“Thanks to Lady Mary,” Jacob told his deliverer. “She’s been feeding me with a fishing rod from the seaward side.”
“Good little sport! It was she who sent me the telegram—put me up to the game, in fact. I warned you, Jacob.”
“I didn’t exactly expect to meet Mr. Montague up here!” was the somewhat grim reply.
“Most likely spot in the United Kingdom!—Shall we beat it? Got a car waiting, and we can catch the morning train from the junction if we hurry.”
They descended the steps in silence, and Jacob drew a little breath of relief as they entered the boat. Montague was sitting upon the sands with both hands pressed over his eye, as they landed. He shrank back when he saw Jacob.
“What’s become of the other one?” Jacob enquired.
“Your man Dauncey came up with me,” Lord Felixstowe explained. “I rang him up directly I got Mary’s telegram. We met Hartwell just starting to follow Montague. I hung round long enough to see that he was getting what he deserved, and then I came on.”
They met a triumphant Dauncey, a moment or two later.
“Given him his gruel?” Lord Felixstowe asked pleasantly.