There were a good many people in the hotel, but he was not feeling sociable.  The night before he had dropped a considerable sum at the Casino, but it had not greatly interested him.  Regretfully he had come to the conclusion that gambling in that form did not attract him.  The greedy crowd that pushed and strove in the heated rooms, he regarded as downright revolting.  He himself had been robbed with astonishing audacity by a lady with painted eyes who had snatched his only winnings before he could reach them.  It was a small episode, and he had let it pass, but it had not rendered the tables more attractive.  He had in fact left them in utter disgust.

Altogether he was feeling decidedly out of tune with his surroundings that morning, and the beauty of the scene irritated rather than soothed him.  In the garden a short distance from him, a voluble French party were chattering with great animation and a good deal of cackling laughter.  He wondered what on earth they found to amuse them so persistently.  He also wondered if a swim in that faultless blue would do anything to improve his temper, and decided with another wry grimace that it was hardly worth while to try.

It was at this point that there fell a step on the winding path below him that led down amongst shrubs to the sea.  The top of a Panama hat caught Piers’ attention.  He watched it idly as it ascended, speculating without much interest as to the face beneath it.  It mounted with the utmost steadiness, neither hastening nor lingering.  There was something about its unvarying progress that struck Piers as British.  His interest increased at once.  He suddenly discovered that he wanted someone British to talk to, forgetting the fact that he had fled but ten minutes before from the boring society of an Anglo-Indian colonel.

The man in the Panama came nearer.  Piers from above began to have a glimpse of a tweed coat and a strong brown hand that swung in time to the steady stride.  The path curved immediately below him, and the last few yards of it led directly to the spot on which he stood.  As the stranger rounded the curve he came into full view.

He was a big man, broadly built and powerful.  His whole personality was suggestive of squareness.  And yet to Piers’ critical eyes he did not look wholly British.  His gait was that of a man accustomed to long hours in the saddle.  Under the turned-down Panama the square, determined chin showed massively.  It was a chin that obviously required constant shaving.

Quietly the man drew near.  He did not see Piers under his lowered hat-brim till he was within a few feet of him.  Then, becoming suddenly aware of him, he raised his eyes.  A moment later, his hand went up in a brief, friendly salute.

Piers’ hand made instant response.  “Splendid morning!” he began to say—­and stopped with the words half-uttered.  The blood surged up to his forehead in a great wave.  “Good Heavens!” he said instead.