growth. Soon he went on again,
and, working a little to the left, stood for a moment upon a green,
turf-covered crag, a tiny plateau covered with the refuse of seagulls
and a few stunted trees, from amongst which a startled hawk rose with a
wild cry. He waited here until the moon shone once more and he could
see the little strip of shingle below. Nowhere could he find any trace
of the thing he sought.

At the end of half an hour's climbing, he reached the end of the rope.
The little cove, filled with tumbled rocks and a narrow strip of beach,
was still about eighty feet below. The slope here was far less
precipitous and there was a foothold in many places amongst the thinly
growing firs and dwarfed oaks. Calmly he let go the rope and commenced
to scramble. More than once his foot slipped, but he was always in a
position to save himself. The time came at last when he stood upon the
pebbly beach, surprised to find that his knees were shaking and his
breath coming fast. The little place was so enclosed that when he
looked upwards it seemed as though he were at the bottom of a pit, as
though the stars and the doubtful moon had receded and he was somehow in
the bowels of the earth instead of being on the sea level. There were
only a few feet of the shingle dry, and a great wave, breaking amongst
the huge rocks, drenched him with spray. He proceeded with his task,
however, searching methodically amongst the rocks, scanning the pebbly
beach with his torch, always amazed that nowhere could he find the
slightest trace of what he sought. Finally, drenched to the skin and
utterly exhausted, he commenced once more the upward climb. He was an
hour reaching the end of the rope. Then he blew the whistle and the
rest was easy. Nevertheless, when the paling came into sight and he
felt Robert's arms under his shoulders, he reeled over towards the seat
and lay there, his clothes caked in red mud, the knees of his
knickerbockers cut, blood on his hands and forehead, breathless. Robert
forced brandy down his throat, however, and in a moment or two he was
himself again.

"A miracle!" he gasped. "There is nothing there."

"There was something dark, I fancied, upon the strip of beach, sir,"
Robert ventured.

"I thought so too. It was a tarred plank of timber."

"Then the tide must have reached him."

Tallente rose to his feet and looked over.

"The sea alone knows," he said. "For the first time, though, Robert, I
feel inclined to agre