The comfortable stroll was abandoned, and the couple, keeping at a respectful distance, followed their unconscious comrade. The day was hot, and the path, which sometimes ran along the top of the cliff and sometimes along the side of it, had apparently escaped the attention of the local County Council. No other person was in sight, and the only things that moved were a few sheep nibbling the short grass, which scampered off at their approach, and a gull or two poised overhead. “We want to get there afore ’e does,” said Sam, treading gingerly along a difficult piece of path. “He’d see us if we ran along the beach,” said the cook. “We can’t run on shingle,” said Sam; “and it don’t seem much good just gettin’ there to see ’im find the cap’n, does it?” “We must wait for an hoppertunity,” said the cook. Sam grunted. “An’ when it comes, seize it at once,” continued the cook, who disapproved of the grunt. They kept on for some time steadily, though Sam complained bitterly about the heat as he mopped his streaming brow. “He’s going down on to the beach,” said the cook suddenly. “Make a spurt for it, Sam, and we’ll pass him.” The stout seaman responded to the best of his ability, and arriving at the place where Dick had disappeared, flung himself down on the grass and lay there panting. He was startled by a cry of surprise from the cook. “Come on, Sam,” he said eagerly; “he’s going in for a swim.” His friend moved to the edge of the cliff and looked over. A little heap of clothing lay just below him, and Dick was striding over the sands to the sea. “Come on,” repeated the cook impatiently; “we’ve got the start.” “I should laugh if somebody was to steal his clothes,” said Sam vindictively as he gazed at the garments. “Be all right for us if they did,” said the cook; “we’d have plenty o’ time to look around this ’ere Piggott’s Bay then.” He glanced at Sam as he spoke, and read his horrible purpose in his eyes. “No, no!” he said hastily. “Not _steal_ ’em, cookie,” said Sam seductively, “only bury ’em under the shingle. I’ll toss you who does it.” For sixty seconds the cook struggled gamely with the tempter. “It’s just a bit of a joke, cook,” said Sam jovially. “Dick ’ud be the first to laugh at it hisself if it was somebody else’s clothes.” He spun a penny in the air, and covering it deftly, held it out to the cook. “Heads!” said the latter softly. “Tails!” said Sam cheerfully; “hurry up, cook.” The cook descended without a word, and hastily interring the clothes, not without an uneasy glance seaward, scrambled up the cliff again and rejoined his exultant accomplice. They set off in silence, keeping at some distance from the edge of the cliff. “Business is business,” said the cook after a time, “and he wouldn’t join the syndikit.” “He was greedy, and wanted it all,” said Sam with severity.