.
Our job was to find where the road opened into the lane, for after that
our way to Constantinople was clear. One side the lane lay, and the
other the house, and it didn't seem wise to take the risk of tramping
up with horses to the front door. So I told Peter to wait for me at
the end of the back-road, while I would prospect a bit. I turned to
the right, my intention being if I saw the light of a house to return,
and with Peter take the other direction.

I walked like a blind man in that nether-pit of darkness. The road
seemed well kept, and the soft wet gravel muffled the sounds of my
feet. Great trees overhung it, and several times I wandered into
dripping bushes. And then I stopped short in my tracks, for I heard
the sound of whistling.

It was quite close, about ten yards away. And the strange thing was
that it was a tune I knew, about the last tune you would expect to hear
in this part of the world. It was the Scots air: 'Ca' the yowes to the
knowes,' which was a favourite of my father's.

The whistler must have felt my presence, for the air suddenly stopped
in the middle of a bar. An unbounded curiosity seized me to know who
the fellow could be. So I started in and finished it myself.

There was silence for a second, and then the unknown began again and
stopped. Once more I chipped in and finished it. Then it seemed to me
that he was coming nearer. The air in that dank tunnel was very still,
and I thought I heard a light foot. I think I took a step backward.
Suddenly there was a flash of an electric torch from a yard off, so
quick that I could see nothing of the man who held it.

Then a low voice spoke out of the darkness--a voice I knew well--and,
following it, a hand was laid on my arm. 'What the devil are you doing
here, Dick?' it said, and there was something like consternation in the
tone.

I told him in a hectic sentence, for I was beginning to feel badly
rattled myself.

'You've never been in greater danger in your life,' said the voice.
'Great God, man, what brought you wandering here today of all days?'

You can imagine that I was pretty scared, for Sandy was the last man to
put a case too high. And the next second I felt worse, for he clutched
my arm and dragged me in a bound to the side of the road. I could see
nothing, but I felt that his head was screwed round, and mine followed
suit. And there, a dozen yards off, were the acetylene lights of a big
motor-car.

It came al