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II
Illuminated4 by the setting sun, they had their first glimpse of Soldier Is-
Vera said, surprised:
‘It’s a long way out.’
She had pictured it differently, close to shore, crowned with a beautiful
white house. But there was no house visible, only the boldly silhouetted6
rock with its faint resemblance to a giant head. There was something sinis-
ter about it. She shivered faintly.
Outside a little inn, the Seven Stars, three people were sitting. There was
self.
‘Thought we might as well wait for you,’ he said. ‘Make one trip of it. Al-
spot, ha, ha!’
He laughed breezily.
Mr Justice Wargrave looked at him with active malevolence10. He seemed
to be wishing that he could order the court to be cleared. Miss Emily Brent
was clearly not sure if she liked Colonials.
ably.
ger.
‘Mustn’t delay, then. Our good host and hostess will be expecting us,’ he
said.
He might have noticed that a curious constraint13 came over the other
members of the party. It was as though the mention of their host and host-
nearby wall against which he was leaning and came up to them. His
rolling gait proclaimed him as a man of the sea. He had a weather-beaten
Devon voice.
‘Will you be ready to be starting for the island, ladies and gentlemen?
The boat’s waiting. There’s two gentlemen coming by car but Mr Owen’s
orders was not to wait for them as they might arrive at any time.’
The party got up. Their guide led them along a small stone jetty. Along-
side it a motor boat was lying.
Emily Brent said:
‘That’s a very small boat.’
The boat’s owner said persuasively17:
‘She’s a fine boat that, Ma’am. You could go to Plymouth in her as easy
Mr Justice Wargrave said sharply:
‘There are a good many of us.’
‘She’d take double the number, sir.’
Philip Lombard said in his pleasant easy voice:
Rather doubtfully, Miss Brent permitted herself to be helped into the
boat. The others followed suit. There was as yet no fraternizing among the
party. It was as though each member of it was puzzled by the other mem-
bers.
They were just about to cast loose when their guide paused, boat-hook
in hand.
Down the steep track into the village a car was coming. A car so fantast-
ically powerful, so superlatively beautiful that it had all the nature of an
apparition20. At the wheel sat a young man, his hair blown back by the
wind. In the blaze of the evening light he looked, not a man, but a young
He touched the horn and a great roar of sound echoed from the rocks of
the bay.
It was a fantastic moment. In it, Anthony Marston seemed to be some-
thing more than mortal. Afterwards more than one of those present re-
membered that moment.
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