sudden hatred of Thomson had blazed
up in him. He was at bay, driven there by a relentless enemy, the
man who had tracked him down, as he honestly believed, to some extent
through jealousy. The thoughts framed themselves quickly in his mind.
With unseeing eyes he walked across Trafalgar Square and made his way
to his club in Pall Mall. Here he wrote a few lines to Isabel Worth,
regretting that he was called out of town on military business for
forty-eight hours. Afterwards he took a taxi and called at his rooms,
walked restlessly up and down while Jarvis threw a few clothes into
a bag, changed his own apparel for a rough tweed suit, and drove
to Paddington. A few minutes later he took his place in the Cornish
Express.

CHAPTER XXXII

Granet emerged from the Tregarten Hotel at St. Mary's on the following
morning, about half-past eight, and strolled down the narrow strip of
lawn which bordered the village street. A couple of boatmen advanced at
once to meet him. Granet greeted them cheerily.

"Yes, I want a boat," he admitted. "I'd like to do a bit of sailing.
A friend of mine was here and had a chap named Rowsell--Job Rowsell.
Either of you answer to that name, by chance?"

The elder of the two shook his head.

"My name's Matthew Nichols," he announced, "and this is my
brother-in-law, Joe Lethbridge. We've both of us got stout sailing craft
and all the recommendations a man need have. As for Job Rowsell, well,
he ain't here--not just at this moment, so to speak."

Granet considered the matter briefly.

"Well," he decided, "it seems to me I must talk to this chap Rowsell
before I do anything. I'm under a sort of promise."

The two boatmen looked at one another. The one who had addressed him
first turned a little away.

"Just as you like, sir," he announced. "No doubt Rowsell will be up this
way towards afternoon."

"Afternoon? But I want to go out at once," Granet protested.

Matthew Nichols removed his pipe from his mouth and spat upon the ground
thoughtfully.

"I doubt whether you'll get Job Rowsell to shift before mid-day. I'm
none so sure he'll go out at all with this nor-wester blowing."

"What's the matter with him?" Granet asked. "Is he lazy?"

The man who as yet had scarcely spoken, swung round on his heel.

"He's no lazy, sir," he said. "That's not the right word. But he's come
into money some way or other, Job Rowsell has. There's none of us knows
how, and it ain't our business, but he sp