‘It’d have to be accessible, though. He would be under instruction to transmit his stuff every so long, when an enemy craft would edge far enough into these waters to pick it up. The files say that under cover of the hunt for Mrs Rubrick an extensive search was made. They even brought up a radio-locator in a car and bumped up the riverbed with it. But, of course, you were in that party.’

‘Yes,’ said Markins, ‘I was in with the boys. They expected me to show them the works, and what could I do? Tag on and look silly. Me, supposed to be the expert! It’s a hard world.’

‘It’s a weary world,’ said Alleyn, swallowing a yawn. ‘We’re both supposed to appear in less than four hours, with shining morning faces. I’m out of training, Markins, and you’re a working man. I think we’ll call it a night.’

Markins at once got up and, by standing attentively, his head inclined forward, seemed to reassume the character of a manservant. ‘Shall I open the window, sir?’ he asked.

‘Do, there’s a good chap, and pull back the curtains. You’ve got a torch, haven’t you? I’ll put out the candle.’

‘We’re not as fussy as that about the black-out, Mr Alleyn. Not in these parts.’

The curtain rings jingled. A square, faintly luminous, appeared in the wall. Now the air of the plateau gained entry. Alleyn felt it cold on his face and in his eyes. He pinched out the candle and heard Markins tiptoe to the door.

‘Markins,’ said Alleyn’s voice, quiet in the dark.

‘Sir?’

‘There’s another solution. You’ve thought of it, of course?’ Quite a long silence followed this.

‘He may talk highbrow,’ Markins whispered, ‘but when you get to know him, he’s a nice young gentleman.’

The door creaked and Alleyn was alone. He composed himself for sleep.

CHAPTER SEVEN

According to Ben Wilson

HAVING LEFT INSTRUCTION with himself to wake at five, Alleyn did so and was aware of distant stirrings in the house. Outside in the dark a cock crowed and the rumour of his voice echoed into nothingness. Beneath Alleyn’s window someone walked firmly along the terrace path and round the corner of the house. He carried a tin bucket that clanked with his stride and he whistled shrilly. From over in the direction of the men’s quarters all the Mount Moon sheep dogs broke into a chorus, their voices sounding hollow and cold in the dawn air. There followed the ring of an axe, an abrupt burst of conversation and presently, the smell of wood smoke, aromatic and pleasing. Beyond the still nighted windows there was only a faint promise of light, a vague thinning, but, as he watched, there appeared in the darkness a rosy horn, unearthly clear. It was the Cloud Piercer, far beyond the plateau, receiving the dawn.