There was no time to make any plan.

The man was walking fast, and, as I have shown, Lass was no better than a maze.

With one consent, the three of us rushed to the door, and, while Hanbury was speaking the bookseller, Bell and I stepped directly into the street.

Mercifully a cart was standing not six feet away, and as we darted behind it, I saw that we had before us the very deuce of a task. The man was, of course, on his guard and knew us by sight: the hour was early, and, though the shops were open⁠—because, I suppose, it was Market day⁠—there were not twenty people in view: yet, had the street been crowded, our dress was fatally distinctive and had only to be seen to betray us and our design.

In a flash I had my coat off and had flung it into the cart. I pitched my hat after it, rolled my sleeves to the elbow and, seizing a sack of refuse, which was standing open-mouthed on the kerb, swung this on to my shoulder and started, bent double, down the street. I know the disguise was feeble, but I dared wait no more; and that was as well, for, before I had taken five steps, the man glanced over his shoulder and turned to the left.

We had now a stroke of good fortune, without which I cannot believe that we should have got very far, for it gave us a breathing-space and let me fall back a little and Hanbury and Bell come up.

I had hardly come to the corner, when I saw the fellow enter a tobacconist’s shop.

At once I turned to see Hanbury close behind. He was wearing a black overcoat, green with age, and the bookseller’s hat, which came down over his ears. In his hands was a newspaper, open as though to be read.

“Watch the tobacconist’s,” I said, and dashed between two houses to tear off my collar and tie.

As I returned a man passed, wheeling a bicycle. His form seemed familiar, and, when I looked at him again, I saw that it was Bell. He had no coat, hat or collar; his trousers were clipped at the ankle and seemed to be falling down; his face and hands were filthy beyond compare. He glanced down the street on his left, and, there, I suppose, seeing Hanbury, picked up his cue and turned.

As I came again to the corner, our man came out of his shop. For a moment he looked about, him, but seeing, I imagine, nothing at all suspicious, presently turned on his heel and went his way.

He was a tall, loose-limbed fellow, with a pasty face: he walked as though he liked the look of himself and wore his hat cocked on one side: and, since I presently learned that he was called “Casemate,” from now on I will speak of him by name.

I was slouching along behind him, still shouldering my sack, very conscious of my respectability and full of admiration for Bell, when I saw a crowd gathered ahead, where the street bellied into a place in front of a church. This seemed to interest Casemate, for all his haste, for I saw him peering to see what the matter might be; but, when he was nearer, he suddenly turned away and passed by on the opposite pavement, with his eyes on the ground.

I was wondering at his behaviour, when the crowd began to move and then fall away Then I saw a familiar bonnet and Mansel, with Rowley beside him, driving a Rolls. Behind came Carson.

Now such a meeting was more than I could have hoped for, for I had been racking my brain for some way in which to find Mansel and tell him what was afoot. Yet, though we were so happily met, I dared make no sign, for Casemate had his chin on his shoulder, and I could not have caught Mansel’s eye without catching his.

Going as slowly as I dared, with the tail of my eye I watched the car draw abreast; but the crowd was about her wings, and Mansel never looked up. I could have stamped for vexation, for Hanbury was shuffling upon the far side of the street, and Bell was already by. Then Carson cried out a warning and I heard a clatter and crash. Bell had wheeled his bicycle into the second car.

As he picked himself up, I heard Mansel asking for news.

“It’s all right, sir,” said Carson: “a cyclist⁠—” Bell gave him a malignant look⁠—“a cyclist walked into the car. And, excuse me, sir, but you’re rather down on the right. I think you must have broken a spring.”

That was as much as I heard and all that I wanted to know, for, if, when upon the road, one of us wished to say something which was not for everyone’s ears, he had but to state that the car before or behind him had broken a spring; such a statement would naturally call for investigation, and, while this was being conducted, the communication could be easily made.

Now all this was well enough, but, when I returned to Casemate, I saw that he had stopped and was standing under an archway, with his eyes on the two cars and a hand to his mouth.

For a moment my brain faltered. I dared not dally, and the last thing I wanted to do was to overtake the man. He had but to dwell upon my clothes to find them strange, and to walk with his eyes upon my back would be the way of a fool. Then I saw a garage before me and, without so much as blinking, I plodded in.

An engine was running, and two mechanics were busy about its head. As I came in, one lighted a cigarette and pitched the match still flaming, on to the floor. There must have been petrol there, for flames leapt up. As the fellow stood staring, I shot my sack of refuse on to the fire, and a moment later the three of us stamped it out.

Both seemed very grateful and clapped me upon the back. This goodwill was just what I wanted, and after an age of dumbshow, the taller of the two took off his dirty overalls and helped me to put them on. I gave him far more than they were worth and I think this satisfied them that I was in fear of the police: and, when I plunged my hands into a tray of old oil, wiped them upon my sleeves and smeared these across my face, I am sure they no longer doubted that a warrant was out for my arrest. Still, with my sack of refuse, I had done them a very good turn, and, though they looked none too easy, they shook me by the hand when I went and gave me a cigarette.

At first I could not see Casemate. Then I saw him striding along fifty yards off. He was just passing Bell, who was pumping up one of his tires, and Hanbury was shuffling along twenty paces behind. Mansel and the two cars were gone.

I was now much easier in my mind and followed with confidence, for my greasy suit had given me a new lease of life, and the thought that Mansel was soon to be in the background did my heart good.

Casemate went down to a river and over an arched, stone bridge. This was in the midst of the town, and here for the first time I was able to see about me and to mark the lie of the land.

Lass lay in a trough of the mountains, the wooded slopes of which pressed close upon every side: the approaches to the town were hidden, and even the railway line was not to be seen. I have known villages so bound, but never another town, and the dignity of spires and gables so landlocked was very pleasing. Yet, as I have said, I was sure that Adèle was not here, and, when Casemate soon took a way which ran out of the town, to curl out of sight between two beetling woods, I was not at all surprised.

That here, however, we three must make ourselves scarce was obvious enough, for, if the streets had been idle, except for a labouring wagon the road to come was bare. And, while I was thinking how we should bring this about, the thing was done.

Bell mounted his bicycle, slowly overtook Casemate and passed out of sight: Hanbury turned up a passage which seemed to lead to the woods: and I was left. As plainly as though they had spoken, they meant me to bring up the rear.

The manoeuvre was sound and perfectly carried out: I was filled with admiration for Hanbury and Bell: but the burden of Casemate’s suspicion was now thrown full upon me, and I was by no means certain that I could carry the weight. I had no cover: mechanics are seldom seen tramping a country road: no man or beast seemed to be going our way.

I continued to walk on slowly, watching Casemate approach the bend and racking my brain. As he turned, he hung on his heel, and after a long look behind him, passed out of view.

My fears now came to a head, and I dared not go on. I was sure the fellow was waiting for me to come up. Yet I dared not stop without reason, nor, without reason, disappear. Then I saw a café beside me, with a table outside its door.⁠ ⁠…

As they brought me wine and cigarettes, I saw Casemate’s head appear round the bend of the road.

How long he watched me I do not know, for I dared not look again at the bend until I had drunk my wine: but, when at last I threw it a careless glance, he was out of sight.

At once I left the café and took to the road.

Ten minutes went by before I saw Casemate again, for the way was a natural pass and humoured every whim of the mountains, rising and falling and twisting as these decreed. Indeed, I was afraid I had lost him and was on the point of breaking into a run, when I rounded a corner to see him ten paces away. I drew back at once out of sight, but the encounter shocked me, for it showed how unfitted I was for such an exercise.

But worse was to come.

I had gone, I suppose, a mile in fear and trembling, and the road had begun to rise in a steady climb, when I peered round a bend, to see Casemate retracing his steps.

Now I had just covered a fairly long, straight reach of road, and, before I could have retreated, he would have had me in view. This was plainly the reason why he had gone about, for, if he was being followed, here was the very place to discover his man.

Frantically I looked round for cover, but there was none at all. On one hand an open meadow fell down abruptly to the level the road had left: on the other a high bank of earth rose into a crumbling cornice that overhung the way. Only an oak leaned out of the earthy wall and was thrusting a branch like a rooftree over the road.

I am a tall man, but heavy, and to this day I cannot tell how I managed to leap so high: but, if I am heavy, I was desperate, and, as I have found before, desperation is a remarkable goad.

Be that as it may, in an instant I had hold of the bough and a moment later was astride it, looking down upon the ground. I then fell forward and cautiously raised my feet, till I was lying along it and, though there was little foliage, pretty well hid. The branch was massive and rigid as any rock.

Casemate rounded the corner and passed below where I hung. Finding the road deserted, he stopped in his tracks and, after a long look, turned on his heel and began to walk back up the hill, whistling some air as he went. He paused for a moment beneath me, to take out a cigarette, and, as he did so, we both heard the sound of the horn of an oncoming car.

Now this meant nothing to me, for the horn was that of some car which was going to Lass, but Casemate stiffened like a pointer and stood with his ears pricked and a match in one of his hands and its box in the other. Indeed, so concerned was his demeanour, that I expected him every instant to take to his heels, though why he should fear some car which could hardly be one of ours I could not think.

The horn was not sounded again, but soon we heard a car coming at a high enough speed.

Casemate immediately whipped to the side of the road, and, taking his stand by the bend, peered anxiously round. The next moment he was out in the fairway, spreading and waving his arms as a signal to stop.

I heard the brakes clapped on, but the car was round the corner before it had come to rest.

Casemate came running back, and somebody put out a head.

“What is it?” said Rose Noble.

I was so much dumbfounded that I nearly fell down from the bough, and then I saw that the luck I had found so unkind a moment ago was playing clean into our hands.

“Somebody’s talking,” said Casemate. “She’s got word through to mother, and Big Willie’s at Lass.”

There was a moment’s silence.

Then⁠—

“How d’you know?” said Rose Noble.

“Jute,” said Casemate. “Last night they came for Big Willie and told him that she had made touch. Jute heard them say so. Big Willie was off like a cracker, and, when he was good and gone, Jute slipped up to the station and took the train.”

“And led him to Lass,” said Rose Noble. “Go on.”

“B-but⁠—”

“Go on.”

“He’s there,” said Casemate doggedly. “I’ve seen him. Stuck up in the streets, with a Punch-and-Judy crowd round both of his cars.”

“Where’s Jute?”

“Lying low in the lodge.”

“Thought he’d done enough harm, I suppose?”

“He didn’t bring him,” said Casemate. “Big Willie’s⁠—”

“Of course he brought him,” roared Rose Noble, bursting out of the car. “You snake-faced idiot, what do you take me for? ‘Got word through to mother.’ This isn’t Marlborough Street.” He slammed the door with a fury that shook the car. “By ⸻,” he added, using a dreadful oath, “wait till I get at Jute. I told him they’d try to bounce him and I made him swear never to move when Big Willie was out of sight. Never. Why did he come by train?”

“Car wouldn’t start,” said Casemate.

“And that never showed him?” raged Rose Noble.

Casemate essayed no answer, but only stared upon the ground, plainly resenting a trouncing which Jute had won, yet sullenly conscious that, by adopting Jute’s reading, he had put himself out of court.

Rose Noble ripped off his hat and mopped his face.

“Who was with Big Willie?” he demanded.

“Two of the servants,” said Casemate.

For a moment Rose Noble stood still, with his head in the air. Then he lowered his eyes and looked at Casemate.

I suppose there was that in his gaze which shocked the other, for he shrank back against the wall, protesting the truth of his words.

“Quite right,” purred Rose Noble, “quite right. You only saw two of the servants. I passed the third on the road five minutes ago.”

A moment later the car was being turned round.

I think this short colloquy must show how fine and swift a brain our principal enemy had. No matter how clogged, he had the truth free in an instant, and, though, when he passed him, he had not recognized Bell⁠—and for that he can hardly be blamed, for he had seen him but once⁠—the moment he learned that one servant was not with Mansel, he knew why the dirty cyclist was taking his subordinate’s road. That he made no mention at all of Hanbury or me, was, I confess, a considerable blow to my pride, but I fear he credited us with little cunning, but only a blunt pugnacity when it came to a fight.

Now whether this stung into action my mother wit I cannot say, but I know that, as he and Casemate entered the car, I saw at my feet a chance which never would come again.

The car was closed, and its canopy was fixed: the road was narrow, and, in his endeavours to turn, the driver was bringing his charge directly below where I hung. For me to alight on its roof was the easiest thing in the world, and, once I was there, lying flat, although there was no luggage-rail, I could grip the canopy’s edge above the driver, for a shield, which is called a “sun-visor,” was there to conceal my hands.

In a flash I was sitting sideways upon the bough, and, as the car came back for the last time, I stepped gingerly on to its roof, trusting to my rubber-soled shoes to make no noise. I was flat in an instant, or the branch would have knocked me down, and a moment later I had fast hold of the rim which was to keep me steady and save me from sliding off.

As the car thrust forward⁠—

“Bunch,” said Rose Noble to the driver, “if you see that cyclist, run him down.”

“You bet,” said Bunch, and put the car at the hill with the rush of a bull.

I was not much alarmed for Bell’s safety, for I was quite certain that he had observed Rose Noble and, if he was yet upon the road, had only to hear the car coming to disappear. Indeed, I had my work cut out to think for myself, for the road was none too even and I was mortally afraid of losing my place.

Bunch was a good driver and swooped at his corners in a spectacular way, but, whenever he swung the car round, I had to fight like a madman to stay where I was, and if the fowls of the air have a sense of humour my progress must have afforded them infinite mirth. Except for one sharp descent, our road continued to rise or to keep the height it had won; and so far as I can remember we met no other vehicle. Two or three peasants passed, and the sight of them staring at me sent my heart to my mouth; but no one of those in the car seemed to notice their gaze, or, if they did, to find it curious.

At last we came to crossroads, where we turned to the right, and very soon after, we left the road for a drive which led into a wood so artlessly and was so shrouded with moss and the litter the trees had made that a man might have passed it by, as promising nothing at all. Yet in less than two minutes of time the wood was behind us, and we were heading for a castle which seemed to me to command all the kingdoms of the earth.

We were now upon the spur of a mountain, and, I judged, some three thousand feet up. The drive ran straight down the spur, the sides of which were plainly precipitous, for, after a little, the turf which flanked the drive fell suddenly out of sight. The whole of the end of the spur was masked by the castle’s façade, and it was easy to see that the building had been set on the spur as the nail upon a man’s finger, that is to say, moated on three of its sides by God knows what depths and accessible only on the fourth.

The walls were high and massive, rose into battlements and looked as good as new; and the place had an air of being old rather than ancient and more of an aerie than a keep. It was clearly inhabited, for there were blinds in its windows and smoke was rising from some chimney I could not see. Indeed, I could see nothing beyond the great façade, except a crocketed spire which stood up on the left. A stout, round tower rose at each end of the wall: these were corniced and had red, conical roofs: in the midst of the wall was a gateway, the great doors of which were shut.

I was now trembling with excitement, for the castle, of course, was the goal to which we had been trying to come, but what carried me away was the knowledge that I was about to be landed within its walls. Once I was in, and my presence unsuspected, who could tell what might not come about?

A yard or so from the gateway Bunch brought the car to rest. As he did so, his passengers alighted and passed at once to a wicket, cut out of the left-hand door. Then a bell clanged, and almost at once I heard steps. There was a grill in the wicket, and somebody drew its shutter to look between its bars. Whoever it was must have seen me, had not Rose Noble’s head been in the way.

“All right?” I heard him say.

“OK,” said the other, and opened the little door. Rose Noble and Casemate passed in.

Now, as soon as the car had stopped, I had moved as far as I could to the right of the canopy, so as to make the most of what cover I had: whether I moved again was depending on where the man stood who admitted the car. With one of the great doors set wide the car could pass in, and, if, as I fully expected, the left-hand door was opened, the porter was sure to hold it and I should be out of his sight.

Now so much fell out very well. Only one door was opened, and that was the left: I saw the hands of the porter pulling it back: but the door had been made in two halves, and, while the lower swung open, the upper stayed fast.

The car was about to pass in⁠—with three inches of headroom to spare, and, if I stayed on her roof, I should be swept off or crushed⁠—probably crushed.

Had I not been on the edge, I must have been badly hurt, for Bunch thrust forward, as though he knew I was there.

I got to my knees and jumped as best I could.

Happily I lit upon turf, but this sloped down from the drive, and I tumbled, like a clown in the sawdust, before I could bring myself up. As I did so, I heard the door shut and the bolts shot home.

To report to Mansel was plainly the first thing to do: and, since anyone at a window could have shot me down, I got to my feet and started to run for the wood. Except that I was shaken, I felt none the worse for my fall; and here I think I was lucky, for I had leapt blindly and had not taken off clean.

Halfway to the wood I rested behind a tree and looked about me.

The prospect was magnificent indeed: all around were mountains and forests, rising and falling as far as the eye could see, and, the sky being very blue and the sunshine brilliant, the castle looked fabulous, and a man that came suddenly upon it might well have been forgiven for rubbing his eyes.

How Rose Noble had come to be so installed I could not think, but, had he spent his life searching, he could not have found a prison one half so suitable. The place was solitary and most secure: no cries could be heard, nor any signals seen: the one approach was hidden, and such as found it could not conceal their coming, for there were not six trees on the spur and the wood lay two hundred yards from the castle wall.

This reflection made me take to my heels, for, if I could withdraw unseen, that would be a point in our favour, and we had none to spare. Indeed, when I thought of those walls my spirits sank, and remembering how near I had come to passing in, I could have struck myself. What was worse, I was sure that, had he been placed as I, Mansel would somehow have done it and not have let slip a chance which surely was gone for good.

So I came to the wood, and, after watching for some time for any sort of sign that I had been seen, made my way down the drive as fast as I could.

Twenty minutes later I reached the crossroads.

There to my great surprise, Rowley rose out of a ditch and said that Mansel was waiting a stone’s throw away. Then he told me which way to take, and a moment later I saw the two cars below me and Mansel and George poring over a paper book, whilst Carson was feeding Tester and Bell was washing his face in a little rill.

They seemed very glad to see me and most eager to hear my news.

I told my tale.

When I had finished, Mansel put a hand on my arm.

“William,” he said, “she will thank you. I haven’t got the words. But please don’t count it bad luck that you were shut out. If you had gone in, you’d have made a fatal mistake. Alone, unarmed and with no idea of the building, you wouldn’t have stood an earthly: and, what would have been far worse, we shouldn’t have known where you were.”

“But⁠—”

“There is no ‘but’ here,” said Mansel. “You’ve played and you’ve won your game: but, if you’d gone on, you’d have thrown the rubber away. Do please remember that battles have gone wrong, wars have been lost and the history of the world has been changed, because valour has outrun discretion and men have lost touch.”

It was easy enough to see the force of his words, and I have often thought since that the ways of Providence are strange indeed, for, if Casemate had not turned back, I should not have hung in the oak, and, if the castle door had not been cut asunder, I am sure that I should not have lived to tell this tale.

Then Mansel told me that Bell had seen Rose Noble go by and had followed him down; that George and Bell had both seen me on the roof of the car and, while George had pushed on to the crossroads, Bell had raced back to meet Mansel and bring up the cars.

“And now,” said he, “to breakfast. I picked up some food at Lass. And you’ll be glad of a wash. And as soon as ever we’ve done, I want you to show us around.”

Whilst we were eating, we decided that Mansel and George and I should go out on foot, that one servant should watch the crossroads and the others stay with the cars until we returned. If one of the enemy passed he was not to be stopped or followed, but only marked, “for,” said Mansel, “Mr. Chandos has done the trick, and we don’t want to start a new hare till we know where we are. Of course, if Rose Noble comes by, you will shoot him at sight: but, unless I’m much mistaken, he won’t come out any more.”

With that, he told Carson and Bell to serve out a pistol apiece, and, when this was done, he and George and I set out for the wood.

As we went I asked what was the book which I had found them reading when I came in.

George pulled it out of his pocket and held it up.

“Souvenir,” he said. “When I gave the bookseller his money and borrowed his plumes, he pressed this into my hand. He had a speech ready, I fear, but, beyond that he was the author, I have no idea what he said. Whilst I was waiting at the crossroads I looked to see what it was. It’s a guide in English to Lass and the neighbourhood. The grammar’s unequal, but, if I could write half as good a guide in German, I should be more than pleased. And it’s got a good plan of Lass and a couple of maps.”

We said no more at that time, for we were approaching the wood.

This we afterwards found was nearly a mile across, by some half a mile in depth. The drive which led to the spur went to the heart of the thicket and there turned sharp to the left: from there it ran slightly up hill to the edge of the wood and then directly down to the castle gate. It follows that, from anyone walking, the spur and the castle were hidden till he came to the edge of the wood, but then burst upon him in an instant, as though some curtain had suddenly been let fall.

Before we breasted the rise, for caution’s sake we had stepped in among the trees, and, when I had parted the branches and Mansel and George had come up, I heard the one catch his breath, while the other stood staring like a zany upon the remarkable scene.

Presently we moved to a knoll and lay down behind its swell.

The spur was empty, and the castle walls bare as I had left them: only the smoke I had noticed gave any sign of life.

“Where’s that guide?” said Mansel suddenly. “See if it mentions this place.”

Hanbury had the book in an instant and was studying one of its maps.

“Gath,” he said, after a moment. “This should be the Castle of Gath. And now for the text.”

Hastily he scanned the pages.

Then he bent the book open and gave it into Mansel’s hand.

And, since I cannot better the bookseller’s description of the place, I will set it down word for word.

The Castles of Gath.

Few peoples know of this castles, because great care was taken from at first that it must be most private and for a long time it was not mark on the state maps.

Gath was builted in the end of the fifteenth century by the great King Maximilian, Holy Roman Emperor, “The Last of the Knights,” as he is named by his proud loving subjects, so as to be a tranquil castles where he can retire to rest sometimes from the cares of reign. It was always kept in readiness to receive him and a small suite.

The visitor who will go the seven miles according to the plan of the page 7 will be handsomely rewarded, for the site is unique and the building is posed on the brink of a mountain and seems to be a veritable “castles in the air.” It is easy to believe that the great King was happy to stay here during his short respites and in the company of a few trusteds retainers to find peace and refreshment, not to be said inspirations for future glory.

But if one has found it so fine to see from afar, it will be a pity not to visit the interior. This may be done on Wednesdays and Saturdays between two and four o’clock by permission of the present owner, Count ⸻ of ⸻.

The visiting of the apartments is made under the custody of a caretakers who fulfils intelligence with curtesy.

We now enter by a deep archway into a fine courtyard, with a waterbason in its midst. A spring rises in the bason and flows in a cascade through the courtyard and under a smaller archway. Let us follow it. Lo, we are in a pretty terrace, where flowers blow, and running all of the length of the South of the Castles, not counting the round tower at each end. Here we seem to be standing on the edge of some earth, for the green cliff falls down directly and the cascade curves over it like a bow. This is the water supplies of the Castles.

We now retrace our steps to the courtyard and ascend the Grand Staircase on the West. The first room is an antichamber, as the furniture suggests, for everything has been left in the State Apartments as when the great King died.

The following was the reception room of the King. The tapestries are notable.

From this we go into a gallery of stone. Here, no doubt, were guards when the King was there, for the gallery is at the corner of the courtyard and the King’s apartments are about to begin. This gallery leads into the southwest tower, which is not shown and has been modernized, and another staircase goes down from it to the terrace where the flowers blow.

Now we come to the south front and the King’s apartments. These are untoucheds.

The first is another antichamber.

Then we enter the royal dining-room. The tapestries are very fine. The visitor will observe that the room is not large because the King has not entertained a guest here.

We now pass into the King’s Bedchamber. This is very stately. The crimson hangings of the magnificent bed and the superb furniture and tapestries, the richery of the polished woodcarvings all reflects the departed majesty of “The Last of the Knights.”

The King’s Closet comes next.

From this we enter the Queen’s Bedchamber, which is like the King’s, but, of course, less magnificence. The hangings are purple.

Then comes another day-chamber for the uses of the Queen, and we then enter an antichamber before passing into a stony gallery similar in all respects to the first.

The southeast tower is not shown.

Now we come to the oratory. There is a door and stairs going down from the oratory into the chapel. There are many shrines in the mountains, but not like this. It is still here always, in the midst of the storm. The glass in the panes is unquestionable and the finery of the woodcarving is beyond praise.

That is all that is shown.

The other part of the Castles have been modernized.

It is regretful that, since above written, the owner of Gath has lately died and there is a lawsuit for the possession of the Castles. Because of which the interior is not now shown.

This admirable description we read all three together, Mansel holding the book and waiting, until we had finished, to turn a page.

When it was done, he looked up into the sky.

Presently he sighed.

“One has much to be thankful for,” he said. And then, “Let’s hope they let her walk on ‘the pretty terrace, where flowers blow.’ ”

Hanbury and I said nothing, for, indeed, there was nothing to be said.

Presently Mansel spoke again.

“One thing stands out⁠—any chance of a snap division, which we may have thought we had, can be written right off. If they thought we were still at Villach, it would be different: when your enemy’s that far away, you’re apt to be careless about keeping the door he can’t enter and watching the wall he can’t scale. But to rush a position like this when it’s properly manned is quite impossible. Very well. There’s only one thing to do, and that is to go on playacting.

“If Chandos was not seen on the spur⁠—and I think it unlikely that he was⁠—Rose Noble has a right to infer that when we came to the crossroads we didn’t know which way to go. Well, he hasn’t much use for inferences, and so I propose to prove to his satisfaction that this inference is a fact. We’re going to forget about Gath, and we’re going to scour the country for miles around. We shall take up our quarters at Lass, come to the crossroads at dawn and spend the whole of the day visiting villages and farms and combing the countryside. While we are doing this we shall take care to study Gath from every side. That’ll be easy enough. And tomorrow, to round the picture, we shall discover the castle and drive up and ring the bell. I don’t imagine Rose Noble will answer the door, but I’m sure that he’ll be within earshot and I’d like him to hear what I say.

“And, if all goes well, two or three days later we’ll call again. But this time we’ll come by night, and I think we’ll let the bell go.”

For a little we lay there silent, digesting his words.

Then⁠—

“At the moment,” said I, “they’ve lost us. Doesn’t it seem a pity to let them find us again?”

“Yes,” said Mansel, “it does. But no man can have it both ways. So long as he’s out of touch, Rose Noble won’t close an eye: and so long as his eyes are open, we shall never get into Gath. So far as I can see, one sentry is more than enough to watch those walls. Very well. Would you omit that precaution, when the last time you’d seen the enemy he was two miles away?”

Hanbury fingered his chin.

“How did Rose Noble get there?” he said. “I mean, it’s a private house.”

Mansel shrugged his shoulders.

“I imagine he’s bought the caretakers. It’s often been done in London⁠—in the good old days. And there it was dangerous: but here there’s next to no risk. No neighbours to raise their eyebrows: seven miles from the nearest town: ownership in dispute, and no visitors allowed. Once he had found the place, it was too easy.”

“I agree,” said Hanbury. “And the greatest of these is ‘ownership in dispute.’ Supposing the disputants heard that the Castle of Gath was taking in paying guests.”

“What then?” said Mansel.

“Well, wouldn’t they take some action?”

“Of course they would,” said Mansel. “But what action would they take?”

“I don’t know,” said Hanbury. “But⁠—”

“Neither do I,” said Mansel, “and there’s the rub. If they’d let me take the action, well and good. But they’d never do that. If I pitched it in pretty strong, they’d probably come along with a couple of local police and a lawyer’s clerk.⁠ ⁠… And don’t forget⁠—whatever action was taken, Rose Noble would know whom to thank. He’d know that I was behind it, and I’m frankly afraid to think what his answer would be. You see, ‘the goods are perishable.’ Because of that, we must never let him see that the game is up. It’s got to be up, before he sees that it’s up⁠ ⁠… before he has time to hit back.⁠ ⁠…”

Half an hour later we were at the crossroads.

It was now eleven o’clock, and within a quarter of an hour our plans were laid.

For five miles about we were to prove the country, making no attempt at concealment and courting the observation of anyone watching from Gath: in this way, whilst appearing to search, we should gain such a knowledge of the district as might any moment be of the greatest use. In the course of our movements we were to visit two points from each of which it seemed likely that a man could look full upon Gath: these particular visits were, of course, to be surreptitiously made, and we hoped that they would help us to discover whether an endeavour to climb to the castle by the cliffs could possibly succeed.

Mansel and I would take one car, and Hanbury and Bell the other: each patrol was to go its own way, returning to the crossroads at sundown, en route for Lass.

Carson and Rowley, meanwhile, were to lie close in a wood and take their rest, “for tonight,” said Mansel, “you two must drive to Poganec and take Captain Pleydell our news.”

“How much shall you tell him?” said I, as we took to the car.

“Only where he can find me and that we know where she is.”

Yet when the time came to send it, the note was longer than that.

It was half past three when Mansel and I began to ascend a mountain which we thought must command the castle and be commanded in turn. Its sides and peak were wooded, so we had little to fear. The Rolls we had left with Tester by the side of the way, and each of us carried a binocular of a considerable power.

At last we came to the summit, and almost at once we saw Gath, not directly opposed, but lying a little to the left, so that we could observe the whole of its south and east sides.

I could dwell upon its emplacement, but I should waste my words, for I have not the pen to hail a miracle, and that is what we saw.

Enough that the face of the cliff was “produced” in the castle walls, and that Gath was the crown upon a crag that no man could ever scale.

So much the naked eye showed us.

It was the binoculars that showed us Adèle.

She was standing on the little terrace, with her hands on the balustrade. Whether she was watched I cannot say, but she was alone. Below her was the leaping cascade, and, behind, an archway, framing a door that was shut. She was standing very still; her head was up, and her eyes lifted to the peak upon which we stood.

Mansel tore off his wristwatch, ripped its case open and thrust the watch into my hand.

“Flash it in the sun,” he said, clapping the glasses to his eyes. “If she sees it, she’ll understand.”

The silver was bright as a mirror, and, while Mansel watched her, I twitched the case to and fro.

At last⁠—

“She’s seen it,” he said. “Now flash it six times, and cover it up with your hand between each flash.”

I did so.

“Now flash it once more,” said Mansel. “And then cover up.”

I did as he said.

After what seemed a long time⁠—

“Flash it again,” said he.

I did so: and, after a little, he told me to pocket the watch.

At last he put down his glasses and wiped the sweat from his face.

“She saw the signals,” he said. “She raised her hand. When you had acknowledged her gesture, she turned away. She’s⁠—very wise.”

“Has she gone?”

He nodded.

“She went up the staircase into the left-hand tower. And, after a moment, she showed some white at that window, halfway up. When you acknowledged that, she took it away. She’s very wise⁠—Adèle.”

That was a true saying: only the quickest wit and the steadiest brain would ever have done so well. I think her heart must have leapt, but she took no needless risk. One wave of her hand, and then⁠—straight to her quarters to show us where she was lodged. And that was all. She had no more to tell us, and the game was a dangerous one. The sooner it was done, the better for all concerned.

And here for the first time I saw how well and truly she and Mansel were matched. They were made of the same fine substance, a little higher than their fellows, and could speak a common language which others did not know. And, as Mansel and I lay there, on the edge of the great gulf fixed between us and Gath, I remember wondering whether, could she have done so, Adèle would have kept such letters as she had received from him.

At sundown we joined the others at the crossroads, and within the hour we sat down to supper at Lass.

When they had eaten, Carson and Rowley left for Poganec, taking a note with them.

This was brief, for Mansel was a man of few words.

September 6th,
10 p.m.

I know where Adèle is confined and saw her today from a distance. She seemed to be well. I am glad to say that I managed to attract her attention, and she now knows that help is at hand. I have reason to think that she is comfortably lodged. If need be, I can be found at the Three Kings Hotel, Lass. Please destroy this note and communicate its contents to no one but Daphne and Berry alone.