At the sound of it he glanced up, in time to see Mr. Banner drop the other end of the tape and run. Almost willy-nilly he followed, vaguely wondering if there had happened some accident that called for aid.
Mr. Banner, when the Collector overtook him, had come to a halt overlooking the long beach, and pointed to a figure—a speck almost—for it was distant more than a mile.
"That Josselin girl!" panted Mr. Banner. "I call you to witness!"
The Collector unstrapped his field-glass, which he carried in a bandolier, adjusted it, and through it scanned the beach. Yes, in the distant figure he recognised Ruth Josselin. She carried a gun—or rather, stood with the gun grounded and her hands folded, resting on its muzzle—and appeared to be watching the edge of the breakers, perhaps waiting for them to wash to her feet a dead bird fallen beyond reach.
"See her, do you? I call you to witness!" repeated the voice at his elbow.
"Why, what is the matter?"
"Sabbath breakin'," answered Mr. Banner with a curious leer.
"Ah!"
"But you yourself don't take much account of the Lord's Day, seemingly.
Bathin', f'r instance."
"Indeed!" The Collector eyed his companion reflectively. "You honoured me with your observation this morning?"