We tied up the dinghy to an iron ladder, and on the pier found our
inquisitor of the night before smoking in the doorway of a shed
marked 'Harbour Master'. After some civilities we inquired about the
steamer. The answer was that it was Saturday, and she had, therefore,
gone on to Juist. Did we want a good hotel? The 'Vier Jahreszeiten'
was still open, etc.

'Juist, by Jove!' said Davies, as we walked on. 'Why are those three
going to Juist?'

'I should have thought it was pretty clear. They're on their way to
Memmert.'

Davies agreed, and we both looked longingly westward at a
straw-coloured streak on the sea.

'Is it some meeting, do you think?' said Davies.

'Looks like it. We shall probably find the Kormoran here,
wind-bound.'

And find her we did soon after, the outermost of the stack of
galliots, on the farther side of the harbour. Two men, whose faces we
took a good look at, were sitting on her hatch, mending a sail.

Flooded with sun, yet still as the grave, the town was like a dead
butterfly for whom the healing rays had come too late. We crossed
some deserted public gardens commanded by a gorgeous casino, its
porticos heaped with chairs and tables; so past kiosques and _cafés,_
great white hotels with boarded windows, bazaars and booths, and all