began to calculate coolly the chances of an immediate
intervention. Then things happened, and for a moment he held his
breath.

The line of light had shot out once more, and this time it seemed
to reveal something, something which rose out of the water and
which looked like nothing so much as a long strip of zinc piping.
The watcher at the edge of the sea threw down his torch and
gripped the end of it, and Julian, carried away with excitement,
yielded to an instant and overpowering temptation. He flashed on
his own torch and watched while the eager figure seemed by some
means to unscrew the top of the coil and drew from it a dark,
rolled-up packet. Even at that supreme moment, the slim figure
upon the beach seemed to become conscious of the illumination of
which he was the centre. He swung round,--and that was just as
far as Julian Orden got in his adventure. After a lapse of time,
during which he seemed to live in a whirl of blackness, where a
thousand men were beating at a thousand anvils, filling the world
with sparks, with the sound of every one of their blows
reverberating in his ears, he opened his eyes to find himself
lying on his back, with one leg in a pool of salt water, which was
being dashed industriously into his face by an unseen hand. By
his side he was conscious of the presence of a thick-set man in a
fisherman's costume of brown oilskins and a southwester pulled
down as though to hide his features, obviously the man who had
dealt him the blow. Then he heard a very soft, quiet voice behind
him.

"He will do now. Come."