"Don't be frightened," I said soothingly. "It's only his fun. He doesn't bite."
Before Ross could answer there was the sound of a step on the gravel, and the figure of a man came hurriedly round the bend leading from the house.
"Come 'ere," he shouted. "Come 'ere at once."
The dog pulled up as if he had been shot, and, casting a disappointed glance at us, stalked away solemnly from the bank. With a couple of strokes I managed to regain our former position.
"Good morning," I said. "Are you Bascomb?"
The newcomer, a dark, heavily built, clean-shaven man of about thirty-five, advanced quickly across the open space.
"That's me, sir," he replied. "You're Mr. Dryden, I suppose?"
I shipped my sculls and stepped up on to the landing-stage, followed by Ross.
"Yes," I said, "I'm Mr. Dryden. Did you get my wire?"
"It come along yesterday afternoon, sir. I got some lunch ready for you." He tied up the painter to an iron ring, and then glanced round at the dog, who was sitting on his haunches a few yards away, surveying us with sombre interest. "I'm sorry 'e run at you like that. 'Taint 'is fault exac'ly. He's bin trained not to allow no strangers on the island."