ver the side and landed on the stern sheets of
Number 57. A bell clanked and the "Felice" lurched away ruffing the
glassy water with her screw.

"Be ye right?" demanded Diamond, drawing up the cable of his anchor.

"Sure thing," said Barraclough. "Let her go."

The anchor came out of the water with a plop, the brown sail was
twisted and a little auxiliary oil engine began to snort.

"Wind's settin' just right," said Diamond, the sheet in one hand and
the tiller in the other. "Ye 'ad a good time?"

"First rate. Tell you all about it one of these days."

A friendly puff of wind from the South East filled the canvas and drove
them shoreward at a slant, the water lapping gently against the bows.
It seemed a very little while before they rounded the headland and
entered the narrow funnel of cliffs leading into Polperro. Not a soul
was to be seen at the breakwater, a circumstance Barraclough noted with
satisfaction, although he had no reason to expect opposition. They
lowered sail at the harbour mouth and came alongside a slippery wooden
ladder stapled into the stone wall of the pier.

"Ye'll take a bite o' breakwus?"

"Not this journey, Jack. I'm getting off as fast as I can. Here,
you'd better freeze on to these oil skins. No good to me." He
stripped off the coat he was wearing, shook hands, and mounted the
ladder.

"Thanks awfully. I'll be down this way for my honeymoon. Good-bye."

With a cheery wave and a smile he started down the jetty at a brisk
walk.

CHAPTER 23.

AN ENCOUNTER.

Anyone who is acquainted with the village of Polperro knows the stone
jetty which runs parallel with the horizon line of the sea. In length
it is perhaps eighty or a hundred yards. At its Western end it turns
at right angles past a terrace of old houses whose foundations are
washed by the tide. Barraclough had almost arrived at this point when
two men turned the corner and came toward him. One was a presentable
enough fellow, but his companion was a person of low class. They were
obviously in the heart of an altercation for the words, "You fill
yourself up with beer like a blasted barrel," preceded their appearance.

Now there was one thing Barraclough never forgot--a man's voice--and as
the words came to his ears he stopped dead. The moment of mutual
recognition was almost instantaneous, but Barraclough had precisely one
second's start to recover from his surprise. Behind him was the jetty
surrounded