I found them, having almost broken my shins against a wooden affair, lying grouped on what Shirley said was unmistakably “a sweep of velvet sward.” Venice, it seemed, was exploring. You couldn’t see your hand before your face. But you didn’t want to. “Funny,” sighed Hugo, “if chap, just any chap, probably quite a nice chap, but timid chap, wakes from sleep to see Venice looking in on him. Mermaid theory....” “Wot’s this?” snapped a voice. “You’re trespassing.” “What did you think we were doing?” Napier asked mildly. “Playing dominoes?” “Tell us what this place is,” said Shirley severely, “and perhaps we may let you go.” “Gawd, don’t you know The River Club!” “I knew it was,” said Hugo proudly, “as soon as I picked up a bus-ticket scented with Bacardie Rum----” “But where’s Venice?” cried Shirley sharply, “Venice, Oh!” The darkness stirred, and from the river-edge Napier called on the name of Venice. “All right, all right! Here I am.” “Venice!” cried Guy sharply. “Keep straight ahead towards that canoe.” “I’ll swear,” said Napier, “her voice came a good way from the left. What?” “From the right, and what to you,” said Hugo. “From the left,” said Napier, and there was a faint splash and a faint rustle from the water. “Now, Shirley,” said Guy, “I’ll drown you if you go playing any fancy tricks. Come along, let’s race back.” “Naps, found her?” “Oh, she’s only playing the fool!” came Napier’s voice. “Heard her a moment ago. It’s all right.” I think that Guy and Hugo and Shirley must have deflected rather to one side, for although I was the poorest swimmer of the four I arrived first at the boat. My sight in the darkness was not helped by bumping my head against the gunwale. “Iris! Iris?” “Hello, where’s Iris? What? God, it’s dark....” “But haven’t you found Venice?” “Oh, she’s playing the fool! Missed her....” We held on to the gunwale, panting. “God, man, where’s Iris? What? I say, Iris!” “She must have got out to stretch her legs,” I said. “Yes--God, look!” panted Napier. “What the devil! What?” Hugo’s voice, Shirley’s, Guy’s. Napier and I were in the canoe. Iris’s white dress lay anyhow over the cushions in the middle, over the watches and rings. I stumbled over her shoes. “Oh!” sobbed Shirley. “Something’s happened!” “Naps, what is it?” snapped Guy from the water. “Iris--I say, she must have changed her mind and gone in!” “Stuff, changed her mind! Gone in after Venice, you mean!” “Iris! Iris!” Hugo called. We all called. “But where’s Venice?” Shirley screamed just as Napier plunged in again. “Iris! Venice! Iris!” “For God’s sake, Naps, take care!” snapped Guy. “Don’t go under that bridge.” “Iris! Venice! Venice!” Shirley was sobbing. In the pitch darkness.... “Hugo,” said Guy, “you and I together, for that bridge. Here, this way.... Naps, Naps! Come back, you fool!” “Help....” “God, who’s that! Iris? Venice?” “Help ... here, to the right....” An exhausted whisper from the pit of the water.