"Not the slightest," I replied.

"I should let him stay, if I were you," said the man. "He is an ugly-looking beast, and I should judge that his teeth are poisonous.

There is no trusting that kind of dog, they will bite even those who try to help them."

All this time the poor little thing was whining and whimpering piteously.

"I shall take it back to the house," I said. "I am afraid it is badly wounded, but I should like to save its life if I could."

"Even if you do, you will never win a prize at the shows," said the man, with a laugh. "I hate those mongrel dogs. By the way," he went on, "is not this a bad morning for you to be out? You look very ill, and have the appearance of a man who ought to be in bed."

To this I made no reply. To say the least of it, I regarded it as an impertinence for the man to make any remark at all on my appearance. I knew nothing of him, and beyond the occasions I have mentioned I had never met him.

"You are a hard-hearted brute," said the lady, speaking to her brother.

"I think it awfully kind of you, sir, to take so much interest in the poor little thing."

"Excuse me for asking," said the man, "but since I have met you I have often wondered at you living alone at that little hut." His manner appeared to invite confidence.

"I expect I am somewhat of a hermit," I replied.

"But whatever induced you to live in such a place? Are you not afraid of tramps and that sort of thing?" and he nodded towards my little house.

"Tramps!" I replied. "I have not seen a tramp since I have been in Cornwall."

"Well, different people, different tastes!" and he laughed as he spoke.

"But if I were you I should not live in such a lonely spot as that for whatever might be given me. Even in Cornwall it is possible to dispose of people, and you would be fair prey to any strolling vagabond."

"He might be wanting to frighten me," I said to myself. "I wonder what his purpose is?" and I could not help connecting him with old Father Abraham.

"Rather bad news of the war again," he went on, as if desiring to change the subject.

"As to that," I replied, "I thought it was rather good news, except for what the German submarines are doing."

"Yes, yes, the submarines, they are very bad."

"What brutes the Germans are," chimed in the woman. "They make me feel just murderous. Oh, I wish I were a man that I might join the Army."

All the time the poor little creature was whimpering as if in pain.

"Let me throw it over the cliff," said the man, "and put it out of its misery."

"No," I replied, "I am going to take it back to the house."

"Yes, yes, do," said the woman. "May I help you? I am awfully fond of dogs. I have kept them all my life and know a good deal about them. I have saved two that the veterinary surgeons had given up."

I picked the little creature up carefully, and was wending my way back to the cottage when the woman rushed to my side.

"You will let me help you, won't you?" she said. "I am so sorry for the poor little thing."

Badly as I wanted to refuse her help, it was impossible to decline a woman's proffered kindness, and a few minutes later both the man and the woman had accompanied me to my little house, and I stood watching her, as with deft fingers she washed the poor little dog's wounds.

"There!" she said when she had finished. "I think he will be better now.

May I ask your servant to get me a basin of clean water so that I can wash my hands?"

As I have said in describing our last meeting, she was one of the handsomest women I had ever seen, and I quickly discovered that she was more than ordinarily intelligent. How it was I do not know, because I am not quick to form acquaintances, but in a few minutes I had ordered Simpson to bring refreshments, and was talking with them freely. They told me that they were staying at a furnished house near St. Eia, that they had been staying there for some months and intended remaining instead of returning to London.

"I hate London," said the woman, "and I love the quiet peacefulness of this neighborhood. Besides, I do not think it is safe to live in London.

The Germans intend to raid London, and they will throw bombs all over the city. No one will be safe."

This led to a general conversation about the war, and about the cruelty and baseness of the Germans in attacking defenseless ships and murdering women and children. In spite of myself, too, I found that I was subjected to a kind of cross-examination, and yet no one listening could have detected a question which could have in the slightest degree been regarded as suspicious, but here my lawyer's training came to my aid, and I was careful to drop no hint of any suspicions I might entertain.

When they had gone I heaved a sigh of relief, although, truth to tell, the woman's presence had fascinated me. I wondered who she was, and could not help asking myself if there was not some motive behind that which appeared on the surface, actuating them to find their way into my little cottage.

"Simpson," I said, when they had gone, "what did you think of those people?"

"I think they are a very nice lady and gentleman," he said. "The lady herself was very charming."

"You liked her, did you?" I said.

"I always say, sir, that when a dumb animal takes to a person there is nothing much wrong with that person. Now that little dog, sir, was afraid of his life of the man, but did you see how grateful he was to the lady? And no wonder, sir! She treated him as if he were a Christian."

"Which way have they gone, Simpson?"

"They went towards St. Eia, sir."

I hesitated a second. I did not like to take Simpson into my confidence, neither was I pleased at the thought that I had been discussing my visitors with him; still, he was an old servant, and, as I have frequently said, I regarded him more in the light of a friend than a servant.

"Simpson," I said, "just follow them, will you, and see where they go and what they do."

"Yes, sir," he said, but I could see that he was astonished at my request.

Half an hour later he returned.

"Please, sir," he said, "they went along the St. Eia footpath, and then turned off as if they meant to go to Chy-an-Wheal."

Of course there was nothing suspicious in this, and yet my mind was not at ease. I had never been a man given to morbid fancies, and had always been too much a materialist to pay attention to people who profess to believe in premonitions; and yet my meeting with this man and woman had again stirred a thousand fancies in my mind, while the little creature sleeping on the rug seemed in some way to cause vague fears to come into my mind. Perhaps this was because of the state of my health. It seemed to me that my life, humdrum and commonplace though it might appear, was surrounded by mystery. I had vague intuitions which had no basis of reason.

After a time I rose and went out. I wanted to shake off the feelings which possessed me. A few minutes later I was scrambling down the cliff-side, hidden by the thick scrub of bushes. Presently I had a view of the whole of the little bay, which seemed absolutely deserted. I was far from fit to undertake what I had planned to do, but I could not resist the impulse which possessed me. I descended farther, and soon I was at the foot of the cliffs, looking eagerly around me. I found my way into the cave, but there was nothing suspicious there. Evidently no one had visited it since the last high tide. The sandy floor was untrodden; there were no marks of any one having been there. I crept out again, but still no one was visible.

"What a fool I am," I said to myself. "I am like a nervous child following a will-o'-the-wisp of my own fancies."

Still, what I had seen and heard could not be without meaning. I could have sworn to the fact that I had heard people at this very spot only a few hours before. I had heard a man say, "Is that the lot?" and some one had given him an indistinct reply. Of course this might have meant nothing, and yet I was sure it had. Again I examined the rocks inch by inch, but my search was altogether unrewarded. I pa.s.sed the little fissure which led to the cave again, and this time I saw what I had never seen before. In an obscure corner, not far from the entrance, was another fissure. It was very narrow, but still wide enough for a man to squeeze his body through. I wondered why I had never seen it before, but on reexamining it I realized that it was so curiously formed, that any one with only a match to illuminate the cave could easily miss it. I squeezed myself through the fissure, and found myself in a cave far larger than the first.

In an instant the mystery of the last few months became plain to me. The new cave was as perfect a hiding-place as could possibly be found.

Altogether there must have been some hundreds of cans of petrol placed there. This petrol was by different makers. Evidently it had been bought in comparatively small quant.i.ties at various places, and had been brought there to be ready for use as necessity arose.

I understood now the meaning of the words I had heard only a little while before.

"Is that the lot?"