the Mounted Police. You remember Captain Arcoll,
Dick--Jim Arcoll? Well, Jim laughed so much that he broke open a wound
in his head, and had to have a doctor.'

'You were that man, Peter,' I said.

'_Ja_. I was the man. There are more ways of getting into kraals than
there are ways of keeping people out.'

'Will you take this chance?'

'For certain, Dick. I am getting stiff with doing nothing, and if I
sit in houses much longer I shall grow old. A man bet me five pounds
on the ship that I could not get through a trench-line, and if there
had been a trench-line handy I would have taken him on. I will be very
happy, Dick, but I do not say I will succeed. It is new country to me,
and I will be hurried, and hurry makes bad stalking.'

I showed him what I thought the likeliest place--in the spurs of the
Palantuken mountains. Peter's way of doing things was all his own. He
scraped earth and plaster out of a corner and sat down to make a little
model of the landscape on the table, following the contours of the map.
He did it extraordinarily neatly, for, like all great hunters, he was
as deft as a weaver bird. He puzzled over it for a long time, and
conned the map till he must have got it by heart. Then he took his
field-glasses--a very good single Zeiss which was part of the spoils
from Rasta's motor-car--and announced that he was going to follow my
example and get on to the house-top. Presently his legs disappeared
through the trap, and Blenkiron and I were left to our reflections.

Peter must have found something uncommon interesting, for he stayed on
the roof the better part of the day. It was a dull job for us, since
there was no light, and Blenkiron had not even the consolation of a
game of Patience. But for all that he was in good spirits, for he had
had no dyspepsia since we left Constantinople, and announced that he
believed he was at last getting even with his darned duodenum. As for
me I was pretty restless, for I could not imagine what was detaining
Sandy. It was clear that our presence must have been kept secret from
Hilda von Einem, for she was a pal of Stumm's, and he must by now have
blown the gaff on Peter and me. How long could this secrecy last, I
asked myself. We had now no sort of protection in the whole outfit.
Rasta and the Turks wanted our blood: so did Stumm and the Germans; and
once the lady found we were deceiving her she would want it most of
all. Our only hope was Sandy, and h