Gavin and Liz tried to read for a while, gave it up and made some coffee. Concentration seemed impossible, so they sat and talked.

A sudden pounding on the improvised door crashed through the quietness.

Liz was trembling a little. "This isn't exactly the place where one would expect callers. And we don't know a soul, round here. Whoever can it be?'

'Well, there's only one way to find out,' Gavin Royle's smile reassured her as he got to his feet and made for the door. He tugged at the wooden framework and with a grinding and screeching it was forced open.

'Good evening.'

The man on the threshold was tall and austere-looking, with an aquiline face with bushy eyebrows and a moustache which suggested he had been in military service at some time or other. The completely bald head seemed to add a sinister aspect, yet his tweed jacket, plus-fours and Wellington boots were in keeping with the surroundings.

'Do I have the honour of addressing Professor Lowson?' His voice was cultured, firm.

'Er—no.' Gavin was perplexed for a moment. 'But I'll fetch him for you. Would you care to step inside a moment?' 'Thank you.'

Gavin turned, but Professor Lowson was already in the 'hall'.

'Who is it?'

He wrinkled his nose, a habit of his when he was annoyed at being disturbed, and peered over the top of his spectacles at the newcomer.

Their visitor seemed equally surprised at the appearance of the Professor. 'My name is Haywood, Manton Hay-wood. You must have noticed the small lighthouse at the place where the road joins the sea-wall. I live there. I am an ornithologist.'

'A bird-watcher!' There was a faint note of contempt in Professor Lowson's voice.

That's right. I'm working at the moment in a survey to find out the number of pinkfeet geese which use the Wash as a wintering ground.'

Professor Lowson sneered. 'Very interesting I'm sure. But I fail to see how I can help you.'

'You can help me,' said the ornithologist, annoyed by the other's attitude, 'by keeping off the mud-flats. I was talking to Ramsey Keen the doctor in Sutton. He's a bit of an archaeologist himself. Knows all about you. Well, the mud-flats are the main roosting grounds of the wild geese in this area. Disturbance would scatter them and make my job ten times more difficult Therefore I must ask you not to go further than the edge of the saltings.'

Lowson's beard twitched. Liz knew the signs only too well. The storm clouds were gathering within.

'Oh yes,' the Professor thrust his head forward and glowered at their visitor over the top of his spectacles. 'Well let me tell you something Mister ... Mister...' he never could remember names, 'Mister-whatever-your-name is. The mud-flats are the property of the Crown. That means anyone who wants to can walk on them. Dig on them. Do what you like on them. Got it.'

Manton Haywood drew himself up to his full height, towering above the Professor. His fists clenched until his knuckles showed white. His complexion took on a purple tinge. His lips were white and bloodless.

Then without a word he turned on his heel and stalked outside. For some time the three of them stood there in silence. Nobody spoke until the last squelching footstep had died away.

'Damn the impertinence of the fellow!' Lowson adjusted his spectacles and smoothed his beard. 'Just who does he think he is? I think that tomorrow we shall begin our search on these very, mud-flats. A mission such as ours shall not be thwarted by the likes of man such as that'

He stalked back to his quarters and Liz put the kettle on again.

'Your uncle's determined isn't he?' Gavin laughed.

'When he's got a bee in his bonnet nothing'll stop him,' Liz smiled and added, 'me too!'

But hardly had they poured their coffee before another heavy knocking came upon the door.

'Who the hell.. .' Gavin struggled to his feet but Professor Lowson was already on his way to answer it, muttering angrily to himself.

'Confound the man!' he snarled. 'I thought I made myself perfectly clear.' He dragged the door open. 'Now for the last time.. .'

His words trailed off. It was not Manton Haywood who stood on the threshold.

This man was small of build. Several days' growth of beard covered sharp features and his deep, sunken eyes darted suspiciously in all directions. He wore a camouflaged army-surplus combat jacket and thigh-length waders. A tattered cap, several sizes too small, vainly tried to cover unruly locks of long grey hair.

'What d'you want?' Professor Lowson was in no mood to be amicable.

'That's just what I've come to ask you,' the other replied. 'Who the hell d'you think you are to move into this place just as though you bloody well owned it? You bloody shooters are a nuisance from the time the season opens until it doses. All you do is scare off all the ducks and geese so that there's none left for a feller like me who has to make a livin' out of 'em! '

'Firstly,' Professor Lowson took a step forward, 'we are not shooters. Secondly, as I've already told another of you locals, we shall do just what the hell we please while we are here. And thirdly, who are you to come banging on my door at this time of night?'

'Mallard Glover's the name.' The wildfowler stood with his hands on his hips, 'and what I say on this part of the marshes goes! I've been fowlin' and whelkin' here for nigh on thirty years. Never 'ad no trouble till you blasted tit-shooters from the cities started comin' 'ere. I ain't 'avin' none of it mate. I got me a livin' to make and I ain't 'avin' it mussed up by the likes of a bearded old bastard like you!'

The thunder clouds which had been building up inside Lowson suddenly burst. Rage replaced reason. His clenched fist swung in a wide arc and crunched with all the force of his body behind it on Glover's jaw.

The wildfowler seemed to become airborne and then he crashed full length into the mud. For some moments he lay still and then very slowly he forced himself up on to his knees. His features were completely hidden beneath a layer of thick marsh ooze.

'Uncle Jack!' Liz darted forward and placed a restraining hand on her uncle's arm in case he was thinking of following up the assault. 'Uncle Jack! You shouldn't have done that.'

'You're damn right he shouldn't 'ave.' Mallard Glover spat out mud as he spoke. 'That's assault that is. I could go to the police. But I won't. I'll get even just the same though. You see if I don't.'

'Clear off!' Gavin decided it was time that he took a hand. 'You only got what you asked for. Now clear out and don't come back. Otherwise you'll get my boot up your arse to help you on your way.'

Mallard Glover picked himself up, shook himself like a dog and without even a backward glance sloped off into the night.

'Christ!' Gavin forced the door closed and followed the other inside. 'It seems we're not exactly popular, to say the least!'

'Lesson number one. Never get involved with locals when you're on a job like this. You'll never get any help out of them. Only hinderance and trouble. They always think you're out to pinch something which is theirs by right. Now we'd better turn in and get some sleep. We've got a busy day in front of us tomorrow.'

He stalked back to his quarters,

Gavin looked at Liz.

'Well that's a jolly start to our stay on the Wash. I wonder why everybody wants us out of the way. Is it really just because we're likely to disturb the birdies ?'

'What do you mean, Gavin?' Her expression was puzzled.

'I don't know,' he replied, 'maybe I'm tired and just letting my imagination run riot.'

Their lips met in a lingering kiss. This time his hands caressed her breasts through her sweater. She did not draw away.

He watched her enter her room. His hardness and his instincts told him to follow her. Reason advised him to wait Just a little while.