Hamel nodded, and passing through the white gates, made his way by
a raised cattle track towards the sea. On either side of him flowed
a narrow dike filled with salt-water. Beyond stretched the flat
marshland, its mossy turf leavened with cracks and creeks of all
widths, filled also with sea-slime and sea-water. A slight grey
mist rested upon the more distant parts of the wilderness which he
was crossing, a mist which seemed to be blown in from the sea in
little puffs, resting for a time upon the earth, and then drifting
up and fading away like soap bubbles.

More than once where the dikes had overflown he was compelled to
change his course, but he arrived at last at the little ridge of
pebbled beach bordering the sea. Straight ahead of him now was
that strange-looking building towards which he had all the time
been directing his footsteps. As he approached it, his forehead
slightly contracted. There was ample confirmation before him of
the truth of his fellow-passenger's words. The place, left to
itself for so many years, without any attention from its actual
owner, was neither deserted nor in ruins. Its solid grey stone
walls were sea-stained and a trifle worn, but the arched wooden
doors leading into the lifeboat shelter, which occupied one side
of the building, had been newly painted, and in the front the window
was hung with a curtain, now closely drawn, of some dark red
material. The lock from the door had been removed altogether, and
in its place was the aperture for a Yale latch-key. The last note
of modernity was supplied by the telephone wire attached to the
roof of the lifeboat shelter. He walked all round the building,
seeking in vain for some other means of ingress. Then he stood for
a few moments in front of the curtained window. He was a man of