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at in.' Von Bruening was ready with a new proposal. 'Why didn't I think of it before?' he said. 'I'll tow you out in my launch. Be ready at 6.30; we shall have water enough then. My men will send you a warp.' It was impossible to refuse, but a sense of being personally conducted again oppressed me; and the last hope of a bed in the inn vanished. Davies was none too effusive either. A tug meant a pilot, and he had had enough of them. 'He objects to towage on principle,' I said. 'Just like him!' laughed the other. 'That's settled, then!' A dogcart was standing before the inn door in readiness for von Bruening. I was curious about Esens and his business there. Esens, he said, was the principal town of the district, four miles inland. 'I have to go there,' he volunteered, 'about a poaching case--a Dutchman trawling inside our limits. That's my work, you know--police duty.' Had the words a deeper meaning? 'Do you ever catch an Englishman?' I asked, recklessly. 'Oh, very rarely; your countrymen don't come so far as this--except on pleasure.' He bowed to us each and smiled. 'Not much of that to be got in Bensersiel,' I laughed. 'I'm afraid you'll have a dull afternoon. Look here. I know you can't leave your boat altogether, and it's no use asking Herr Davies; but will _you_ drive into Esens with me and see a Frisian town--for what it's worth? You're getting a dismal impression of Friesland.' I excused myself, said I would stop with Davies we would walk out over the sands and prospect for the evening', sail. 'Well, good-bye then,' he said, 'till the evening. Be ready for the warp at 6.30.' He jumped up, and the cart rattled off through the mud, crossed the bridge, and disappeared into the dreary hinterland. XVII. Clearing the Air 'HAS he gone to get the police, do you think?' said Davies, grimly. 'I don't think so,' said I. 'Let's go aboard before that customs fellow buttonholes us.' A diminished row of stolid Frisians still ruminated over the 'Dulcibella'. Friend Grimm was visible smoking on his forecastle. We went on board in silence. 'First of all, where exactly is Memmert?' I said. Davies pulled down the chart, said 'There,' and flung himself at full length on a sofa. The reader can see Memmert for himself. South of Juist, _[see Map B]_ abutting on the Ems delta, lies an extensive sandbank called Nordland, whose extreme western rim remains uncovered at the highest tides; t
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