A conscientious spell with the lawn-mower enabled me to get through what would otherwise have been a rather tiresome morning. Even so, I was not sorry when half-past two arrived, and I found myself once more entering the muddy creek which runs up to the Pen Mill landing-stage. As usual, Jimmy had noticed my approach, and was standing on the jetty ready to receive me. I handed my boat over into his charge, and, telling him I should probably be back about five o'clock, I strode off across the green in the direction of the Shalston road. The distance I had to walk was about two miles and a half. I had just left myself time to do it comfortably, and to get to our meeting-place a few minutes before Christine was due. This seemed to me the most sensible arrangement, for I did not want to be seen hanging about the town, and there was no object in spending a lengthy vigil in the pastrycook's shop. About a quarter of a mile beyond the village I passed the head of a narrow lane leading towards the water. I could not stop to investigate, but I felt pretty certain that this must be the road by which Manning was accustomed to reach his barge. I only hoped that he was safe on board, for, much as I was looking forward to seeing him in the evening, I should have found him horribly in the way if he had happened to turn up at that particular moment. Fortunately no such contretemps occurred. I tramped on, keeping a sharp look-out ahead of me, and at twenty past three by the church clock I entered the straggling outskirts of Shalston. A few minutes' walk along the main street brought me to my destination--a quaint little old-fashioned shop, with a large supply of buns, tarts, and other delicacies piled up in the bow-window. As I pushed open the door, a bell above my head jangled fiercely. In answer to its summons a pleasant-faced middle-aged woman glided out from behind a rampart of freshly baked loaves, and gazed at me benignly across the counter. "Good afternoon," I said. "I believe you have a room upstairs where you serve tea?" "That's right, sir," she replied encouragingly. "There's a nice room on the first floor. Will you step this way, sir?" She conducted me through a door at the back into a linoleum-lined passage, whence a flight of stairs led up to the landing above. "I am expecting a friend to tea with me--a lady," I added. "When she arrives, would you be kind enough to tell her I'm here?" "To be sure I will, sir," was the affable answer. "And mebbe you'd rather wait till she comes before you give your order?" "Perhaps it would be safest," I admitted. "She might have a weakness for some particular kind of jam tart."