I saw that to press him further was useless.
“And look here,” he added, as we walked down the passage, “if you take my advice, you’ll omit that visit to the _Medusa_ altogether.” He gave me a steady look, smiling gravely.
“How much do you know, and what do you mean?” were the questions that throbbed in my thoughts; but I could not utter them, so I said nothing and felt very young.
Outside we joined Davies, who was knitting his brow over prospects.
“It just comes of going into places like this,” he said to me. “We may be stuck here for days. Too much wind to tow out with the dinghy, and too narrow a channel to beat in.”
Von Brüning was ready with a new proposal.
“Why didn’t I think of it before?” he said. “I’ll tow you out in my launch. Be ready at 6.30; we shall have water enough then. My men will send you a warp.”
It was impossible to refuse, but a sense of being personally conducted again oppressed me; and the last hope of a bed in the inn vanished. Davies was none too effusive either. A tug meant a pilot, and he had had enough of them.
“He objects to towage on principle,” I said.
“Just like him!” laughed the other. “That’s settled, then!” A dogcart was standing before the inn door in readiness for von Brüning. I was curious about Esens and his business there. Esens, he said, was the principal town of the district, four miles inland.
“I have to go there,” he volunteered, “about a poaching case—a Dutchman trawling inside our limits. That’s my work, you know—police duty.”
“Do you ever catch an Englishman?” I asked, recklessly.
“Oh, very rarely; your countrymen don’t come so far as this—except on pleasure.” He bowed to us each and smiled.
“Not much of that to be got in Bensersiel,” I laughed.
“I’m afraid you’ll have a dull afternoon. Look here. I know you can’t leave your boat altogether, and it’s no use asking Herr Davies; but will _you_ drive into Esens with me and see a Frisian town—for what it’s worth? You’re getting a dismal impression of Friesland.”
I excused myself, said I would stop with Davies; we would walk out over the sands and prospect for the evening’s sail.
“Well, good-bye then,” he said, “till the evening. Be ready for the warp at 6.30.”
He jumped up, and the cart rattled off through the mud, crossed the bridge, and disappeared into the dreary hinterland.