THE OLD HAND Half-an-hour later, when Vickers regained the top of the cliff and once more looked across the island towards the far-off point, the figure which he had previously seen making for it had turned back, and was plodding steadily across the coarse grass and rock-strewn moorland in his own direction.

Chatfield had evidently taken a bird's eye view of the situation from the vantage point of the slope and had come to the conclusion that the higher part of the island was the most likely point from which to attract attention.

He came steadily forward, a big, lumbering figure in the light mist, and Vickers as he went on to meet him eyed him with a lively curiosity, wondering what secrets lay carefully locked up in the man's heart and what happened on the _Pike_ that made its captain or its owner bundle Chatfield out of it like a box of bad goods for which there was no more use.

And as he speculated, they met, and Vickers saw at once that the old fellow's mood had changed during the night.

An atmosphere of smug oiliness sat upon Chatfield in the freshness of the morning, and he greeted the young solicitor in tones which were suggestive of a chastened spirit.
"Morning, Mr.Vickers," he said.