“Where have you been?” he asked.
“Oh, rowing about since the fog cleared,” said Davies.
I suppose he thought that evasion would pass muster, but as he spoke, I noticed to my horror that a stray beam of light was playing on the bunch of white cotton-waste that adorned one of the rowlocks: for we had forgotten to remove these tell-tale appendages. So I added:
“After ducks again”; and, lifting one of the guns, let the light flash on its barrel. To my own ears my voice sounded husky and distant.
“Always ducks,” laughed von Brüning. “No luck, I suppose?”
“No,” said Davies; “but it ought to be a good time after sunset——”
“What, with a rising tide and the banks covered?”
“We saw some,” said Davies, sullenly.
“I tell you what, my zealous young sportsmen, you’re rash to leave your boat at anchor here after dark without a light. I came aboard to find your lamp and set it.”
“Oh, thanks,” said Davies; “we took it with us.”