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Far
beneath the habitation, just above high-tide level, a strip of
shingle spread, and above it a sea cave had been turned into a
boathouse. Hither came Brendon and his companion.
The motor launch slowed down and presently grounded her bow on the
pebbles. Then Doria stopped the engine, flung a gangway stage
ashore, and stood by to hand Jenny Pendean and the detective to the
beach. The place appeared to have no exit; but, behind a ledge of
rock, stairs carved in the stone wound upward, guarded by an iron
handrail. Jenny led the way and Mark followed her until two hundred
steps were climbed and they stood on the terrace above. It was fifty
yards long and covered with sea gravel. Two little brass cannon
thrust their muzzles over the parapet to seaward and the central
space of grass about the flagpole was neatly surrounded with a
decoration of scallop shells.
"Could anybody but an old sailor have created this place?" asked
Brendon.
A middle-aged man with a telescope under his arm came along the
terrace to greet them.


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