w of it from the direction of our cave. The place was perfect for my
purpose, for between the boulder and the wall of the tower was a narrow
gap, through which I could hear all that passed on the platform. I
found a stance where I could rest in comfort and keep an eye through
the crack on what happened beyond.

There was still a faint light on the platform, but soon that
disappeared and black darkness settled down on the hills. It was the
dark of the moon, and, as had happened the night before, a thin wrack
blew over the sky, hiding the stars. The place was very still, though
now and then would come the cry of a bird from the crags that beetled
above me, and from the shore the pipe of a tern or oyster-catcher. An
owl hooted from somewhere up on the tower. That I reckoned was Wake, so
I hooted back and was answered. I unbuckled my wrist-watch and pocketed
it, lest its luminous dial should betray me; and I noticed that the
hour was close on eleven. I had already removed my shoes, and my jacket
was buttoned at the collar so as to show no shirt. I did not think that
the coming visitor would trouble to explore the crevice beyond the
platform, but I wanted to be prepared for emergencies.

Then followed an hour of waiting. I felt wonderfully cheered and
exhilarated, for Wake had restored my confidence in human nature. In
that eerie place we were wrapped round with mystery like a fog. Some
unknown figure was coming out of the sea, the emissary of that Power we
had been at grips with for three years. It was as if the war had just
made contact with our own shores, and never, not even when I was alone
in the South German forest, had I felt so much the sport of a whimsical
fate. I only wished Peter could have been with me. And so my thoughts
fled to Peter in his prison camp, and I longed for another sight of my
old friend as a girl longs for her lover.

Then I heard the hoot of an owl, and presently the sound of careful
steps fell on my ear. I could see nothing, but I guessed it was the
Portuguese Jew, for I could hear the grinding of heavily nailed boots
on the gritty rock.

The figure was very quiet. It appeared to be sitting down, and then it
rose and fumbled with the wall of the tower just beyond the boulder
behind which I sheltered. It seemed to move a stone and to replace it.
After that came silence, and then once more the hoot of an owl. There
were steps on the rock staircase, the steps of a man who did not know
the road