t's interest was thoroughly aroused. He became alert to
the finger-tips. There was something in the deliberate utterance that
conveyed a sense of danger. A wary gleam shone in his eyes under their
level brows. It was one of his principles when dealing with an uncertain
situation never to betray surprise. "And what may this valuable piece of
information be?" he inquired, with a smile.

Rufus shipped his oars steadily, gravely, with purpose. "I saw you cross
the quicksand last night," he said.

"Indeed!" Knight's voice was of the most casual quality. He was feeling
for his cigarette-case.

Rufus continued heavily, fatefully, gathering force with every word, as
a loosened rock beginning to roll down a mountain side. "The light was
bad. It was a tomfool thing to do. And Columbine was with you."

Knight raised his shoulders ever so slightly. "Or rather--I was with
her. Miss Columbine knows the lie of the quicksand. I--do not."

Rufus went on as if he had not spoken. "There's danger all along that
beach as far as the Spear Point. Adam will tell you the same. When it's
a spring tide there's times when there's such a swell that it's round
the Point and over the pool like a tidal wave. You'll hear the
bell-buoy tolling when there's a swell like that. We call it the Death
Current hereabouts, because there's nothing could live in it, and the
bell always tolls. And once it comes up like that the way to the
cliff-path is under water in less than thirty seconds. And the quicksand
is the only chance left." He paused; it was as if the rock halted for a
moment on the edge of the precipice before plunging finally into the
abyss of silence below. "When there's a ground swell," he said, "the
quicksand will pull a man down quicker than hell. And there's no
one--not Adam himself--can tell the lay of it for certain when the light
is bad."

His mouth closed upon the words like the snap of a strong spring. Knight
waited for more, but none came. Whatever the thought behind the warning
that he had just uttered it was evident that Rufus had no intention of
giving it expression. He had uttered the girl's name with no more
emotion than that of his father, but it seemed to Knight that by that
very fact he had managed to convey a warning more potent than any that
had followed. Otherwise he would scarcely have taken the trouble to
mention her. The possibility of subtlety in this great, slow-speaking
giant piqued him to a keener interest. He resol