Part 23 (1/2)
Half buried in the debris of a miniature landslide, he sat at the foot of the bluff, which reared its convex face behind and over him.
Immediately above his head a ragged break in its profile showed where the sand, held together solely by beach gra.s.s, had given way beneath the weight of the antagonists.
A little distance from him the other man was picking himself up, apparently unhurt but completely surfeited. Without delay, with not even so much as a glance at Whitaker, he staggered off for a few paces, then settled into a heavy, lumbering trot westward along the beach.
This conduct was so inconsistent with his late belligerent humour that Whitaker felt inclined to rub his eyes a second time. He had antic.i.p.ated--as soon as in condition to reason at all--nothing less than an immediate resumption of hostilities. Yet here was the fellow running away. Incomprehensible!
And yet, save at the first blush, not so incomprehensible: the chief of the man's desire had been unquestionably to see without being seen; his rage at being detected had led him to a misstep; now he was reverting to his original plan with all possible expedition. He did not wish the woman to recognize him; therefore he was putting himself out of her way.
For she was approaching.
When Whitaker caught sight of her, she was already close at hand. She had been running. Now as their glances met, hers keenly inquiring of Whitaker's still bewildered eyes, she pulled up abruptly and stood astare. He saw, or fancied, something closely akin to fright and consternation in her look. The flush in her cheeks gave way to a swift pallor. The hands trembled that drew her beach-cloak close about her.
She seemed to make an ineffectual effort to speak.
On his part, Whitaker tried to get up. A keen twinge in his ankle, however, wrung an involuntary grunt from him, and with a wry grimace he sank back.
”Oh!” cried the woman, impulsively. ”You're hurt!” She advanced a pace, solicitous and sympathetic.
”Oh, not much,” Whitaker replied in a tone more of hope than of a.s.surance. He felt tenderly of the injured member. ”Only my ankle--twisted it a few days ago, and now again. It'll be all right in a moment or two.”
Her gaze travelled from him to the edge of the bluff.
”I didn't see--I mean, I heard something, and turned, and saw you trying to sit up and the other man rising.”
”Sorry we startled you,” Whitaker mumbled, wondering how the deuce he was going to get home. His examination of the ankle hadn't proved greatly encouraging.
”But I--ah--how did it happen?”
”A mere misunderstanding,” he said lightly. ”I mistook the gentleman for some one I knew. He resented it, so we started to sc.r.a.p like a couple of schoolboys. Then ... I wish to Heaven it had been his leg instead of mine!”
”But still I hardly understand....”
She was now more composed. The colour had returned to her face. She stood with head inclined a trifle forward, gaze intent beneath delicate brows; most distractingly pretty, he thought, in spite of the ankle--which really didn't hurt much unless moved.
”Well, you see, I--ah--I'm visiting Ember--the cottage next to yours, I believe. That is, if I'm not mistaken, you have the Fiske place?”
She nodded.
”And so, this morning, it struck me as a fine young idea to swim over here and have a look at the beach. I--ah--you rather showed me the way, with your motor-boat. I mean I saw you start out.”
He felt better after that: open confession is a great help when one feels senselessly guilty. He ventured an engaging smile and noted with relief that it failed either to terrify or to enrage the young woman.
On the other hand, she said encouragingly: ”I see.”
”And then I found that chap watching you--”
That startled her. ”How do you mean--watching me?”
”Why--ah--that's what he seemed to be doing. He was lying at full length up there, half hidden--to all appearances watching you from behind a screen of beach gra.s.s.”
”But--I don't understand--why should he have been watching me?”