The yellow funnel emitted no smoke, and as she lay calmly in the sunset a crowd of dock-loungers and crimps leaned upon the parapet discussing her merits and wondering who could be the rich Englishman who could afford to travel in a small liner of his own--for her size surprised even those Italian dock-hands, used as they were to seeing every kind of craft enter the busy port.
On stepping on deck Hornby, who like myself wore a clean suit of white linen as the most sensible dinner-garb in a hot climate, came forward to greet me, and took me along to the stern where, lying in a long wicker deck-chair beneath the awning, was a tall, dark-eyed, clean-shaven man of about forty, also dressed in cool white linen.

His keen face gave one the impression that he was a barrister.
"My friend, Hylton Chater--Mr.Gordon Gregg," he said, introducing us, and then when, as we shook hands, the clean-shaven man exclaimed, smiling pleasantly-- "Glad to make your acquaintance, Mr.Gregg.You are not a stranger by any means to Hornby or myself.

Indeed, we've got a couple of your books on board.

But I had no idea you lived out here." "At Ardenza," I said.

"Three miles along the sea-shore.