“Voices!” she exclaimed. “I’m off.”
Jacob looked through the aperture on the landward side and saw pleasant things. First of all, through the mist, loomed up the figure of Montague, approaching at the double. Behind came Felixstowe, rapidly gaining upon him.
“Hi, you,” the latter cried, as Montague stooped to unfasten the boat, “let that rope alone!”
Montague turned around and hesitated. His pursuer stood by his side.
“I’ll relieve you, my pretty fellow,” he said. “Hand over the key of the tower. Come along, now. Three seconds.”
Montague contemplated Felixstowe’s somewhat weedy but not unathletic form, exceeded the time and fell with his head in the water. His assailant took the key from his pocket as he staggered to his feet, unfastened the rope and paddled across the channel. A moment later there were hasty steps upon the stone stairs and the door with its iron grating was unlocked. Jacob advanced to meet his friend.
“Jacob, old thing!”
“Felix! By Jove, I’m glad to see you!”
The two men shook hands. There was a moment’s silence, a slightly dubious atmosphere. Welcome though it was, Felixstowe’s intervention had its embarrassing side.
“You’re looking pretty fit, old chap, except that you need a barber,” the latter remarked.