longed for a good Afrikander pony!
I put on a great spurt and got off my ridge and down into the

moor before any figures appeared on the skyline behind me. I
crossed a burn, and came out on a highroad which made a pass

between two glens. All in front of me was a big field of heather
sloping up to a crest which was crowned with an odd feather of

trees. In the dyke by the roadside was a gate, from which a grass-
grown track led over the first wave of the moor.

I jumped the dyke and followed it, and after a few hundred yards
- as soon as it was out of sight of the highway - the grass stopped

and it became a very respectable road, which was evidently kept
with some care. Clearly it ran to a house, and I began to think of

doing the same. Hitherto my luck had held, and it might be that my
best chance would be found in this remotedwelling. Anyhow there

were trees there, and that meant cover.
I did not follow the road, but the burnside which flanked it on

the right, where the bracken grew deep and the high banks made a
tolerable screen. It was well I did so, for no sooner had I gained the

hollow than, looking back, I saw the pursuit topping the ridge
from which I had descended.

After that I did not look back; I had no time. I ran up the
burnside, crawling over the open places, and for a large part wading

in the shallowstream. I found a deserted cottage with a row of
phantom peat-stacks and an overgrown garden. Then I was among

young hay, and very soon had come to the edge of a plantation of
wind-blown firs. From there I saw the chimneys of the house smoking

a few hundred yards to my left. I forsook the burnside, crossed
another dyke, and almost before I knew was on a rough lawn. A

glance back told me that I was well out of sight of the pursuit,
which had not yet passed the first lift of the moor.

The lawn was a very rough place, cut with a scythe instead of a
mower, and planted with beds of scrubby rhododendrons. A brace

of black-game, which are not usually garden birds, rose at my
approach. The house before me was the ordinary moorland farm,

with a more pretentious whitewashed wing added. Attached to this
wing was a glass veranda, and through the glass I saw the face of

an elderly gentleman meekly watching me.
I stalked over the border of coarse hill gravel and entered the

open veranda door. Within was a pleasant room, glass on one side,
and on the other a mass of books. More books showed in an inner

room. On the floor, instead of tables, stood cases such as you see in
a museum, filled with coins and queer stone implements.

There was a knee-hole desk in the middle, and seated at it, with
some papers and open volumes before him, was the benevolent old

gentleman. His face was round and shiny, like Mr Pickwick's, big
glasses were stuck on the end of his nose, and the top of his head

was as bright and bare as a glass bottle. He never moved when I
entered, but raised his placid eyebrows and waited on me to speak.

It was not an easy job, with about five minutes to spare, to tell a
stranger who I was and what I wanted, and to win his aid. I did not

attempt it. There was something about the eye of the man before
me, something so keen and knowledgeable, that I could not find a

word. I simply stared at him and stuttered.
'You seem in a hurry, my friend,'he said slowly.

I nodded towards the window. It gave a prospect across the
moor through a gap in the plantation, and revealed certain figures

half a mile off straggling through the heather.
'Ah, I see,' he said, and took up a pair of field-glasses through

which he patiently scrutinized the figures.
'A fugitive from justice, eh? Well, we'll go into the matter at our

leisure. Meantime I object to my privacy being broken in upon by
the clumsy rural policeman. Go into my study, and you will see

two doors facing you. Take the one on the left and close it behind
you. You will be perfectly safe.'

And this extraordinary man took up his pen again.
I did as I was bid, and found myself in a little dark chamber

which smelt of chemicals, and was lit only by a tiny window high
up in the wall. The door had swung behind me with a click like the

door of a safe. Once again I had found an unexpected sanctuary.
All the same I was not comfortable. There was something about

the old gentleman which puzzled and rather terrified me. He had
been too easy and ready, almost as if he had expected me. And his

eyes had been horribly intelligent.
No sound came to me in that dark place. For all I knew the

police might be searching the house, and if they did they would
want to know what was behind this door. I tried to possess my soul

in patience, and to forget how hungry I was.
Then I took a more cheerful view. The old gentleman could scarcely

refuse me a meal, and I fell to reconstructing my breakfast. Bacon
and eggs would content me, but I wanted the better part of a flitch

of bacon and half a hundred eggs. And then, while my mouth was
watering in anticipation, there was a click and the door stood open.

I emerged into the sunlight to find the master of the house
sitting in a deep armchair in the room he called his study, and

regarding me with curious eyes.
'Have they gone?' I asked.

'They have gone. I convinced them that you had crossed the hill.
I do not choose that the police should come between me and one

whom I am delighted to honour. This is a lucky morning for you,
Mr Richard Hannay.'

As he spoke his eyelids seemed to tremble and to fall a little over
his keen grey eyes. In a flash the phrase of Scudder's came back to

me, when he had described the man he most dreaded in the world.
He had said that he 'could hood his eyes like a hawk'. Then I saw

that I had walked straight into the enemy's headquarters.
My first impulse was to throttle the old ruffian and make for the

open air. He seemed to anticipate my intention, for he smiled
gently, and nodded to the door behind me.

I turned, and saw two men-servants who had me covered with pistols.
He knew my name, but he had never seen me before. And as the

reflection darted across my mind I saw a slender chance.
'I don't know what you mean,' I said roughly. 'And who are you

calling Richard Hannay? My name's Ainslie.'
'So?' he said, still smiling. 'But of course you have others. We

won't quarrel about a name.'
I was pulling myself together now, and I reflected that my garb,

lacking coat and waistcoat and collar, would at any rate not betray
me. I put on my surliest face and shrugged my shoulders.

'I suppose you're going to give me up after all, and I call it a
damned dirty trick. My God, I wish I had never seen that cursed

motor-car! Here's the money and be damned to you,' and I flung four
sovereigns on the table.

He opened his eyes a little. 'Oh no, I shall not give you up. My
friends and I will have a little private settlement with you, that is

all. You know a little too much, Mr Hannay. You are a clever
actor, but not quite clever enough.'

He spoke with assurance, but I could see the dawning of a doubt
in his mind.

'Oh, for God's sake stop jawing,' I cried. 'Everything's against
me. I haven't had a bit of luck since I came on shore at Leith.

What's the harm in a poor devil with an empty stomach picking up
some money he finds in a bust-up motor-car? That's all I done, and

for that I've been chivvied for two days by those blasted bobbies
over those blasted hills. I tell you I'm fair sick of it. You can do

what you like, old boy! Ned Ainslie's got no fight left in him.'
I could see that the doubt was gaining.

'Will you oblige me with the story of your recent doings?'he asked.
'I can't, guv'nor,' I said in a real beggar's whine. 'I've not had a