To Lester Cheveril, leaning
on the sea-wall, it appealed as strongly as the crying of a child. He
glanced over his shoulder. The place was deserted. Then he deliberately
dropped his cigarette-case over the wall and exclaimed: "Confound it!"
The prone figure on the shingle rolled over and sat up.
"Hullo!" said Cheveril.
There was a distinct pause before a voice replied: "Hullo! What's the
matter?"
"I've dropped my cigarette-case," said Cheveril. "Beastly careless of
me!"
Again there was a pause. Then the man below him stumbled to his feet.
"I've got a match," he said. "I'll see if I can find it."
"Don't trouble," said Cheveril politely. "The steps are close by."
He walked away at an easy pace and descended to the beach. The flicker
of a match guided him to the searcher. As he drew near, the light went
out, and the young man turned to meet him.
"Here it is," he said gruffly.
"Many thanks!" said Cheveril. "It's so confoundedly dark to-night. I
scarcely expected to see it again."
The other muttered an acknowledgment, and stood prepared to depart.
Cheveril, however, paused in a conversational attitude. He had not
risked his property for nothing.
"A pretty little place, this," he said. "I suppose you are a visitor
here like myself?"
"I'm leaving to-morrow," was the somewhat grudging rejoinder.
"I only came this afternoon," said Cheveril.
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