en I
heard the beat of wings and saw it volplaning downward to its home in
the wood. Lights twinkled for a bit and there was much coming and
going from the house. Then the dark fell, and silence.

Thank God it was a black night. The moon was well on its last quarter
and would not rise till late. My thirst was too great to allow me to
tarry, so about nine o'clock, so far as I could judge, I started to
descend. It wasn't easy, and half-way down I heard the back door of
the house open, and saw the gleam of a lantern against the mill wall.
For some agonizing minutes I hung by the ivy and prayed that whoever it
was would not come round by the dovecot. Then the light disappeared,
and I dropped as softly as I could on to the hard soil of the yard.

I crawled on my belly in the lee of a stone dyke till I reached the
fringe of trees which surrounded the house. If I had known how to do
it I would have tried to put that aeroplane out of action, but I
realized that any attempt would probably be futile. I was pretty
certain that there would be some kind of defence round the house, so I
went through the wood on hands and knees, feeling carefully every inch
before me. It was as well, for presently I came on a wire about two
feet from the ground. If I had tripped over that, it would doubtless
have rung some bell in the house and I would have been captured.

A hundred yards farther on I found another wire cunningly placed on the
edge of a small stream. Beyond that lay the moor, and in five minutes
I was deep in bracken and heather. Soon I was round the shoulder of
the rise, in the little glen from which the mill-lade flowed. Ten
minutes later my face was in the spring, and I was soaking down pints
of the blessed water.

But I did not stop till I had put half a dozen miles between me and
that accursed dwelling.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Dry-Fly Fisherman

I sat down on a hill-top and took stock of my position. I wasn't
feeling very happy, for my natural thankfulness at my escape was
clouded by my severe bodily discomfort. Those lentonite fumes had
fairly poisoned me, and the baking hours on the dovecot hadn't helped
matters. I had a crushing headache, and felt as sick as a cat. Also
my shoulder was in a bad way. At first I thought it was only a bruise,
but it seemed to be swelling, and I had no use of my left arm.

My plan was to seek Mr Turnbull's cottage, recover my garments, and
especially Scudder's note-book