the purpose, as he was aiming at a little secret service on the high
seas. Close in the train of Humour came Romance, veiling her face,
but I knew it was the rustle of her robes that I heard in the foam
beneath me; I knew that it was she who handed me the cup of sparkling
wine and bade me drink and be merry. Strange to me though it was, I
knew the taste when it touched my lips. It was not that bastard
concoction I had tasted in the pseudo-Bohemias of Soho; it was not
the showy but insipid beverage I should have drunk my fill of at
Morven Lodge; it was the purest of her pure vintages, instilling the
ancient inspiration which, under many guises, quickens thousands of
better brains than mine, but whose essence is always the same; the
gay pursuit of a perilous quest. Then and there I tried to clinch the
matter and keep that mood. In the main I think I succeeded, though I
had many lapses.

For the present my veins tingled with the draught. The wind humming
into the mainsail, the ghostly wave-crests riding up out of the void,
whispered a low thrilling chorus in praise of adventure. Potent
indeed must the spell have been, for, in reality, that first night
sail teemed with terrors for me. It is true that it began well, for
the haze dispersed, as Davies had prophesied, and Bulk Point
Lighthouse guided us safely to the mouth of Kiel Fiord. It was during
this stage that, crouching together aft, our pipe-bowls glowing
sympathetically, we returned to the problem before us; for we had
shot out on our quest with volcanic precipitation, leaving much to be
discussed. I gleaned a few more facts, though I dispelled no doubts.
Davies had only seen the Dollmanns on their yacht, where father and
daughter were living for the time. Their villa at Norderney, and
their home life there, were unknown to him, though he had landed once
at the harbour himself. Further, he had heard vaguely of a