He led the way with Blundell, and Venia and the sergeant, keeping as much
as possible in the shade of the dust-powdered hedges, followed. The sun
was blazing in the sky, and scarce half-a-dozen people were to be seen on
the little curved quay which constituted the usual Sunday afternoon
promenade. The water, a dozen feet below, lapped cool and green against
the stone sides.

At the extreme end of the quay, underneath the lantern, they all stopped,
ostensibly to admire a full-rigged ship sailing slowly by in the
distance, but really to effect the change of partners necessary to the
after-noon's business. The change gave Mr. Turnbull some trouble ere it
was effected, but he was successful at last, and, walking behind the two
young men, waited somewhat nervously for developments.

Twice they paraded the length of the quay and nothing happened. The ship
was still visible, and, the sergeant halting to gaze at it, the company
lost their formation, and he led the complaisant Venia off from beneath
her father's very nose.

"You're a pretty manager, you are, John Blundell," said the incensed Mr.
Turnbull.

"I know what I'm about," said Blundell, slowly.

"Well, why don't you do it?" demanded the other. "I suppose you are
going to wait until there are more people about, and then perhaps some of
them will see you push him over."

"It isn't that," said Blundell, slowly, "but you told me to improve on
your plan, you know, and I've been thinking out improvements."