certain on bad weather, though he held my nose to it when it came.
But, granted that he wanted to get rid of me altogether, he got a
magnificent chance on that trip to the Elbe

lightship. I expect it struck him suddenly, and he acted on the
impulse. Left to myself I was all right; but the short cut was a
grand idea of his. Everything was in its favour--wind, sea, sand,
tide. He thinks I'm dead.'

'But the crew?' I said; 'what about the crew?'

'That's another thing. When he first hove to, waiting for me, of
course they were on deck (two of them, I think) hauling at sheets.
But by the time I had drawn tip level the Medusa had worn round again
on her course, and no one was on deck but Dollmann at the wheel. No
one overheard what he said.'

'Wouldn't they have _seen_ you again?'

'Very likely not; the weather was very thick, and the Dulce is very
small.'

The incongruity of the whole business was striking me. Why should
anyone want to kill Davies, and why should Davies, the soul of
modesty and simplicity, imagine that anyone wanted to kill him? He
must have cogent reasons, for he was the last man to give way to a
morbid fancy.

'Go on,' I said. What was his motive? A German finds an Englishman
exploring a bit of German coast, determines to stop him, and even to