unathletic
form, exceeded the time and fell with his head in the water. His
assailant took the key from his pocket as he staggered to his feet,
unfastened the rope and paddled across the channel. A moment later
there were hasty steps upon the stone stairs and the door with its
iron grating was unlocked. Jacob advanced to meet his friend.

"Jacob, old thing!"

"Felix! By Jove, I'm glad to see you!"

The two men shook hands. There was a moment's silence, a slightly
dubious atmosphere. Welcome though it was, Felixstowe's intervention
had its embarrassing side.

"You're looking pretty fit, old chap, except that you need a barber,"
the latter remarked.

"Thanks to Lady Mary," Jacob told his deliverer. "She's been feeding
me with a fishing rod from the seaward side."

"Good little sport! It was she who sent me the telegram--put me up to
the game, in fact. I warned you, Jacob."

"I didn't exactly expect to meet Mr. Montague up here!" was the
somewhat grim reply.

"Most likely spot in the United Kingdom!--Shall we beat it? Got a car
waiting, and we can catch the morning train from the junction if we
hurry."

They descended the steps in silence, and Jacob drew a little breath of
relief as they entered the boat. Montague was sitting upon the sands
with both hands pressed over his eye, as they landed. He shrank back
when he saw Jacob.

"What's become of the other one?" Jacob enquired.

"Your man Dauncey came up with me," Lord Felixstowe explained. "I rang
him up directly I got Mary's telegram. We met Hartwell just starting
to follow Montague. I hung round long enough to see that he was
getting what he deserved, and then I came on."

They met a triumphant Dauncey, a moment or two later.

"Given him his gruel?" Lord Felixstowe asked pleasantly.

"He's lying in the blackberry bushes," was the grim reply.

They approached the front door, where the motor-car was standing. The
Marquis strolled out to meet them, with a pleasant smile. He was
entirely free from embarrassment and he addressed Jacob courteously.

"Mr. Pratt," he said, "the fortune of war has changed. Breakfast is
served in the dining-room. Might I suggest a bath and a shave?"

Jacob lost his head.

"You damned rascal!" he exclaimed.

The Marquis's eyebrows were slightly elevated. Otherwise he was
unmoved.

"My dear sir," he rejoined, with a gently argumentative air, "of
course I am a rascal. Every one of my family, from the days of the
Highland r