“I only wanted to have a look at the view,” he laughed back, and put the glasses to his eyes. First he examined the house, and then he turned his gaze in the direction of the sea. It was then that it dawned on me that he was looking for a yacht. This was the fateful hour, and it had naturally struck him that the unknown yacht might be in the vicinity.
“Well,” I shouted, “can you see the yacht?”
“No,” he replied, “there’s nothing in sight, only a paddle steamer; looks like an excursion of some sort.”
“Oh! that’s the Glencoe,” I explained; “she won’t help us at all. She runs with tourists from Mallaig.”
“She seems to be barely able to take care of herself,” he laughed. “I shouldn’t like to be on her in a storm.”
We conversed fairly easily while he was on the cliff, for we were not many yards apart, and I began to wonder when he was coming down again.
“Have you any objection to my joining you?” I asked presently, as there seemed to be nothing for me to do below.
“Stop where you are for a bit, old man,” he advised. “I shall be down in a minute.”
“As long as you like,” I replied. “You’ve got a fine view from there, anyway. Don’t worry about me.”