inked himself.

The colour of that story had tinctured all his sea-side experiences. Then
Mrs. Henshaw rose up before his mind. What was she thinking of the
lodger who had flashed through her life and vanished over the back
garden wall? And the interview between her and Hoover--that would have
been well worth seeing. Then the boy on the bicycle and the screaming
invalid rose before him, and that mad rush down the slope to the
esplanade; if those children with spades and buckets had not parted as
they did, if a dog had got in his way, if the slope had ended in a
curve! He amused himself with picturing these possibilities and their
results; and then all at once a drowsiness more delightful than any
dream closed on him and he fell asleep.

It was after dark when he awoke with the remnant of a moon lighting the
field before him. From far away and borne on the wind from the sea came
a faint sound as of a delirious donkey with brass lungs braying at the
moon. It was the sound of a band. The Northbourne brass band playing in
the Cliff Gardens above the moonlit sea. Jones felt to see that his
cigarettes and matches were safe in his pocket, then he started, taking
a line across country, trusting in Providence as a guide.

Sometimes he paused and rested on a gate, listening to the faint and
indeterminate sounds of the night, through which came occasionally the
barking of a distant dog like the beating of a trip hammer.

It was a perfect summer's night, one of those rare nights that England
alone can produce; there were glow worms in the hedges and a scent of
new mown hay in the air. Though the music of the band had been blotted
out by distance, listening intently he caught the faintest suspicion of
a whisper, continuous, and evidently the sound of the sea.

An hour later, that is to say towards eleven o'clock, weary with finding
his way out of fields into fields, into grassy lanes and around farm
house buildings, desperate, and faint from hunger, Jones found a road
and by the road a bungalow with a light in one of the windows.

A dauntingly respectable-looking bungalow in the midst of a well
laid-out garden.

Jones opened the gate and came up the path. He was going to demand food,
offer to pay for it if necessary, and produce gold as an evidence of
good faith.

He came into the verandah, found the front door which was closed, struck
a match, found the bell, pulled and pulled it. There was no response. He
waited a little