I decided to walk straight over to the Betty.  I knew that by this time Joyce would be on board, and as there was nothing else to be done in the shed, I thought I might just as well join her now as later.  I had been too busy to miss any one very much the last four days, but now that the strain was over I felt curiously hungry to see her again.  Besides, I was longing to hear what news she had brought about Tommy and George.

With a view to contributing some modest item towards the supper programme, I shoved the other bottle of champagne into my pocket, and then lighting a cigar, locked up the place, and set off for the creek by my usual route.  The tide was very high, and on several occasions I had to scramble up and make my way along the sea-wall in full view of the marsh and the roadway.  Fortunately, however, there seemed, as usual, to be no one about, and I reached the mouth of the creek without much fear of having been watched or followed.

The Betty was there all right, but I could see no sign of any one on board.  I walked up the creek until I was exactly opposite where she was lying, and then putting my hands to my lips I gave her a gentle hail.

In an instant Joyce’s head appeared out of the cabin, and the next moment she was on deck waving me a joyous welcome with the frying-pan.

“Oh, it’s you!” she cried.  “How lovely!  Half a second, and I’ll come over and fetch you.”

“Where’s Mr. Gow?” I called out.

“He’s gone home.  I sent him off for a holiday.  There’s no one on board but me.”

She scrambled aft, and unshipping the dinghy, came sculling towards me across the intervening water.  She was wearing a white jersey, and with her arms bare and her hair shining in the sunlight, she made a picture that only a blind man would have failed to find inspiring.

She brought up right against the bank where I was standing, and leaning over, caught hold of the grass.

“Jump,” she said.  “I’ll hang on.”

I jumped, and the next moment I was beside her in the boat, and we were hugging each other as cheerfully and naturally as two children.

“You dear, to come so soon!” she said.  “I wasn’t expecting you for ages.”

I kissed her again, and then, picking up the oars, pushed off from the bank.  “Joyce,” I said, “I’ve done it!  I’ve made enough of the blessed stuff to blow up half Tilbury.”

She clapped her hands joyfully.  “How splendid!  I knew you would.  Have you tried it?”

I shook my head.  “Not yet,” I said.  “We’ll do it early tomorrow morning, before any one’s about.”  Then, digging in my scull to avoid a desolate-looking beacon, I added anxiously:  “What about Tommy?  Is he coming?”

Joyce nodded.  “He’ll be down tomorrow.  I’ve got a letter for you from him.  He saw Mr. Latimer last night.”

“Did he!” said I.  “Things are moving with a vengeance.  What about the gentle George?”