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 that cove. I'm not especially anxious to try it myself as a matter of fact."

"No, nor I," said Harkness, smiling. "Then we count the boat out. There aren't many other things we can do. We can take the pony and follow him. He'll lead us straight back to Treliss to whatever stables he came from—a little too close to the Crispin family, I fancy. Secondly, we can wait here until the fog clears; that may be in three minutes time, it may be to-morrow. You both know more about these sea-fogs down here than I do, but, from the look of it, it's solid till Christmas."

"A heat fog this time of year," said Dunbar, "within three miles of the sea can last for twenty-four hours or longer—not as thick as this though— this is one of the thickest I've ever seen."

"Well then," continued Harkness, "it isn't much good to wait until it clears. The only thing remaining for us is to walk off somewhere. The question is, where? Is there any garage within a mile or two or any friend with a car? It isn't three o'clock yet. We still have time."

"Yes," said Dunbar, "there is. I've had it in my mind all along as an alternative. Indeed it was the first thing of all that I thought of. Three miles from here there's a village, Cranach. The rector of Cranach is a sporting old man called Banting. During the last week or two we've made