they came in sight of the Garonne at the
outskirts of Bordeaux and a few moments later pulled up in the Bastide
Station.

Hilliard was waiting at the platform barrier.

"Hallo, old man," he cried. "Jolly to see you. Give me one of your
handbags. I've got a taxi outside."

Merriman handed over the smaller of the two small suitcases he carried,
having, in deference to Hilliard's warnings, left behind most of the
things he wanted to bring. They found the taxi and drove out at once
across the great stone bridge leading from the Bastide Station and
suburb on the east bank to the main city on the west. In front of them
lay the huge concave sweep of quays fronting the Garonne, here a river
of over a quarter of a mile in width, with behind the massed buildings
of the town, out of which here and there rose church spires and, farther
down-stream, the three imposing columns of the Place des Quinconces.

"Some river, this," Merriman said, looking up and down the great sweep
of water.

"Rather. I have the Swallow 'longside a private wharf farther up-stream.
Rather tumble-down old shanty, but it's easier than mooring in the
stream and rowing out. We'll go and leave your things aboard, and then
we can come up town again and get some dinner."

"Right-o," Merriman agreed.

Having crossed the bridge they turned to the left