All he could do was to keep his eyes and ears wide open, and if he could detect the smallest likelihood of picking up any useful information be instantly and resolutely prepared to avail himself of the opportunity. Since that had been the whole essence of his training in the Navy the prospect was not quite so formidable as it might otherwise have appeared.

With this comforting reflection he decided that the most sensible course was to put the problem out of his mind and give himself up to enjoying his journey. It was a long time now since he had experienced the felicity of driving through the English countryside, and once they had turned off the Great West Road and exchanged the monotonous procession of up-to-date factories for green fields and straggling hedgerows, a lazy and restful contentment began to lap him round like an invisible tide. The day was incredibly perfect, one of those warm, still, autumn mornings when the declining year seems to be sitting outside its own front door basking happily in the belated sunshine. A faint scent of burning leaves, the occasional splash of scarlet poppies which had escaped the harvester, the little clusters of midges hovering in the air as though waiting for a breeze to help them on their way, all alike combined to add their own particular touch to the mellow and enchanted atmosphere. That its continued existence should depend upon the whim of an epileptic house-painter appeared at the moment like an unbelievable nightmare.

A glimpse of a signpost bearing the inscription “Playford 1 mile” was the first indication that he was approaching his goal. Cottages and bungalows began to make their appearance, then a square church tower loomed up in the near distance, and through the open windows of a school came a shrill chorus of children’s voices. Slowing down as it approached the centre of the village, the car ambled across a sleepy-looking market-place and turned into a narrow, poplar-bordered road that led down to the river. At the bottom of this stood a small, creeper-clad house flanked by a desultory collection of wooden sheds. Moored to the adjoining landing-stage were a number of punts and skiffs, the only living creature in sight being a large and distinctly surly-faced bull terrier, who was evidently keeping a watchful eye upon his master’s property.

As the car pulled up, however, an elderly man with a short, grizzled beard sauntered out into the open. His costume consisted of a shirt and a pair of very ancient grey flannel trousers, and to judge by the towel which he was still carrying he had apparently been interrupted in the process of washing his hands. Paying off the driver and lifting out his equipment, Owen stepped hopefully forward.

“Are you Mr. Martin?”

The old man nodded.

“Good. My name’s Bradwell. You remember I rang up yesterday and mentioned that I should be coming along.”

“That’s right. Said something about bringing a letter from Mr. Anstey.”

“Here it is. Just a line to say that I can borrow one of his punts. It’s the big one I want—going to make a week-end of it, and see if I can catch a few fish.”

Very deliberately Mr. Martin read through the note, and then, nodding again as though satisfied with its authenticity, turned round in the direction of an adjacent shed.

“You there, ’Erbert?” he bellowed.

A tousle-haired youth poked his head through the doorway.

“Fetch out that there punt o’ Mr. Anstey’s, the one with the cover to it. Put the canvas in ’er, and see that the ’oops are all right. Git a move on, now, ’cause the gentleman’s waitin’.”

“Oh, I’m in no hurry.” Owen smiled reassuringly and seated himself on an upturned canoe. “I’ve come down for a quiet holiday, and I am going to take things as easily as possible. It’s the only way on the river if you really want to enjoy yourself.”

“I’ve heard a lot more foolish remarks than that.” Mr. Martin tilted back his cap and dabbed his forehead with the towel. “Pity more people don’t think the same,” he added. “If they did maybe trade would be a shade brisker.”

“Had a poor season?”

“Shockin’. Cold as winter most o’ the time, and rainin’ hard pretty near every week-end. ’Tisn’t so much the weather as I’m meanin’, though—wouldn’t alter things greatly no matter how fine it were.