"You can trust me, guv'nor," he observed. "I ain't the sort to let yer down—not if there's anything yer wants done."
"I am sure of that," I said. "And what's more, I shan't forget it."
Settling myself in my seat, I sculled off at a leisurely pace down the creek. My thoughts were still busy with the owner of The Penguin, and as I came out into the open I cast an instinctive glance up the estuary in the direction of the barge. What I saw pulled me up short in the middle of my stroke. A hundred yards away, and moving rapidly towards me, was a small motor-boat containing a single occupant. I recognised the latter instantly. It was Manning himself, and with a queer feeling of suspicion at this remarkably opportune appearance of his I swung the dinghy round and waited his approach.
He came up alongside, and, cutting off his engine, waved me a friendly greeting.
"I was right after all then," he said. "I thought I saw you going ashore about twenty minutes ago."
"I was just seeing back a pal of mine who's been lunching with me," I said. "Dean, of the Coast Patrol. I think you have met him, haven't you?"
He nodded easily. "Oh, yes—several times. An uncommonly good fellow from all accounts. I should like to know him better."
I thought of Bobby's remarks on the same subject, and it was as much as I could manage to keep a straight face.
"He was my skipper during the war," I explained. "I had no idea he was down in these parts. We ran across each other accidentally on the jetty this morning."
I was watching him closely while I spoke, but if my news was in any way unwelcome he certainly managed to conceal the fact.