He had come from the sea, and he had been in no hurry. He was never going to be in a hurry any more. He had all the time there was. He lay waiting, quite patient and relaxed, his feet still in the shadows, his body still a part of the lazy rhythm of the sea. Job Crandall stood beside him. He was not doing anything. There was nothing in particular to do. Vickers knelt in the wet sand. Crandall said jerkily, “We went out on the terrace, the five of us. We were talking about Harry, wondering where he was. I was leaning on the wall, looking at the water, thinking about going for a swim, and I saw something. It seemed to float out from under the landing. I thought it was driftwood at first, and then – I called Bill, and we watched it...” Bill Saul said, “He must have been caught under the landing, Vick. Look at his face.” Vickers nodded. “Barnacles.” Bryce was lying partly on his right side, his head tipped comfortably over.
