“I’m convinced,” he said, “that he’s an Englishman in German service. He must be in German service, for he had evidently been in those waters a long time, and knew every inch of them; of course, it’s a very lonely part of the world, but he has a house on Norderney Island; and he, and all about him, must be well known to a certain number of people. One of his friends I happened to meet; what do you think he was? A naval officer. It was on the afternoon of the third day, and we were having coffee on the deck of the Medusa, and talking about next day’s trip, when a little launch came buzzing up from seaward, drew alongside, and this chap I’m speaking of came on board, shook hands with Dollmann, and stared hard at me. Dollmann introduced us, calling him Commander von Brüning, in command of the torpedo gunboat Blitz. He pointed towards Norderney, and I saw her—a low, grey rat of a vessel—anchored in the Roads about two miles away. It turned out that she was doing the work of fishery guardship on that part of the coast.
“I must say I took to him at once. He looked a real good sort, and a splendid officer, too—just the sort of chap I should have liked to be. You know I always wanted—but that’s an old story, and can wait. I had some talk with him, and we got on capitally as far as we went, but that wasn’t far, for I left pretty soon, guessing that they wanted to be alone.”
“Were they alone then?” I asked, innocently.
“Oh, Fräulein Dollmann was there, of course,” explained Davies, feeling for his armour again.
“Did he seem to know them well?” I pursued, inconsequently.
“Oh, yes, very well.”
Scenting a faint clue, I felt the need of feminine weapons for my sensitive antagonist. But the opportunity passed.
“That was the last I saw of him,” he said. “We sailed, as I told you, at daybreak next morning. Now, have you got any idea what I’m driving at?”
“A rough idea,” I answered. “Go ahead.”
Davies sat up to the table, unrolled the chart with a vigorous sweep of his two hands, and took up his parable with new zest.