Mr. Wriford's laugh came to him through the gathering gloom, and through the gloom he saw Mr. Wriford's form midway up the rocks. "And you'll know where to find me," Mr. Wriford called. Mr. Puddlebox paused irresolutely and cursed roundly where he paused. Then turned and stamped away across the shingle. When he reached the rocky arm where first they had quarrelled he stopped again and again looked back. Mr. Wriford was not to be seen. "That'll go near to kill him if he stays," said Mr. Puddlebox. "And, curse me, if I go back to him he will stay. I'll push on, and he'll follow me. That's the only way to it." They had spent the previous night in an eating-house where "Beds for Single Men--4d." attracted wanderers. It was seven o'clock when Mr. Puddlebox's slow progression--halting at every few yards and looking back--at length returned him to it. He dried and warmed himself before the fire in the kitchen that was free to inmates of the house. "Where's your mate?" asked the proprietor. "Thought you was making Port Rannock?" "Too far," said Mr. Puddlebox; and to the earlier question: "He's behind me. I'll wait my supper till he comes." He waited, though very hungry. Every time the door of the kitchen opened he turned eagerly in expectation that was every time denied. Towards nine he gave up the comfortable seat he had secured before the blaze and sat himself where he could watch the door. It never admitted Mr. Wriford. "What's the night?" he asked a seafaring newcomer. "Blowing up," the man told him. "Blowing up dirty." Mr. Puddlebox went from the room and from the house, shivered as the night air struck him, and then down the cobbled street. Ten o'clock, borne gustily upon the wind, came to him from the church tower as he turned along the shore. None saw him go: and he was not to return. CHAPTER III WATER THAT TAKES YOUR BREATH Mr. Puddlebox's landsman's eye showed him no signs of that "blowing up dirty" of which he had been informed. A fresh breeze faced him as he walked and somewhat hindered his progress; but a strong moon rode high and lighted him; the sea, much advanced since he came that way, broke quietly along the shore. "Why, it's none so bad a night to be out," thought Mr. Puddlebox; and there began to change within him the mood in which he had left the lodging-house. Seated there he had imagined a rough night, wet and dark, and with each passing hour had the more reproached himself for his desertion of his loony. Now that he found night clear and still, well-lit and nothing overcold, he inclined towards considering himself a fool for his pains.