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The Man from the Clouds by J. Storer (Joseph Storer) Clouston
page 26 of 246 (10%)
to nothing and finally concluded the whole thing was probably fancy.

But if by any chance it were not, then evidently _some one_ had tried to
search me in the night, and who would it be likely to be but my vanished
acquaintance on the shore, or his confederates? And in that case one of
them must have been lurking very close at hand. However, when I tried to
piece my recollections together afterwards it was too late to make
anything of them at all.

I only know for certain that I missed nothing from my pockets, and that
as a matter of fact I had actually carried nothing in them that would
have given me away--so far at least as I could judge.

These, as I say, were my subsequent reflections. What I did at the time
was not to think about the matter any further, but jump up, open the barn
door and walk out into the sunshine. It was now about ten o'clock on a
flawless August morning, and not easily shall I forget the picture of
that blue sea gently heaving far out to a bright horizon, and the
semi-circle of white sand fringing the little cove, and the glimpse of
green and smiling inland country, and the group of low grey farm
buildings just out of reach of the wash of the waves. Whatever part of
the world it might be, I felt entirely satisfied with it.

I stood for a few minutes gazing absently out to sea, and rehearsing in
my mind my plan of campaign. My voice, manners and conduct must be such
that if by some stroke of luck I actually fell in with my friend of last
night or one of his confederates they would assume I was a friend and at
least give me a nod, wink, password, or something to test me--and I vowed
I would overlook nothing suspicious this time.

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