“I suppose that could be possible,” conceded Blade. “But it would be by no means probable. I have never heard of such a happening. It would be as unlikely as a launch being attacked by a sea-serpent or a gang of mermen.”

“Could theDo-me have capsized through any other cause, do you think?”

“Not through any cause due to the launch herself,” replied Blade. “It was a very calm day, remember. TheDo-me is as seaworthy a craft as any at Bermagui.”

The policeman’s chair scraped noisily on the floor and he rose to his feet. With slow deliberation, he slid the notebook into a breast pocket whilst he looked down at the club secretary.

“We’ll know what happened to theDo-me some day-perhaps,” he said. “It’s rough on the Spinks women, this not knowing what has happened. They’re up on the headland now. They’ve been there since breakfast this morning, and they were up there before daybreak. See you later.”

After Telfer had gone Edward Blade thought to note the time. It was four minutes to five. The sunlight was slanting into his office through window and open door. He began to type a letter to a sports firm, gave it up and walked to the doorway, where he paused and searched the sky. It was streaked with faint gossamer ribbons. Re-entering the office he again tapped the barometer. The pointer indicated a drop to 29.5. Standing in the doorway once again he looked to the north past the township, over the inner bay and across the great bay to Dromedary Mountain, backing it. Thin clouds crowned its summit. Opposite the office, across the road and the un-built-on land, the river’s estuary came from the low promontory protecting its mouth to curve eastward past the launch jetty. The stretch of sheltered water was covered with dark cat’s-paws.

“Going to be a dirty night,” he murmured, summing up all these weather signs. “Ah!”

Coming towards him, to pass his office on her way home, was Marion Spinks. The wind on the headland had blown her hair into disorder. Even here in the street it teased the hem of her skirt.