“I don’t say he is,” said Priscilla. “All I say is that until we’ve hunted him down we can’t possibly be sure that he isn’t. You never can be sure about anything until you’ve actually tried it. And, anyway, what else can he be? You can’t deny that there’s some mystery about him. Remember what Peter Walsh said about his looking as innocent as a child. That’s the way spies always look. Besides, I don’t think his clothes really belonged to him. I could see that at a glance. He had a pair of white flannel trousers with creases down the fronts of the legs, quite as swagger as yours, if not swaggerer, and a white sweater. He didn’t look a bit comfortable in them, not as if they were the kind of clothes he was accustomed to wear. That’s Rossmore head on the left there, Cousin Frank. He’s not there. I didn’t expect he would be, and he isn’t. I don’t expect he’s in that bay to the southwest of it either. But we’ll just run in a bit and make sure.” The breeze had freshened a little, and the Tortoise made good way through the calm water. Frank began to feel some little trust in Priscilla. She handled the boat with an air of confidence which was reassuring. His conscience was troubling him less than it did. There is nothing in the world equal to sailing as a means of quieting anxious consciences. A man may be suffering mental agonies from the recollection of some cruel and cold-blooded murder which he happens to have committed. On land his life would be a burden to him. But let him go down to the sea in a small white sailed ship, and in forty-eight hours or less, he will have ceased to feel any remorse for his victim. This may be the reason why all Protestant nations are maritime powers. Having denied themselves the orthodox anaesthetic of the confessional, these peoples have been obliged to take to the sea as a means of preventing their consciences from harrying them. Driven forth across the waves by the clamorous importunity of the voice within, they, of very necessity, acquire a certain skill in the management of boats, a skill which sooner or later leads to the burdensome possession of a navy and so to maritime importance. It is interesting to see how this curious law works out in quite modern times. The Italian navy is now considerable, but it has only become so since the people were driven to the sea as a consequence of the anti-clerical feeling which led them to desert the confessional. It is quite possible that the Portuguese, having in their new Republic developed a strong antipathy to sacraments and so laid up for themselves a future of spiritual disquiet, may see their ancient maritime glories revived, and in seeking relief beyond the mouth of the Tagus from the gnawings of their consciences, may give birth to some reincarnation of Vasco da Gama or Prince Henry, the Navigator. “I don’t think,” said Priscilla, looking round her searchingly, “that he’s anywhere in this bay. How’s your ankle?” “It’s quite comfortable,” said Frank.