rawn up
only part way out of the water--about three o'clock this morning. Two
men had got out; one waited with the boat, the other went up toward
the foot of the steps and mixed his footprints up with all the others.
I don't know what for and can't imagine; but that's what happened, and
presently he turned round and went back to the boat, and the two of
them shoved her off again--trusting, I guess, to the tide to cover up
the signs of their landing.

"Why they should want to be secret about it, God only knows; but if
they didn't, why three o'clock? It's all private beach along here, and
whereas I believe there are no property rights below high-water mark,
and anybody has a right to land anywhere in an emergency--where was
the emergency? There was no gale last night, and if there had been,
you'd think distressed mariners would have sense enough to come ashore
farther along, toward the village, where they could find shelter--and
all that. The more I think about it, the funnier it looks to me."

He finished his breakfast and his statement at the same time, pushed
back his chair, and produced a cigarette-case.

"You don't mind? Thanks. Now what do you think?"

Sally shook her head and looked blank. "Three o'clock? How can
you be so sure about that?" she inquired obliquely.

"Because it's high tide twice a day--approximately every twelve hours.
I looked up a tide-table in the hall out there and found it was high
at one eleven this morning and low at seven thirty-five--just about
an hour turned when I had my swim, the water-line then about twelve
feet short of the marks of the boat. It'll be high again about one
forty-eight this afternoon--at least noon before water begins to wash
over those marks."

He puffed voluminously. "If there was any shenanigan afoot last night,
a couple of thick-heads footed it--that is, if they cared whether they
left any clues or not."

Constrained to fill in his expectant pause, she made shift with a "How
very odd!" that was a triumph of naturalness.

"Isn't it?" he agreed. "Now what do you make of it?"

"Nothing," she replied truthfully, for she was entirely at a loss to
fit this new development into the adventures of Lyttleton and the
lighted window--and make sense of it. "I can't imagine--"

"What I want to know is this," Trego propounded cunningly: "had
Lyttleton anything to do with it?" She had prepared for that question,
had settled her answer beforehand; even with any real reaso