"We're a bit off our bearings, Runnells," he said. "I couldn't see any sign of the boathouse even when I was swimming in. And I can't see it now. Which way do you think it is?"
Runnells was also struggling with his wet boots.
"We're too far up," he answered. "I thought I had it about right, but I figured that if I didn't quite hit it, it would be safer to be on this side than the other so we wouldn't have to pass either the wharf or the house in getting to it."
"Good!" commented Captain Francis Newcombe. "We'll walk back that way, then."
They started on along the beach. For perhaps half a mile they walked in silence, and then, rounding a little point, the boathouse came into view a short distance ahead. A moment later they passed in under the overhang of the verandah.
And then Runnells snarled suddenly.
Captain Francis Newcombe was unwrapping his flashlight. The faint, stray rays of moonlight that managed to penetrate the place did little more than accomplish the creation of innumerable black shadows of grotesque shapes.
"What's the matter?" he demanded.
"The damned place in under here gives me the creeps after last night," Runnells growled.
"It's not exactly pleasant," admitted Captain Francis Newcombe casually.