I felt the flag's toggle jam chock-a-block against the truck of the
staff, and gave a tug, shaking out the flag to the still morning
breeze. A second later something thudded on the turf close at my
feet.
I stared at it; but the halliards were in my hand, and before picking
it up I must wait and make them fast on the cleat. Still I stared at
it, there where it lay on the dim turf.
And still I stared at it. Either I was dreaming yet, or this--this
thing that had fallen from heaven--was the oilskin bag that had
wrapped Captain Coffin's chart.
I stooped to pick it up. At that instant the side-gate rattled, and
with a start I faced, in the half light--Captain Branscome.
CHAPTER XV.
CAPTAIN BRANSCOME'S CONFESSION--THE MAN IN THE LANE.
He opened the gate and came across the turf to me. I observed that
his hand trembled on his walking-cane, and that he dragged his
injured leg with a worse limp than usual; also--but the uncertain
light may have had something to do with this--his face seemed of one
colour with the grey dust that powdered his shoes.
"Good morning, Harry!"
"Good morning, sir," I answered, crushing the oilskin into my pocket
and waiting for his explanation.
"You are surprised to see me? The fact is, I have something to tell
you, and could not rest easy till it was off my mind.
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