d past many tracks leading into the depths of the forest, but
it was not until the car had eaten up some five kilometres of the main
road that Francis slowed to a halt. He consulted a map he pulled from
his pocket, then glanced at his watch with puckered brow.

"I had hoped to take the car into the forest," he said, "but the roads
are so soft we shan't get a yard. Still we can but try."

We went forward again, very slowly, to where a track ran off to the
left. It was badly ploughed up, and the ruts were fully a foot deep.
Monica and I got out to lighten the car, and Francis ran her in. But he
hadn't gone five yards before the car was bogged up to the axles.

"We'll have to leave it," he said, jumping out. "It's ten minutes to
two ... we haven't a second to lose."

He pulled a cloth cap from the pocket of his military overcoat, then
stripped off the coat, showing his ordinary clothes underneath, and very
shiny black field-boots up to his knees. He put his helmet in the
overcoat and made a roll of it, tucking it under his arm, and then
donned his cap.

"Now," he said, "We'll have to run for it, Monica, I'm afraid: we must
reach our cover while the light lasts or I shan't be able to find it and
it will be dark in these woods in about two hours from now. Are you
ready?"

We struck off the track into the forest. There was not much undergrowth,
and the trees were not planted very close, so our way was not impeded.
We jogged on over a carpet of wet leaves, stumbling over the roots of
the trees, tearing our clothes on the brambles, bringing down showers of
raindrops from the branches of pine or fir we brushed on our headlong
course. Now a squirrel bolted up his tree, now a rabbit frisked back
into his hole, now a soft-eyed deer crashed away into the bushes on our
approach. The place was so still that it gave me confidence. There was
not a trace of man now that we were away from the marks of his carts on
the tracks, and I began to feel, in the presence of the stately, silent
trees, that at last I was safe from the menace that had hung over me for
so long.

We rested frequently, breathless and panting, a hand to the side. Monica
was a marvel of endurance. Her boots were sopping, her skirt wet to the
waist, her face was scratched, and her hair was coming down, but she
never complained. Francis was seemingly tireless and was always the one
to lead the way when we started afresh.

It was heavy going, for at every step our f