He stretched out his hand from underneath the coverlet of his little
vehicle--a hand with long, white fingers, slim and white and shapely
as a woman's. A single ring with a dull green stone was on his fourth
finger. Hamel shook hands with him as he would have shaken hands with
a woman. Afterwards he rubbed his fingers slowly together. There was
something about the touch which worried him.

"You have been making use of this little shanty, haven't you?" he asked
bluntly.

Mr. Fentolin nodded. He was apparently beginning to recover himself.

"You must remember," he explained suavely, "that it was built by my
grandfather, and that we have had rights over the whole of the foreshore
here from time immemorial. I know quite well that my brother gave it to
your father--or rather he sold it to him for a nominal sum. I must tell
you that it was a most complicated transaction. He had the greatest
difficulty in getting any lawyer to draft the deed of sale. There were
so many ancient rights and privileges which it was impossible to
deal with. Even now there are grave doubts as to the validity of the
transaction. When nothing was heard of you, and we all concluded that
you were dead, I ventured to take back what I honestly believed to be
my own. Owing," he continued slowly, "to my unfortunate affliction, I
am obliged to depend for interest in my life upon various hobbies. This
little place, queerly enough, has become one of them. I have furnished
it, in a way; installed the telephone to the house, connected it with my
electric plant, and I come down here when I want to be quite alone, and
paint. I watch the sea--such a sea sometimes, such storms, such colour!
You notice that ridge of sand out yonder? It forms a sort of natural
breakwater. Even on the calmest day you can trace that white line of
foam."

"It is a strange coast," Hamel admitted.

Mr. Fentolin pointed with his forefinger northwards.

"Somewhere about there," he indicated, "is the entrance to the tidal
river which flows up to the village of St. David's yonder. You see?"

His finger traced its course until it came to a certain point near the
beach, where a tall black pillar stood, surmounted by a globe.

"I have had a light fixed there for the benefit or the fishermen," he
said, "a light which I work from my own dynamo. Between where we are
sitting now and there--only a little way out to sea--is a jagged
cluster of cruel rocks. You can see them if you care to swi