“First of all, where exactly is Memmert?” I said.
Davies pulled down the chart, said “There,” and flung himself at full length on a sofa.
The reader can see Memmert for himself. South of Juist, [[See Map B]] abutting on the Ems delta, lies an extensive sandbank called Nordland, whose extreme western rim remains uncovered at the highest tides; the effect being to leave a C-shaped island, a mere paring of sand like a boomerang, nearly two miles long, but only 150 yards or so broad, of curiously symmetrical outline, except at one spot, where it bulges to the width of a quarter of a mile. On the English chart its nakedness was absolute, save for a beacon at the south; but the German chart marked a building at the point where the bulge occurs. This was evidently the depôt. “Fancy living there!” I thought, for the very name struck cold. No wonder Grimm was grim; and no wonder he was used to seek change of air. But the advantages of the site were obvious. It was remarkably isolated, even in a region where isolation is the rule; yet it was conveniently near the wreck, which, as we had heard, lay two miles out on the Juister Reef. Lastly, it was clearly accessible at any state of the tide, for the six-fathom channel of the Ems estuary runs hard up to it on the south, and thence sends off an eastward branch which closely borders the southern horn, thus offering an anchorage at once handy, deep, and sheltered from seaward gales.
Such was Memmert, as I saw it on the chart, taking in its features mechanically, for while Davies lay there heedless and taciturn, a pretence of interest was useless. I knew perfectly well what was between us, but I did not see why I should make the first move; for I had a grievance too, an old one. So I sat back on my sofa and jotted down in my notebook the heads of our conversation at the inn while it was fresh in my memory, and strove to draw conclusions. But the silence continuing and becoming absurd, I threw my pride to the winds, and my notebook on the table.
“I say, Davies,” I said, “I’m awfully sorry I chaffed you about Fräulein Dollmann.” (No answer.) “Didn’t you see I couldn’t help it?”
“I wish to Heaven we had never come in here,” he said, in a hard voice; “it comes of landing ever.” (I couldn’t help smiling at this, but he wasn’t looking at me.) “Here we are, given away, moved on, taken in charge, arranged for like Cook’s tourists. I couldn’t follow your game—too infernally deep for me, but——” That stung me.
“Look here,” I said, “I did my best. It was you that muddled it. Why did you harp on ducks?”
“We could have got out of that. Why did you harp on everything idiotic—your letter, the Foreign Office, the Kormoran, the wreck, the——?”
“You’re utterly unreasonable. Didn’t you see what traps there were? I was driven the way I went. We started unprepared, and we’re jolly well out of it.”
Davies drove on blindly. “It was bad enough telling all about the channels and exploring——”