"It's too dark to see her."
"She may show a light," he chuckled. "Anyway, we will go and have a look."
We started along the front in the direction of the golf course, but at the end of the parade, instead of turning inland as I expected, to cross the course to the creek, Quarles led the way on to the sands. Here was a favorite bathing place, and there were many small tents nestling under the sandhills, looking a little the worse for last night's gale. At this hour the spot was quite deserted.
"Getting toward high water," said the professor, "and a smooth sea to-night. Can you row, Wigan?"
"An oarsman would probably say I couldn't," I answered.
"There's a stout little boat hereabouts—takes swimmers out for a dive into deep water. We'll borrow it, and see what you can do."
Always there was something in Quarles's way of going to work which had the effect of giving one a thrill, of stringing up the nerves, and making one eager to know all that was in his mind. You were satisfied there was something more to learn, and felt it would be worth learning. I asked no questions now as I helped to push a good-sized dinghy into the water. Oars were in it, and a coil of rope.
"Anyone might go off with it," said Quarles. "I noticed the other day that the boatman did not trouble to take the oars out. I suppose he believes in the honesty of Lingham."
If I am no great stylist, I am not deficient in muscle, and, with the set of the tide to help me, we were not long in making the mouth of the creek.
"The yacht is some way up, Wigan, and maybe there are sharp ears on her. Tie your handkerchief round that rowlock, and I'll tie mine round this. You must pull gently and make no noise. The tide is still running in, and will carry us up. By the way, when you're on holiday do you still keep your hip pocket filled?"