They looked for a while standing side by side silently. 

 After all he wasn't more than a boy—not a day more than twenty-five—but with that grave reserved look that so many British boys who were old enough to have been in the war had. 

 "Sure you don't see anybody?" he asked again, "coming up that farther bend?" 

 "No," said Harkness, shading his eyes with his hand against the sun; "can't say as I do." 

 "Damn nuisance," the boy said. "He's half an hour late now." 

 The boy stood as though to attention, his figure set, his hands at his side. 

 "Ah, there's some one," said Harkness. But it was only an old man with his cart. He slowly pressed up the hill past them urging his horses with a thick guttural cry, an old man brown as a berry. 

 "I beg your pardon," the boy turned to Harkness. "You'll think it an awful impertinence—but—are you in a terrible hurry?" 

 "No," said Harkness, "not terrible. I want to be at the 'Man-at-Arms' by dinner time. That's all." 

 "Oh, you've got lots of time," the boy said eagerly. "Look here. This is desperately important for me. The man ought to have been here half an hour ago. If he doesn't come in another twenty minutes I don't know what I shall do. It's just occurred to me. There's another way up this hill—a short cut. He may have chosen that. He may not have understood where it was that I wanted him to meet me. Would you mind—would you do me the favour of just standing here while I go over the hill there to see whether he's waiting on the other side? I won't be away more than five minutes; I'd be so awfully grateful." 

 "Why, of course," said Harkness. 

 "He's a fisherman with a black beard. You can't mistake him. And if he comes if you'd just ask him to wait for a moment until I'm back." 

 "Certainly," said Harkness. 

 "Thanks most awfully. Very decent of you, sir." 

 The boy touched his cap, climbed the hill and vanished. 

 Harkness was alone again—not a sound anywhere. The town shimmered below him in the heat. He waited, absorbed by the picture spread in front of him, then apprehensive again and conscious that he was alone. The alarm that he had 

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