I was busy with the lead line, as we were in shallow water, when Davies suddenly said, "Is that a boat ahead?"

I was desperately impatient to get on, but it took us most of the day to reach Langeoog, and we anchored that night near Baltrum, in a thick white fog. The next morning we continued our painfully slow journey, and in the afternoon I heard Davies shout at last, "There's Norderney!" I looked up and saw, through the mist, a group of grassy sandhills, exactly like a hundred others I had seen recently, but of much greater interest to me.

We left Bensersiel the next morning, but the wind had dropped, just when we needed it most, and sometimes we did not seem to be moving at all, but were just rolling from side to side. In the distance we saw the Blitz, travelling rapidly westwards, and I felt sure the Kormoran would also be on her way to Norderney.

Davies said nothing, and seemed to forget that he was steering the boat. We touched the sandbank, but luckily the tide pushed us away again. His next words surprised me. "Let go the anchor. Lower the sail."

"The Kormoran, do you think?" I asked, noticing what looked like a fishing boat in the distance.

"That little boat," he said. "It's her, I'm sure. It's the Medusa 's dinghy. She's come to meet m --, I mean, us." He pushed the binoculars into my hand, and I saw a pretty little white sail coming closer. I kept my eyes on the boat, as I did not want to look at Davies. At last I heard him draw a deep breath. He turned to the Dulcibella's dinghy.

When I had done this, Davies was still staring into the mist through his binoculars, and, to my astonishment, I noticed that his hands were trembling violently. I had never seen this happen before, even at moments of great danger.

"You come, too," he offered, jumping in and picking up the oars.

"Carruthers," said Davies, "if she comes aboard, please remember she's outside this business. There are no clues to be got from her."

"What's the matter?" I asked. "Are you cold?"

"I'll keep out of it this time," I said. "You do and say what you like."

He rowed away, just as he was, with unbrushed hair and in his old sailing clothes. I watched the two boats getting closer in the mist, and heard a great splashing of oars. Finally I saw the boats being pulled up on a sandbank, and then two figures walking rapidly to meet each other. And then I thought it was time to go below to tidy the cabin.

"I'd rather stay. I'll tidy up the cabin."

I went up on deck, and found Davies with a very pretty girl, about nineteen years old. She was wearing a thick jacket, dark skirt and rubber boots, and her rose-brown skin lent a delicious touch of colour to the greyness of the sea and sky. When she looked at me and spoke, I knew immediately that she was no "Fräulein Dollmann", but as English as I was, although she must have spoken German ever since she was a child.

Nothing on earth could have made the Dulcibella's cabin a suitable place to receive a lady, but I did my best, putting clothes away in cupboards, a clean cloth on the table, and books back on the shelf. I had just put water on to boil for tea, when I heard the dinghy return.

She looked eagerly round the yacht, asking questions about all she saw, but it was obvious that she was more interested in Davies himself. The way she looked at him, and the way he looked at her, made me feel sorry for myself, because I was not in love, and even sorrier for Davies, because I could not see how all this would end. One thing was clear, however. She could never have been involved in her father's attempt to kill Davies.

"Father said you'd be safe," she said.

"Oh, it was quite safe," replied Davies. "But it's much better to have a friend."

We went below into the cabin, where the water was just beginning to boil. Miss Dollmann was in a light-hearted mood, laughing and joking about all our little domestic arrangements.

"How did you manage alone that day?" she asked him suddenly. "You know, on the way to Cuxhaven."

She looked at me, and -- well, I was suddenly extremely proud to be Davies's friend.

"You will stop at Norderney?" she asked us.

I looked at Davies. It was up to him. But I need not have doubted him. There was no hesitation in his reply. "Yes, of course we shall. I'd like to see your father again."

"Ye-es," she said, anxiously, "yes, I'm sure he will be glad to see you." She did not sound at all certain. "He'll be back tomorrow. You know, we aren't living on the Medusa at the moment, but in our house on Norderney. My stepmother is there too." She gave Davies the address, a little unwillingly, it seemed to me.

The difficult moment passed and a warm and friendly feeling returned to the cabin as the three of us sat down to enjoy our tea together. But that pleasant event never took place -- all because of an English name in gold-painted letters on the cover of an old book on our bookshelf. The disaster came and went so quickly that at the time I had no idea what caused it. One moment our visitor was laughing and talking to Davies, while looking through some of our books. Then suddenly there was an awful silence, and I turned round from making the tea. She was sitting quite still, with eyes wide open, and a very white, frightened face.

"What's the matter?" asked Davies in English, but she did not answer, and almost ran up the ladder, like a wounded animal trying to escape. She had reached the deck and jumped into the dinghy, before she realized she needed one of us to go with her and bring the boat back.

After a few seconds, she managed to speak. "How late it is -- I really must go. My boat won't be safe." She got up from the table.

"Herr Carruthers," she said. "I want to say something to you." (It sounded like von Brüning's warning all over again.) "I made a mistake just now. It's not a good idea for you to call on us at Norderney tomorrow. My father is always busy."

"Go on," said Davies to me in English. I jumped into the dinghy. The poor girl tried to apologize to Davies, but could not find the right words.

"Oh, no, thank you. If you will be so kind, Herr Carruthers. It's your turn. I mean --"

"Davies can…" I began, but she interrupted me.

I offered to row, but she took no notice and rowed fast towards her sailing boat. It was now floating gently off the sandbank, where it was anchored.

"We can come another day. We have several days to spare," I said, "and we have to stop at Norderney for letters, anyway."

"Goodbye," he said simply, and turned away.

"Please don't come because of us," she said. "This fine weather may not last. It would be a pity not to use it to sail to England. And my father will be too busy to see you, I know."

"But we could see you, surely," I replied.

"No, no, please," she said quickly. "My father would not like it. I should not have come today. Please tell Herr Davies that -- he must not come near us."

"What on earth can have upset her?" I asked.

"He'll understand," I said. "I know he'll be very sorry, but you can always trust him to do the right thing."

"Yes, I know I can," she said softly. "Goodbye. Please say goodbye to Herr Davies for me."

"What about it?" I asked, puzzled.

I rowed back to the yacht, where I found Davies in the cabin. He had taken down all the books from the shelf, and was staring at the one he held in his hand.

"I've just realized," he said. "It was this," and he handed me the book. I had seen it before on the shelf, but never opened it. It was about sailing on the east coast of England, with all the usual details of winds and tides.

I looked. It showed a young man on the deck of a small yacht. "Well?" I still could not understand.

"Don't you see? She was looking at this book," said Davies. "Look at the photograph at the front."

"It's him!"

"Dollmann!" cried Davies. "Dollmann wrote it! She was upset because now we know who her father really is!"

"Who?"

I looked at the front of the book. The author was Captain X of the Royal Navy. The book had been written sixteen years before. "Are you sure it's him?" I asked.

"I've never seen another copy," said Davies. "I bought this one for a few pence, in a second-hand bookshop."

"Quite sure," Davies replied. He looked again at the picture. "Yes, that's Dollmann, all right."

"Didn't you say that Dollmann visited you on the Dulcibella in September?" I asked.

"So, sixteen years ago he was an officer in the British Navy, and now he's working for the Germans," I said slowly. "He's about fifty now, you said, so that fits in. And the girl has been speaking German since she was a child. They must have come to Germany soon after he wrote the book. Is it a well-known book?"

"Of course! He must have seen the book. Perhaps he thought I'd recognized him. That explains everything!"

"Does it?" I said. "Perhaps he's just someone who did something wrong, had to leave the navy, and came here, where nobody knew him, to start a new life."

"She's lovely, Davies," I said. "You'll be a lucky man if… well, better not think about that for the moment. I'm sorry I ever thought badly of her. I can see she's quite innocent of any unpleasant business. Mind you, she's aware that they have a past to hide. This makes the problem much more difficult for us, doesn't it?"

"Not at all," said Davies. "It just means that there are two things we must do. We must find out exactly what Dollmann is doing and stop him, and we've got to make sure she doesn't suffer because of his guilt."

"Yes, I know. But she said he's coming back on the ferry from the mainland tomorrow morning. We'd better be there when he arrives."

"He's still away," I said.

"No, that's not it," said Davies. "That doesn't explain why Grimm's been watching us, or why von Brüning suspects us. What do you think of the daughter?" he added.

We arrived at Norderney town in the evening, and anchored on the edge of the deep water channel, about fifty metres from the harbour entrance. We were too excited to sleep, or do anything except make plans, and talk. At last Davies's natural shyness left him, and I was able to see into the secret corners of his heart. He loved this girl, and he loved his country, and he was determined to be loyal to both of them. Somehow, a way must be found to do this.

After much discussion, we realized there was only one answer -- to get Dollmann, secrets and all, daughter and all, away from Germany completely. This was now our goal, and we took delight in the challenge. We had no clear idea how we would reach the goal, but there were two possible ways forward. One was to continue searching the area for clues of some kind; and the other was to use this new information about Dollmann to force him to tell us what was going on. By the time we went to bed, this second plan was the preferred one.