"
He raised the latch of the door, under which a little pool of
water was now standing, and leaned out. There seemed to be a
curious cessation of immediate sounds. From somewhere straight
ahead of him, on the other side of that black velvet curtain of
darkness, came the dull booming of the wind, tearing across the
face of the marshes; and beyond it, beating time in a rhythmical
sullen roar, the rise and fall of the sea upon the shingle. But
near at hand, for some reason, there was almost silence. The rain
had ceased, the gale for a moment had spent itself. The strong,
salty moisture was doubly refreshing after the closeness of the
small, lamplit room. Julian lingered there for several moments.
"Nothing like fresh air," he muttered, "for driving away fancies."
Then he suddenly stiffened. He leaned forward into the dark,
listening. This time there was no mistake. A cry, faint and
pitiful though it was, reached his ears distinctly.
"Julian! Julian!"
"Coming, old chap," he shouted. "Wait until I get a torch."
He stepped quickly back into the sitting room, drew an electric
torch from the drawer of the homely little chiffonier and,
regardless of regulations, stepped once more out into the
darkness, now pierced for him by that single brilliant ray. The
door opened on to a country road filled with gleaming puddles. On
the other side of the way was a strip of grass, sloping downwards;
then a broad dyke, across which hung the remains of a footbridge.
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