"What she'll say when she finds out--" His imagination failed him and, a prey to forebodings, he tried to divert his mind by looking out of window.

His countenance cleared as they neared Biddlecombe, and, the line running for some distance by the side of the river, he amused himself by gazing at various small craft left high and dry by the tide.
A short walk from the station brought them to the mouth of the river which constitutes the harbour of Biddlecombe.

For a small port there was a goodly array of shipping, and Mr.Chalk's pulse beat faster as his gaze wandered impartially from a stately barque in all the pride of fresh paint to dingy, sea-worn ketches and tiny yachts.
Uncertain how to commence operations, they walked thoughtfully up and down the quay.

If any of the craft were for sale there was nothing to announce the fact, and the various suggestions which Mr.Chalk threw off from time to time as to the course they should pursue were hardly noticed.
"One o'clock," said Mr.Stobell, extracting a huge silver timepiece from his pocket, after a couple of wasted hours.
"Let's have something to eat before we do any more," said Mr.Tredgold.
"After that we'll ferry over and look at the other side." They made their way to the "King of Hanover," an old inn, perched on the side of the harbour, and, mounting the stairs, entered the coffee-room, where Mr.Stobell, after hesitating for some time between the rival claims of roast beef and grilled chops, solved the difficulty by ordering both.
The only other occupant of the room, a short, wiry man, with a close-shaven, hard-bitten face, sat smoking, with a glass of whisky before him, in a bay window at the end of the room, which looked out on the harbour.

There was a maritime flavour about him which at once enlisted Mr.Chalk's sympathies and made him overlook the small, steely-grey eyes and large and somewhat brutal mouth.
"Fine day, gentlemen," said the stranger, nodding affably to Mr.Chalk as he raised his glass.