"He is clever, too--an all-round sort of man, like most sailors."

Brendon admired the varied charms of the Dartmouth coast, the
bluffs and green headlands, the rich, red sandstone cliffs, and
pearly precipices of limestone that rose above the tranquil waters.
The boat turned west presently, passed a panorama of cliffs and
little bays with sandy beaches, and anon skirted higher and sterner
precipices, which leaped six hundred feet aloft.

Perched among them like a bird's nest stood a small house with
windows that blinked out over the Channel. It rose to a tower room
in the midst, and before the front there stretched a plateau whereon
stood a flagstaff and spar, from the point of which fluttered a red
ensign. Behind the house opened a narrow coomb and descended a road
to the dwelling. Cliffs beetled round about it and the summer waves
broke idly below and strung the land with a necklace of pearl. Far
beneath the habitation, just above high-tide level, a strip of
shingle spread, and above it a sea cave had been turned into a
boathouse. Hither came Brendon and his companion.

The motor launch slowed down and presently grounded her bow on the
pebbles. Then Doria stopped the engine, flung a gangway stage
ashore, and stood by to hand Jenny Pendean and the detective to the
beach. The place appeared to have no exit; but, behind a ledge of
rock, stairs carved in the stone wound upward, guarded by an iron
handrail. Jenny led the way and Mark followed her until two hundred
steps were climbed and they stood on the terrace above. It was fifty
yards long and covered with sea gravel. Two little brass cannon
thrust their muzzles over the parapet to seaward and the central
space of grass about the flagpole was neatly surrounded with a