'I like this coast,' said Davies. 'And--we want to shoot some ducks.'

He was nervous, and forgot himself. I had already satirized our sporting armament and exploits, and hoped the subject was disposed of. Ducks were pretexts, and might lead to complications. I particularly wanted a free hand.

'As to wild fowl,' said our friend, 'I would like to give you gentlemen some advice. There are plenty to be got, now that autumn weather has set in (you wouldn't have got a shot in September, Herr Davies; I remember your asking about them when I saw you last). And even now it's early for amateurs. In hard winter weather a child can pick them up; but they're wild still, and want crafty hunting. You want a local punt, and above all a local man (you could stow him in your fo'c'sle), and to go to work seriously. Now, if you really wish for sport, I could help you. I could get you a trustworthy--'

'Oh, it's too good of you,' stammered Davies, in a more unhappy accent than usual. 'We can easily find one for ourselves. A man at w.a.n.geroog offered--'

'Oh, did he?' interrupted von Bruning, laughing. 'I'm not surprised.

You don't know the Frieslanders. They're guileless, as I said, but they cling to their little perquisites.' (I translated to Davies.) 'They've been cheated out of wrecks, and they're all the more sensitive about ducks, which are more lucrative than fish. A stranger is a poacher. Your man would have made slight errors as to time and place.'

'You said they were odd in their manner, didn't you, Davies?' I put in. 'Look here, this is very kind of Commander von Bruning; but hadn't we better be certain of my plans before settling down to shoot? Let's push on direct to Norderney and get that letter of mine, and then decide. But we shan't see you again, I suppose, commander?'

'Why not? I am cruising westwards, and shall probably call at Norderney. Come aboard if you're there, won't you? I should like to show you the Blitz.'

'Thanks, very much,' said Davies, uneasily.

'Thanks, very much,' said I, as heartily as I could.

Our party broke up soon after this.

'Well, gentlemen, I must take leave of you,' said our friend. 'I have to drive to Esens. I shall be going back to the Blitz on the evening tide, but you'll be busy then with your own boat.'

It had been a puzzling interview, but the greatest puzzle was still to come. As we went towards the door, von Bruning made a sign to me.

We let Davies pa.s.s out and remained standing.

'One word in confidence with you, Herr Carruthers,' he said, speaking low. 'You won't think me officious, I hope. I only speak out of keen regard for your friend. It is about the Dollmanns--you see how the land lies? I wouldn't encourage him.'

'Thanks,' I said, 'but really--'

'It's only a hint. He's a splendid young fellow, but if anything--you understand--too honest and simple. I take it you have influence with him, and I should use it.'

'I was not in earnest,' I said. 'I have never seen the Dollmanns; I thought they were friends of yours,' I added, looking him straight in the eyes.

'I know them, but'--he shrugged his shoulders--'I know everybody.'

'What's wrong with them?' I said, point-blank.

'Softly! Herr Carruthers. Remember, I speak out of pure friendliness to you as strangers, foreigners, and young. You I take to have discretion, or I should not have said a word. Still, I will add this.

We know very little of Herr Dollmann, of his origin, his antecedents.

He is half a Swede, I believe, certainly not a Prussian; came to Norderney three years ago, appears to be rich, and has joined in various commercial undertakings. Little scope about here? Oh, there is more enterprise than you think--development of bathing resorts, you know, speculation in land on these islands. Sharp practice? Oh, no! he's perfectly straight in that way. But he's a queer fellow, of eccentric habits, and--and, well, as I say, little is known of him.

That's all, just a warning. Come along.'

I saw that to press him further was useless.

'Thanks; I'll remember,' I said.

'And look here,' he added, as we walked down the pa.s.sage, 'if you take my advice, you'll omit that visit to the 'Medusa' altogether.' He gave me a steady look, smiling gravely.

'How much do you know, and what do you mean?' were the questions that throbbed in my thoughts; but I could not utter them, so I said nothing and felt very young.

Outside we joined Davies, who was knitting his brow over prospects.

'It just comes of going into places like this,' he said to me. 'We may be stuck here for days. Too much wind to tow out with the dinghy, and too narrow a channel to beat in.'

Von Bruning was ready with a new proposal.

'Why didn't I think of it before?' he said. 'I'll tow you out in my launch. Be ready at 6.30; we shall have water enough then. My men will send you a warp.'

It was impossible to refuse, but a sense of being personally conducted again oppressed me; and the last hope of a bed in the inn vanished. Davies was none too effusive either. A tug meant a pilot, and he had had enough of them.

'He objects to towage on principle,' I said.

'Just like him!' laughed the other. 'That's settled, then!' A dogcart was standing before the inn door in readiness for von Bruning. I was curious about Esens and his business there. Esens, he said, was the princ.i.p.al town of the district, four miles inland.

'I have to go there,' he volunteered, 'about a poaching case--a Dutchman trawling inside our limits. That's my work, you know--police duty.'

Had the words a deeper meaning?

'Do you ever catch an Englishman?' I asked, recklessly. 'Oh, very rarely; your countrymen don't come so far as this--except on pleasure.' He bowed to us each and smiled.

'Not much of that to be got in Bensersiel,' I laughed.

'I'm afraid you'll have a dull afternoon. Look here. I know you can't leave your boat altogether, and it's no use asking Herr Davies; but will _you_ drive into Esens with me and see a Frisian town--for what it's worth? You're getting a dismal impression of Friesland.' I excused myself, said I would stop with Davies we would walk out over the sands and prospect for the evening's sail.

'Well, good-bye then,' he said, 'till the evening. Be ready for the warp at 6.30.'

He jumped up, and the cart rattled off through the mud, crossed the bridge, and disappeared into the dreary hinterland.

XVII. Clearing the Air

'HAS he gone to get the police, do you think?' said Davies, grimly.

'I don't think so,' said I. 'Let's go aboard before that customs fellow b.u.t.tonholes us.'

A diminished row of stolid Frisians still ruminated over the 'Dulcibella'. Friend Grimm was visible smoking on his forecastle. We went on board in silence.

'First of all, where exactly is Memmert?' I said.

Davies pulled down the chart, said 'There,' and flung himself at full length on a sofa.

The reader can see Memmert for himself. South of Juist, _[see Map B]_ ab.u.t.ting on the Ems delta, lies an extensive sandbank called Nordland, whose extreme western rim remains uncovered at the highest tides; the effect being to leave a C-shaped island, a mere paring of sand like a boomerang, nearly two miles long, but only 150 yards or so broad, of curiously symmetrical outline, except at one spot, where it bulges to the width of a quarter of a mile. On the English chart its nakedness was absolute, save for a beacon at the south; but the German chart marked a building at the point where the bulge occurs.

This was evidently the depot. 'Fancy living there!' I thought, for the very name struck cold. No wonder Grimm was grim; and no wonder he was used to seek change of air. But the advantages of the site were obvious. It was remarkably isolated, even in a region where isolation is the rule; yet it was conveniently near the wreck, which, as we had heard, lay two miles out on the Juister Reef. Lastly, it was clearly accessible at any state of the tide, for the six-fathom channel of the Ems estuary runs hard up to it on the south, and thence sends off an eastward branch which closely borders the southern horn, thus offering an anchorage at once handy, deep, and sheltered from seaward gales.

Such was Memmert, as I saw it on the chart, taking in its features mechanically, for while Davies lay there heedless and taciturn, a pretence of interest was useless. I knew perfectly well what was between us, but I did not see why I should make the first move; for I had a grievance too, an old one. So I sat back on my sofa and jotted down in my notebook the heads of our conversation at the inn while it was fresh in my memory, and strove to draw conclusions. But the silence continuing and becoming absurd, I threw my pride to the winds, and my notebook on the table.

'I say, Davies,' I said, 'I'm awfully sorry I chaffed you about Fraulein Dollmann.' (No answer.) 'Didn't you see I couldn't help it?'