He selected his place and waited.

After a few minutes the pitch of the Seacraft’s engines dropped an octave, and Stranahan figured the boat was slowing down. The guy would be eyeing the place closely, trying to figure out the best way up on the flat. There was a narrow cut in the marl, maybe four feet deep at high tide and wide enough for one boat. If the guy saw it and made this his entry, he would certainly spot Stranahan’s aluminum skiff tied up under the water tanks. And then he would know.

Stranahan heard the Seacraft’s engines chewing up the marly bottom. The guy had missed the deep cut.

Stranahan heard the big boat thud into the pilings at the west end of the house. He could hear the guy clunking around in the bow, grunting as he tried to tie it off against the tide, which was falling fast.

Stranahan heard-and felt-the man hoist himself out of the boat and climb to the main deck of the house. He heard the man say: “Anybody home?”

The man did not have a light step; the captain was right-he was a big one. By the vibrations of the plankboards, Stranahan charted the intruder’s movements.

Finally the guy knocked on the door and said: “Hey! Hello there!”

When no one answered, the guy just opened the door.

He stood framed in the afternoon light, such as it was, and Stranahan got a pretty good look. The man had removed his sunglasses. As he peered into the dark house, his right hand went to the waist of his trousers. “State your business,” Stranahan said from the shadows. “Oh, hey!” The man stepped backward onto the deck, forfeiting his silhouette for detail. Stranahan did not recognize the face-an odd and lumpy one, skin stretched tightly over squared cheekbones. Also, the nose didn’t match the eyes and chin. Stranahan wondered if the guy had ever been in a bad car wreck. The man said: “I ran out of gas, and I was wondering if you had a couple gallons to get me back to the marina. I’ll be happy to pay.”