“‘Why, bless the man,’ said I, ‘we’ve not had a bite yet!’

“He glanced at me furtively while he lit a pipe.  ’I reckoned, maybe, you might have business ashore, so to speak.’

“‘What earthly business should I have in Polreen at this hour?’

“‘Aw, well . . . you know best . . . no affair o’ mine.  ’Tis a dark night, too.’

“‘All the better for conger, eh?’

“’So ‘tis.’  He seemed about to say more, but at that moment I felt a long pull on the line, and for an hour or two the conger kept us busy.

“It must have been a week later, at least (for the moon was drawing to the full), that I pulled up the blind of my sitting-room a little before mid-night, and, ravished by the beauty of the scene (for, I tell you, Polreen can be beautiful by moonlight), determined to stroll down to the beach and smoke my last pipe there before going to bed.  The door of the inn was locked, no doubt; but, the house standing on the steep slope of the main street, I could step easily on to the edge of the water-barrel beneath my window and lower myself to the ground.

“I did so.  Just as I touched solid earth I heard footsteps.  They paused suddenly, and, glancing up the moonlit road, I descried the gigantic figure of Wesley Truscott, the coxswain of the lifeboat.  He must have seen me, for the light on the whitewashed front of the inn was almost as brilliant as day.  But, whatever his business, he had no wish to meet me, for he dodged aside into the shadow of a porch, and after a few seconds I heard him tip-toeing up the hill again.

“I began to have my doubts about Polreen’s primitive virtues.  Certainly the village, as it lay bathed in moonlight, its whitewashed terraces and glimmering roofs embowered in dark clusters of fuchsia and tamarisk, seemed to harbour nothing but peace and sleeping innocence.  An ebbing tide lapped the pebbles on the beach, each pebble distinct and glistening as the water left it.  Far in the quiet offing the lights of a fishing-fleet twinkled like a line of jewels through the haze.

“Half-way down the beach I turned for a backward look at the village.

“Now the wall by the lifeboat house looks on the Cove.  Its front is turned from the village and the village street, and can only be seen from the beach.  You may imagine my surprise, then, as I turned and found myself face to face with a dozen tall men, standing there upright and silent.

“‘Good Heavens!’ I cried, ’what is the matter?  What brings you all here at this time of night?’

“If I was surprised, they were obviously embarrassed.  They drew together a little, as if to avoid observation.  But the moon shone full on the wall, affording them not a scrap of shadow.

“For a moment no one answered.  Then I heard mutterings, and, as I stepped up, one of the elder men, Archelaus Warne by name, was pushed forward.

“‘We wasn’ expectin’ of you down here,’ he stammered, after clearing his throat.