Why, he wondered, in addition to ending these present evils, should he be called on to solve a fine point in ethics?
He did not realize how clearly the torment in his soul was revealed in his face until Sturgess demanded cheerfully:
“What’s worrying you now, boss? You ain’t chewing on that little misunderstanding of a minute ago, are you?”
Maseden smiled dourly. Here was an opening, and he would take it, no matter what the personal cost.
“No. That is not my way,” he said. “I was merely turning over in my mind a somewhat ticklish problem. Sometimes, when a man does not know how to act for the best, it is not a bad plan to run counter to one’s own inclinations. Then, at any rate, there is no fear of selfishness warping one’s judgment. In this instance—”
“Is the tide rising or falling?” interrupted Sturgess excitedly.
“Falling.”
“Good.... What’s that?”
They were walking in the direction of the oyster bed which Maseden had found overnight. The beach was strewn with boulders, the surface of each a mosaic of myriads of tiny mussels. The rock floor was not quite flat, but dipped slightly eastward, and the outcrop of every stratum, worn smooth by countless tides, offered a number of irregular paths by which it was possible to walk dry-shod a mile or more towards mid-channel.
Between these tracks, so to speak, the water lodged in pools, and here, too, as might be expected, the smaller rocks gathered, mostly in groups.