Then he blew the whistle and the
rest was easy. Nevertheless, when the paling came into sight and he
felt Robert's arms under his shoulders, he reeled over towards the seat
and lay there, his clothes caked in red mud, the knees of his
knickerbockers cut, blood on his hands and forehead, breathless. Robert
forced brandy down his throat, however, and in a moment or two he was
himself again.
"A miracle!" he gasped. "There is nothing there."
"There was something dark, I fancied, upon the strip of beach, sir,"
Robert ventured.
"I thought so too. It was a tarred plank of timber."
"Then the tide must have reached him."
Tallente rose to his feet and looked over.
"The sea alone knows," he said. "For the first time, though, Robert, I
feel inclined to agree with the newspapers, who speak of the strange
disappearance of the Honourable Antimony Palliser. Could any man go
backwards over that palisading, do you think, and save his life?"
Robert shook his head.
"Miracles can't happen, sir," he muttered.
"Nevertheless," Tallente said, a little gloomily, "the sea never keeps
what the land gives it.
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