hich broke under the widening
circles. As he stooped, a man had come into sight, walking with a slow,
heavy step, his eyes on the ground and his head bent. He came on with
dragging feet and a dull, mechanical walk, the walk of a man who is
tired in body and soul. He did not look at the lake, nor did he even see
Hartley, who turned towards him at once with sudden relief.

When Hartley hailed him cheerfully, Joicey stopped dead and looked up,
staring at him as though he were an apparition. He took off his hat and
wiped his forehead.

"Where did you spring from, Hartley?" he asked. "I did not see anyone
just now." There was more irritation than warmth in his greeting of the
police officer.

"I was moonstruck by the edge of that confounded lake. It was so still
that it got on my nerves."

"Nerves," said Joicey abruptly. "There's too much talk of nerves
altogether in these days."

Joicey, like all large men with loud voices, was able to give an
impression of solidity that is very refreshing and reviving at times,
but, otherwise, Joicey was not looking entirely himself. He passed his
handkerchief over his face again and laughed dully.

"You're going to the Club, I suppose?"

"I was going there, but now I'll join you and have a walk, if I may.
It's early for the Club yet."

He turned and walked on beside the Banker, who appeared, if anything,
less in the humour for conversation than was usual with him. They left
the lake behind them, now a pallid gleam flecked with wavering light in
a circle of deep shadows that reached out from the margin.

"Any news?" asked Hartley without enthusiasm.

"Not that I have heard."

Silence fell again, and they walked out on to the road. Pools of
afternoon rain still lay here and there in the depressions, but Joicey
took no heed of them, and splashed on, staining his white trousers with
liquid mud.

"By the way," he said, clearing his throat as though his words stuck
there, "have you heard anything more in connection with the
disappearance of that boy you were talking of the other evening?"

Hartley did not reply for a moment, and just as he was about to speak,
Mrs. Wilder's car passed, and Mrs. Wilder leaned forward to smile at the
Head of the Police; a small buggy followed with some more friends of
Hartley's, and then another car, and the road was clear again.

"I believe I am on the right track, but I don't like it, Joicey. I'm
damned if I do."

"Why not?"

"It comes too