notion, Spargo."

"What notion?"

"Myerst is in possession of whatever secret they have, and he's
followed them down here to blackmail them. That's my notion."

Spargo thought awhile, pacing up and down the river bank.

"I daresay you're right," he said. "Now, what's to be done?"

Breton, too, considered matters.

"I wish," he said at last, "I wish we could get in there and overhear
what's going on. But that's impossible--I know that cottage. The only
thing we can do is this--we must catch Myerst unawares. He's here for
no good. Look here!"

And reaching round to his hip-pocket Breton drew out a Browning
revolver and wagged it in his hand with a smile.

"That's a useful thing to have, Spargo," he remarked. "I slipped it
into my pocket the other day, wondering why on earth I did it. Now
it'll come in handy. For anything we know Myerst may be armed."

"Well?" said Spargo.

"Come up to the cottage. If things turn out as I think they will,
Myerst, when he's got what he wants, will be off. Now, you shall get
where I did just now, behind that bush, and I'll station myself in the
doorway. You can report to me, and when Myerst comes out I'll cover
him. Come on, Spargo; it's beginning to get light already."

Breton cautiously led the way along the river bank, making use of such
cover as the willows and alders afforded. Together, he and Spargo made
their way to the front of the cottage. Arrived at the door, Breton
posted himself in the porch, motioning to Spargo to creep in behind the
bushes and to look through the window. And Spargo noiselessly followed
his directions and slightly parting the branches which concealed him
looked in through the uncurtained glass.

The interior into which he looked was rough and comfortless in the
extreme. There were the bare accessories of a moorland cottage; rough
chairs and tables, plastered walls, a fishing rod or two piled in a
corner; some food set out on a side table. At the table in the middle
of the floor the three men sat. Cardlestone's face was in the shadow;
Myerst had his back to the window; old Elphick bending over the table
was laboriously writing with shaking fingers. And Spargo twisted his
head round to his companion.

"Elphick," he said, "is writing a cheque. Myerst has another cheque in
his hand. Be ready!--when he gets that second cheque I guess he'll be
off."

Breton smiled grimly and nodded. A moment later Spargo whispered again.

"Look out, Breton! He's com