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been stove in.’
    â€˜They have collapsible boats,’ replied Logan. ‘They’re made of rubber.’
    â€˜Well, supposing it was possible to land a man safely from a submarine at the Frying Pan, why should the Germans want to? Surely they would have all their spies in the country by now?’
    It was a very reasonable point. Logan shrugged his great shoulders. ‘I’m not responsible for their actions,’ he said. ‘Maybe this man Cutner is a spy and one of the officers of the U-boat was sent ashore to collect important information from him.’
    The coastguard considered this for a moment whilst he explored his small discoloured teeth wih a toothpick. At length he shook his head and said, ‘You know, there are sharks on this coast.’
    â€˜Good God Almighty!’ exclaimed Big Logan with sudden exasperation. ‘Do you think I don’t know a bloody shark when I see one? This wasn’t a shark. The displacement of water was too great. It was either a submarine or a whale. And if you think you’ve ever seen a whale from this little perch of yours, you’d better put in for your discharge right now.’
    This outburst apparently left the little coastguard unmoved. He continued to drum with his fingers on his desk and to pick his teeth with the toothpick. In the end he turned to me and said, ‘What do you think about it, Mr Craig?’
    His question put me in an awkward situation. I was not at all convinced that Logan was right. It seemed much too fantastic. On the other hand, I did not want to offend him. I said, ‘I think the matter ought to be investigated.’
    The coastguard then turned to Logan. ‘What would you like me to do about it? Get on to the police?’
    â€˜What the hell’s the good of the police?’ demanded Logan. ‘Either get on to the Admiralty, or phone Scotland Yard and tell them to pass the information on to M.I.5.’ It was only then that I realized that he must be old enough to have been through the last war. Generally the inhabitants of English country districts call it the secret service. ‘If you don’t feel like doing either of these,’ he continued, ‘I suggest we settle the matter locally.’
    â€˜How?’
    â€˜Well, figure it out this way,’ he said. ‘You’re probably right when you say a spy wouldn’t be landed by submarine—certainly not on this part of the coast. If he is a German, then he’ll have been landed to collect information. And if he’s been landed to collect information, he’s still got to get it back to the submarine. Our job is to see that he doesn’t.’
    â€˜He may have rejoined his boat already,’ I said.
    â€˜What—last night?’ Big Logan shook his head. ‘The sea was rising fast. By the time he’d reached the cottage and got back to the shore again it would have been absolutely impossible to get a boat in anywhere along the cliffs there. It would have been pretty bad landing at Cadgwith even. What I suggest is, we lie in wait for him on the cliffs above the Frying Pan tonight. If he doesn’t come—well then, we can consider what’s best to be done.’
    The coastguard considered this. Then he said, ‘All right, Big Logan. You and Mr Craig here wait for him on the cliffs. I’ll take two of the boys and keep watch by the head there.’ He nodded through the window to the opposite headland that guarded the entrance to Cadgwith from the south west. ‘I suppose we can take your boat?’
    Big Logan nodded. ‘Surely. And take that old service revolver of yours, Ted—you may need it.’
    The coastguard pulled open a drawer and, routing among a pile of government forms and other papers, produced a revolver. He turned it over reflectively in his hand as though it brought back old memories. Then he shook his head. ‘It’s early for spy scares. Still, it