Suddenly something caught his eye, far down below.
“By Jove!” he said. “A scarlet poppy on the sands!”
He walked on, until his rapid stride brought him to the centre of the cliff above Horseshoe Cove.
Then—“Good Lord!” said Jim Airth, and stood still.
He had caught sight of Lady Ingleby’s white skirt reposing on the sand, beyond the scarlet parasol.
“Good Lord!” said Jim Airth.
Then he scanned the horizon. Not a boat to be seen.
His quick eye travelled along the cliff, the way he had come. Not a living thing in sight.
On to the fishing village. Faint threads of ascending vapour indicated chimneys. “Two miles at least,” muttered Jim Airth. “I could not run it and get back with a boat, under three quarters of an hour.”
Then he looked down into the cove.