There were other inlets too that I tested and examined. Particularly the few short tunnels that gave on to a sandy bay to the east of Ebb-Tide Pool. It was here that the fishermen launched their smacks, and a hut or two clung crazily to nooks in the sloping cliffs. At the farther horn of the bay was a dilapidated jetty, built originally of stone, but roughly repaired where the seas had breached it with makeshift piles and planking, themselves unsteady and decayed. It was only seldom that the fishermen used it; but I delighted in picturing to myself wild scenes of its desperate history when the smugglers were still a power on that coast. However, I discovered nothing in the bay. I searched east and west; and though at times I thought I had come upon a further clue, yet it never led to anything. And again and again I returned to the Dragon's Mouth and Ebb-Tide Cave, which seemed to me the most dumbly obstinate in refusing to yield their secrets. This day, having nothing better to do, I set off for Ebb-Tide Pool for a clamber and a bathe till it should be time to return to the inn. I didn't go by the directest route, for, true to my father's training, I made a business of my play just as he made a game of all my education. Indeed work and play were one thing to me. For if we decided to climb Dead-Man's Drop or cross the Suck-Foot Marshes the expedition was always undertaken with some imaginary purpose in view. There was a message to be delivered, or a sentry to be surprised; and usually we were ranged against each other, one being set to hinder the other, and the fun of the game wasn't merely in the climbing, or whatever it might be, but in evading the hidden enemy. So when left to myself I always devised some fanciful story to give a colour to my play. The result was that I scarcely ever made a direct journey, but always skirted this and rounded that to make believe I was outwitting my foes. On this day I didn't wander very far from the path, but my route was somewhat roundabout. And on a sudden I came to an abrupt halt, listening intently; for once already I had been taken unawares, and I wasn't intending to be caught again. I had heard a crackling in the woods. I was distinctly alarmed to see Dirk Stormaway stepping at right angles across my path, for I knew if he should see me he would believe I had been tracking him. Accordingly I squeezed up against a tree and waited for him to go by. He passed behind a thick clump of thorn, but didn't reappear. I listened for his step, and watched for him; but there was no sign of him anywhere. I was just going to move on, when again there was the sound of steps, and once more I grew on to my protecting tree. I was amazed to see my father following stealthily on the trail of Dirk. And he too vanished.