In as casual a fashion as possible I got up from my chair and sauntered across the room. The others were all busy listening to the newcomer, and, without attracting any particular attention, I passed out through the door and made my way down the steps. At the bottom I paused for a moment to consider my plan of campaign. I remembered something about the neighbourhood, but I had no recollection of a house called "The Laurels" or of any place that answered to Mr. Watson's description of it. I should have to make enquiries on this point, and at the same time I should have to do it in such a fashion as to avoid arousing any unnecessary gossip. Glancing round the green, my eyes fell on the small village shop opposite, where in bygone days Bobby and I had been accustomed to purchase our tobacco. If Mrs. Summers, the old lady who used to run it, were still alive, she would probably remember me, and in that case it ought to be the very place for my purpose. Anyhow, I determined to chance it, so, knocking out my pipe, I vaulted the wooden railings and set out over the grass. The first person I saw when I stepped in through the low doorway was Mrs. Summers herself. She was sitting hunched up in a chair behind the counter, knitting away industriously at a sock, and looking precisely as unchanged as the rest of Pen Mill. She stared at me for a moment in a half-puzzled, half-doubtful sort of fashion; then suddenly her round red face expanded into a broad smile of recognition. "Well I never!" she exclaimed. "If it isn't Mr. Dryden!" "That's right," I said, coming up to the counter. "And how are you, Mrs. Summers?" We shook hands warmly, while she beamed at me through her gold-rimmed spectacles in a fashion that cheered my heart. "Well, well, well!" she repeated. "Just to think of that now. Why, I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw you walking in through the door." "I was wondering if you would know me after all this time," I said. "You needn't have worried about that," she replied. "You haven't altered--not the least little bit in the world." "Neither have you," I returned gallantly. "People who lead sober and respectable lives always keep their good looks." "Ah!" she observed. "I might have known you'd say something like that. You were always the one for having your little joke." She continued to beam at me with the same indulgent smile. "You've come along to stay with Commander Dean, I suppose?" she added. I stared at her in the blankest amazement. "Why, didn't you know he was here?" she asked, in a surprised voice. "Bobby Dean in Pen Mill!" I managed to jerk out. "Well, not exactly in Pen Mill, though he do come around pretty often. Martlesea's his headquarters--at least, that's where he lives when he isn't in his boat." "D'you mean to tell me he's got a job here?" I almost shouted.