The man who stood with a telescope glued to his eye watching the coming boat, shut it up at last with a little snap.

He walked round to the other side of the cottage, where Andrew was sitting with a pipe in his mouth industriously mending a fishing net.
"Andrew," he said, "there are some people coming here, and I am almost sure that they mean to land." Andrew rose to his feet and strolled round to the little stretch of beach in front of the cottage.

When he saw who it was who approached, he stopped short and took his pipe from his mouth.
"By Jove, it's Cecil," he exclaimed, "and his friends!" His companion nodded.

He was a man still on the youthful side of middle age, with bronzed features, and short, closely-cut beard.

He looked what he was, a traveller and a sportsman.
"So I imagined," he said, "but I don't see Ronald there." Andrew shaded his eyes with his hand.
"No!" he said.