and spend at least
three days there--a very different proposition!

I had been chosen for this service for three reasons: because I was
supposed to be a cool hand in what the English call a "tight place";
because I could talk English not merely fluently, but with the real
accent and intonation--like a native, in fact; and I believe because
they thought me not quite a fool. As you shall hear, there was to be
one much wiser than I to guide me. He was indeed the brain of this
desperate enterprise, and I but his messenger and assistant. Still,
one wants a messenger with certain qualities, and as it is the chief
object of this narrative to clear my honour in the eyes of those who
sent me, I wish to point out that they deliberately chose me for this
job--I did not select myself--and that I did my best.

It was my own idea to take a motor-bicycle, but it was an idea
cordially approved by those above me. There were several obvious
advantages. A motor-cyclist is not an uncommon object on the roads
even of those out-of-the-way islands, so that my mere appearance would
attract no suspicion; and besides, they would scarcely expect a visitor
of my sort to come ashore equipped with such an article. Also, I would
cover the ground quickly, and, if it came to the worst, might have a
chance of evading pursuit. But there was one reason which particularly
appealed to me: I could wear my naval uniform underneath a suit of
cyclist's overalls, and so if I were caught might make a strong plea to
escape the fate of a spy; in fact, I told myself I was not a
spy,--simply a venturesome scout. Whether the British would take the
same view of me was another question! Still, the motor-cycle did give
me a chance.

My first task was to cover the better part of twenty miles before
daybreak and join forces with "him" in the very innermost shrine of
this sanctuary--or rather, on the shore of it. This seemed a simple
enough job; I had plenty of time, the roads, I knew, were good, nobody
would be stirring (or anyhow, ought to be) at that hour, and the
arrangements for my safe reception were, as you shall hear, remarkably
ingenious. If I once struck the hard main road, I really saw nothing
that could stop me.

The first thing was to strike this road. Of course I knew the map by
heart, and had a copy in my pocket as a precaution that was almost
superfluous, but working by map-memory in the dark is not so easy when
one is going across country.