In spite of my eagerness to be off, I first of all sat down at my desk and scribbled a note to Bobby. It had to be posted at Pen Mill before six o'clock or else it would not be delivered in Harwich until mid-day, and in that case he would very probably be out of the office. I made no attempt to explain things, however; I merely told him that I was in need of his help, and that if he could manage to get down to Greensea the next day I should be uncommonly glad to see him. I was just fastening up the envelope when I saw Bascomb go past the window. I called out to him from where I was sitting, and he stepped in through the open doorway. He was carrying a heavy garden spade. "Where are you going to dig the grave?" I asked him. He jerked his head toward the back of the house. "'Longside o' the shed," he answered. "I can see it there from the kitchen window." He spoke as though the prospect of being continually reminded of the crime afforded him a kind of sullen satisfaction. "I am going ashore to post a letter," I said. "I mean to get to the bottom of this infernal business, and I've asked Commander Dean to come here to-morrow. I think he may be able to help us." Bascomb looked at me more strangely than ever. "It's likely enough," he remarked. "That's to say, if there's any 'elp wanted." He shouldered the spade as he spoke, and, stepping out on to the path, walked off silently round the corner of the house. His manner was so peculiar that for a moment I felt an uncomfortable doubt as to whether he were in his right senses. I was too anxious about Christine to worry over anything else, however, and, following him to the door, I hastily secured the bolts and made sure that the windows were properly fastened. Then, snatching up a cap from my travelling bag, I left the house by the back door. The mist seemed thicker than ever when I came out into the garden. I climbed the wet rail which led into the shrubbery, and, having groped my way through the bushes, I struck off down the path in the direction of the water. A few minutes' walk brought me to the boathouse, where, by gently coaxing the rusty lock, I managed to open the door without making any unnecessary noise. The next job was to find something with which to muffle the oars. A glance round showed me exactly what I needed--a large piece of cotton waste that was hanging from a nail just inside the threshold. I tore this in two, and with the aid of some string soon accomplished my purpose. Then, pushing off quietly, I drifted out into the mist. It was just low water, and the young tide was already running up the estuary. I knew its strength from bitter experience, so, keeping the nose of my boat well into the current, I set off hopefully on what I imagined to be the right course.