"I want to see what I'm dealing with.

Come out, now!" The unseen laughed again, moved away from his screen, and presently showed himself on the edge of the shelf of rock.

And Copplestone found himself staring at a queer figure of a man--an under-sized, quaint-looking fellow, clad in dirty velveteens, a once red waistcoat, and leather breeches and gaiters, a sort of compound between a poacher, a game-keeper, and an ostler.

But quainter than figure or garments was the man's face--a gnarled, weather-beaten, sea-and-wind stained face, which, in Copplestone's opinion, was honest enough and not without abundant traces of a sense of humour.
Copplestone at once trusted that face.

He swung himself up by the nooks and crannies of the rock, and joined the man on his ledge.
"Well ?" he said.