In such an earthly paradise, where no one but the clergyman and the doctor ever pretended to do any work, there was naturally a club--as cosy and well-managed a rendezvous of the kind as could be found in many more populous resorts. The permanent members were all proud of it, and in their jealousy for its good repute were apt to regard stray visitors admitted to temporary membership with cold criticism till they had proved their title to more cordial consideration. The club was the last building on the seaward side of the main street--a commanding position whence its windows on one side raked the esplanade, while those at the rear looked out to sea. About noon on a morning towards the middle of August three gentlemen were lounging in the general room, smoking and chatting in desultory fashion over the latest atrocities in _Punch_. To them suddenly entered the club steward, who approached a tall, sun-burnt young man sitting a little apart from the others with the announcement: "There is some one who would like to see you, sir, at the door. I asked him into the hall, but he preferred to wait outside." "Didn't he give his name?" "No, sir; but I think he's a gentleman who has been staying at the _Plume Hotel_ for the last week. I've seen him going in and out." The tall young man reared his flannel-clad limbs from the depths of his comfortable chair, and went out, a half-stifled expression of annoyance escaping him. He had no sooner disappeared than one of the two remaining members, who had been leaning against the mantelpiece, with his back to the fireless grate, strolled over to one of the French windows overlooking the esplanade. He was an elderly man, very well groomed as to his person and clothes, and with a pair of alert, all-devouring eyes set in an ascetic face. Mr. Vernon Mallory had put in forty years at the Foreign Office and was now, in honourable retirement, reaping the reward of much useful work. He was known as a shrewd observer and a keen judge of character. It was now his pleasure, as it had once been his business, to know all things about all men. "Chermside did not appear to be best pleased at the interruption," Mr. Mallory remarked. "Ah, there he goes, with the disturber of his peace, towards the marsh. I can understand his annoyance, for the man who called him out is a most unsavoury-looking person." The other member, a fresh, clean-shaven youngster of not more than three-and-twenty, got up and joined his senior at the window. "Who and what is this Mr. Leslie Chermside, anyhow?" he asked, after a prolonged stare at the two receding figures. "I rather like the chap, somehow, and yet there is a sort of shy constraint about him that is not altogether satisfactory." "He arrived a month ago, bringing an introduction to our worthy honorary secretary from Nugent, on the strength of which he became a temporary member," Mr. Mallory replied, with a slight shrug of his shoulders.