There were no nice beaches; they were all covered with inch-thick pebbles instead of sand; but Alice kept wanting to try the next place. After each abortive approach, they went up to two thousand feet to survey the shore-line. Alice pointed and said, "There's a nice looking one. Oh! There's somebody on it."
Maxwell looked, and saw a tiny figure moving along the shore. "Might be somebody I know," he said, and focused his binoculars. He saw a broad, naked back, dark against the silvery sea. The man was stooping, looking at something on the beach.
The figure straightened, and Maxwell saw a blazing crest of blond hair, then a strongly modeled nose and chin as the man turned. "Oh-oh," he said, lowering the binoculars.
Alice was staring intently through her binoculars. "Isn't he handsome," she breathed. "Do you know him?"
"Yeah," said Maxwell. "That's the Beachcomber. I interviewed him a couple of times. We'd better leave him be."
Alice kept staring. "Honestly," she said. "I never saw such a—. Look, Vernie, he's waving at us."
Maxwell looked again. The Beachcomber's face was turned up directly toward them. As Maxwell watched, the man's lips moved unmistakably in the syllables of his name.
Maxwell shortened the range, and saw that the Beachcomber was indeed waving. He also saw something he had missed before: the man was stark naked.
"He's recognized me," he said, with mingled emotions. "Now we will have to go down."