(and they were anxious ones) he reached the point for
which he had been steering, a platform of rock and thin turf from which a
limestone cliff, parting the woods, descended almost sheer to the valley.
The White Rock it was called, and as a child Walter a Cleeve had climbed
about it a score of times in search of madrepores; for a gully ran down
beside it, half choked with fern and scree, and from the gully here and
there a ledge ran out across the cliff-face, otherwise inaccessible.
The gully itself, though daunting at first sight, gave, in fact, a short
cut down to the meadows above Cleeve Court, easy and moderately safe.
Walter a Cleeve plunged into it without hesitation.

Now it so happened that at this moment, some fifty yards down the gully,
and well screened by the overhanging rock, Charley Hannaford was crouching
with a wire in his hand. Even had you known his whereabouts and his
business, it would have been hard to stalk Charley Hannaford single-handed
on the face of the White Rock. But the wiliest poacher cannot provide
against such an accident as this--that a young gentleman, supposed to be
in France, should return by an unfrequented path, and by reason of an
awkward French boot catch his toe and slide precipitately, without
warning, down twenty feet of scree, to drop another six feet on to a
grassy ledge. Yet this is just what happened. Charley Hannaford, already
pricking up his ears at the unfamiliar footfall up the gully had scarcely
time to rise on his knees in readiness for retreat, when Walter a Cleeve
came sprawling almost on top of him.

"Hallo!" gasped Walter, scarcely more confused by his fall than by the
singular meeting. "Clumsy of me--" His eyes fell on the wire which
Hannaford was stealthily trying to pocket, and grew wide with
understanding. Then they sought the ground by Hannaford's feet, and
glanced from that up to the fence of the plantation overhanging the far
side of the gully.

"Well, Charles Hannaford, you don't look overjoyed to see me home again!"

The poacher grinned awkwardly. He was caught, for certain: nevertheless,
his wariness did not desert him.

"You took me rather sudden, Mister Walter."

"That's fairly evident. Maize, eh?" He scooped a few grains into his
palm and sniffed at them. "Better maize than my father's, no doubt.
Where's Macklin?"

"Somewhere's about. I say, Mister Walter--"

"And Jim Burdon?"

"Near abouts, too. Be you goin' to tell on me?"

"