Julian, who had entered upon his adventure with the supercilious incredulity of a staunch unbeliever invited to a spiritualist’s seance, was conscious for a moment of an absolutely new sensation.  A person of acute psychological instincts, he found himself analysing that sensation almost as soon as it was conceived.

“There is no doubt,” he confessed under his breath, “that I am afraid!”

His heart was beating with unaccustomed vigour; he was conscious of an acute tingling in all his senses.  Then, still lying on his stomach, almost holding his breath, he saw the thin line of light from an electric torch steal out along the surface of the sea, obviously from the hand of his fellow watcher.  Almost at that same moment the undefined agitation which had assailed him passed.  He set his teeth and watched that line of light.  It moved slowly sideways along the surface of the sea, as though searching for something.  Julian drew himself cautiously, inch by inch, to the extremity of the sand hummock.  His brain was working with a new clearness.  An inspiration flashed in upon him during those few seconds.  He knew the geography of the place well,—­the corner of the barn, the steeple beyond, and the watcher lying in a direct line.  His cipher was explained!

Perfectly cool now, Julian thought with some regret of the revolver which he had scorned to bring.  He occupied himself, during these seconds of watching, by considering with care what his next action was to be.  If he even set his foot upon the shingle, the watcher below would take alarm, and if he once ran away, pursuit was hopeless.  The figure, so far as he could distinguish it, was more like that of a boy than a man.  Julian began to calculate coolly the chances of an immediate intervention.  Then things happened, and for a moment he held his breath.

The line of light had shot out once more, and this time it seemed to reveal something, something which rose out of the water and which looked like nothing so much as a long strip of zinc piping.  The watcher at the edge of the sea threw down his torch and gripped the end of it, and Julian, carried away with excitement, yielded to an instant and overpowering temptation.  He flashed on his own torch and watched while the eager figure seemed by some means to unscrew the top of the coil and drew from it a dark, rolled-up packet.  Even at that supreme moment, the slim figure upon the beach seemed to become conscious of the illumination of which he was the centre.  He swung round,—­and that was just as far as Julian Orden got in his adventure.  After a lapse of time, during which he seemed to live in a whirl of blackness, where a thousand men were beating at a thousand anvils, filling the world with sparks, with the sound of every one of their blows reverberating in his ears, he opened his eyes to find himself lying on his back, with one leg in a pool of salt water, which was being dashed industriously into his face by an unseen hand.  By his side he was conscious of the presence of a thick-set man in a fisherman’s costume of brown oilskins and a southwester pulled down as though to hide his features, obviously the man who had dealt him the blow.  Then he heard a very soft, quiet voice behind him.