The comfortable stroll was abandoned, and the couple, keeping at a respectful distance, followed their unconscious comrade. The day was hot, and the path, which sometimes ran along the top of the cliff and sometimes along the side of it, had apparently escaped the attention of the local County Council. No other person was in sight, and the only things that moved were a few sheep nibbling the short grass, which scampered off at their approach, and a gull or two poised overhead.
“We want to get there afore ’e does,” said Sam, treading gingerly along a difficult piece of path.
“He’d see us if we ran along the beach,” said the cook.
“We can’t run on shingle,” said Sam; “and it don’t seem much good just gettin’ there to see ’im find the cap’n, does it?”
“We must wait for an hoppertunity,” said the cook.
Sam grunted.
“An’ when it comes, seize it at once,” continued the cook, who disapproved of the grunt.
They kept on for some time steadily, though Sam complained bitterly about the heat as he mopped his streaming brow.
“He’s going down on to the beach,” said the cook suddenly. “Make a spurt for it, Sam, and we’ll pass him.”
The stout seaman responded to the best of his ability, and arriving at the place where Dick had disappeared, flung himself down on the grass and lay there panting. He was startled by a cry of surprise from the cook.