He lighted a cigar and presented one to his new friend. "I shall get you
to row me out for a couple of hours to-morrow," he said. "By the way, did
you ever know a man called Quiller who had some fishing craft in these
parts twenty years ago?"
The man beamed at the question. "That's my father, sir. He lives along
with my wife and the kids. Will you come and see him, sir? Oh, yes,
he's well and hearty. But he's getting on in years, is dad. He don't go
out with the luggers now. You'll come and see him, eh, sir?"
"To-morrow," said Merefleet, turning. "He will remember me, perhaps.
No, I won't give you my name. The old chap shall find out for himself.
Good-night."
And he began to saunter back towards his hotel.
The searchlight of a man-of-war anchored outside the harbour was flashing
over the shore as he went. He watched the long shaft of light with
half-involuntary attention. He noted in an idle way various details along
the cliffs that were revealed by the white glow. It touched the hotel at
last and rested there for the fraction of a minute.
And then a strange thing happened.
Looking upwards as he was, with fascinated eyes, following the slanting
line of light, Merefleet saw a sight which was destined to live in his
memory for all the rest of his life, strive as he might to rid himself of
it.
As in a dream-picture he saw the figure of a girl standing on the steps
of the terrace in front of the hotel.
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