forestay. My prowler, I understood, had struck a match and was
reading the name on the stern. How much farther would his curiosity
carry him? The match went out, and footsteps were audible again. Then
a strong, guttural voice called in German, 'Yacht ahoy!' I kept
silence. 'Yacht ahoy!' a little louder this time. A pause, and then a
vibration of the hull as boots scraped on it and hands grasped the
gunwale. My visitor was on deck. I bobbed down, sat on the sofa, and
I heard him moving along the deck, quickly and confidently, first
forward to the bows, where he stopped, then back to the companion
amidships. Inside the cabin it was pitch dark, but I heard his boots
on the ladder, feeling for the steps. In another moment he would be
in the doorway lighting his second match. Surely it was darker than
before? There had been a little glow from the riding-lamp reflected
on to the skylight, but it had disappeared. I looked up, realized,
and made a fool of myself. In a few seconds more I should have seen
my visitor face to face, perhaps had an interview: but I was new to
this sort of work and lost my head. All I thought of was Davies's
last words, and saw him astray on the sands, with no light to guide
him back, the tide rising, and a heavy load. I started up
involuntarily, bumped against the table, and set the stove jingling.
A long step and a grab at the ladder, but just too late! I grasped
something damp and greasy, there was tugging and hard breathing, and
I was left clasping a big sea-boot, whose owner I heard jump on to
the sand and run. I scrambled out, vaulted overboard, and followed
blindly by the sound. He had doubled round the bows of the yacht, and
I did the same, ducked under the bowsprit, forgetting the bobstay,
and fell violently on my head, with all the wind knocked out of me by
a wire rope and block whose strength and bulk was one of the glories
of the Dulcibella. I struggled on as soon as I got some breath, but
my invisible quarry was far ahead. I pulled off my heavy boots,