Perhaps the Sénéchal and the Vicar would prevail upon them. Perhaps they would give it up and leave him alone, and then Nance would find him a boat and they would get across to Guernsey. Perhaps, as she kept insisting, something would happen to discover the truth.
So he lay, while the sun mounted high and baked him on the bare stones, but he did not find it hot.
And then, of a sudden, he stiffened and lay watching anxiously. For there, from out the Creux had come a boat—and another, and another, and another—four boat-loads of them again!
So they were coming, after all, and his hopes died sudden death.
Well—let them come and take him and have their will. He was not the first who had paid the price for what he had not done, and human nature must fall to pieces if hung too long on tenterhooks.
He watched them listlessly. He could crawl into his innermost cavern, of course, and could hold it against them all till the end of time, which in this case would be but a trifling span, for a man must eat to live. But what was the use? As well die quick as slow, since there could be but one end to it. And then, to his very great surprise, the boats crept slowly out of sight round the corner of Coupée Bay, and he lay wondering.
What could be the meaning of that? Why had they put in there? Why couldn't they come on and finish the matter?
The sea was all deserted again. If he had not just happened to catch sight of them stealing across there, he would have felt sure they were not coming to-day.
Perhaps they were going to wait there till night, though why on earth they should wait there instead of at the Creux, was past his comprehension.
And then, after a time, to his amazement, he saw them all go crawling back the way they had come. One, two, three, four—yes, they were all there, and they crept slowly round Lâches point and disappeared, and left him gaping.