"Oh, you've got lots of time," the boy said eagerly. "Look here. This is desperately important for me. The man ought to have been here half an hour ago. If he doesn't come in another twenty minutes I don't know what I shall do. It's just occurred to me. There's another way up this hill—a short cut. He may have chosen that. He may not have understood where it was that I wanted him to meet me. Would you mind—would you do me the favour of just standing here while I go over the hill there to see whether he's waiting on the other side? I won't be away more than five minutes; I'd be so awfully grateful."
"Why, of course," said Harkness.
"He's a fisherman with a black beard. You can't mistake him. And if he comes if you'd just ask him to wait for a moment until I'm back."
"Certainly," said Harkness.
"Thanks most awfully. Very decent of you, sir."
The boy touched his cap, climbed the hill and vanished.
Harkness was alone again—not a sound anywhere. The town shimmered below him in the heat. He waited, absorbed by the picture spread in front of him, then apprehensive again and conscious that he was alone. The alarm that he had originally felt at sight of the town had not left him. Suppose the boy did not return? Was he playing some joke on him perhaps? No, whatever else it was, it was
