Then he went into the garden, full of a curious relief, almost of exultation. He could delight at last in the sun and the boats and the happy, irresponsible people. He, too, could look at the beloved river without any urgent anxiety of what it might carry into his view. The worst was over; the doubts were done with. Emily was found, and there was an end to it. And he had diddled the policeman. How cleverly, how gloriously he had diddled the policeman. Perfect frankness and easiness and calm--a gracious manner and a good lie--they had worked perfectly. He had never hoped for anything so easy. Almost without intention, certainly without plan, as if inspired he had uttered those tremendous lies about John. And, of course, he could hardly have said anything else. Cook had given John away already; one must be consistent. Poor old John! He must see John--talk to him--warn him--no, diddle him. He could manage John all right. He went down the steps into his tiny dinghy--a minute, fragile, flat-bottomed affair, just large enough and strong enough for a single man. It flitted lightly on the surface like one of those cumbrous-looking waterflies which move suddenly on the quiet surface of ponds with a startling velocity. He called it _The Water Beetle_. With a few strokes Stephen shot out into the lovely sun, and drifted a little, faintly stirring the oars as they rested flatly on the golden water with a movement which was almost a caress. It was very delightful out there, very soothing and warm. It was inspiring, too. Stephen thought suddenly of the long poem. He must have a go at that--now that things were better, now that his mind was easier. Then he saw John walk down to the end of his garden, smoking comfortably the unique and wonderful Sunday morning pipe. He rowed back immediately to the wall, framing smooth explanatory phrases in his head. John, he saw, was gazing with a strained look through his glasses at a muddle of wreckage drifting down from the Island. "You needn't worry, John," he said; "it's all over--it's--it's _found_.... Come down the steps." John came down and squatted at the foot of the steps, saying nothing. Stephen tied up the boat, but did not get out of it. "A man's been here this morning--a policeman--with the sack ... he wanted to know if we knew anything about it.... Cook saw him first, and let out that it was ours--said we'd lent it to you--silly fool ... about three weeks back ... when I saw him it was too late to say anything else...." He stopped and looked up. Surely John was going to say something. John looked steadily at him and said nothing. "She said Mabel went round and asked you for it, and you said--what _did_ you say, John?" John looked out across the river and thought. Then he said in a far-away voice: "I said I'd taken it out to pick up wood--and lost it. Overboard ... I had to say something."