“We didn’t persuade them at all, Mr Fletcher. We just pushed them in and locked the door upon them. Any kind of persuading would have been wasted upon such trash.”

They had reached the door of Mac ’ic Eachainn’s Cradle by now.

“You’d better knock on the door with the keys, Duncan. I’ll never make myself heard above this banging.”

Duncan did so. The banging stopped.

“I am speaking on behalf of MacDonald of Ben Nevis,” the chaplain began; but no sooner did the prisoners hear the name of their captor than the banging started again with thrice the vigour.

“We’ll have to go inside and speak to them,” he decided. “My voice is no longer strong enough, I’m afraid, to compete with such a noise. Will you unlock the door, Duncan?”

The old keeper inserted the key and with what was an effort even for his strong fingers turned it.

Of what exactly happened then neither Mr Fletcher nor old Duncan was ever able to give a clear account. The result of whatever did happen was that the chaplain and the gamekeeper found themselves locked up in Mac ’ic Eachainn’s Cradle and that the eight hikers were at large.

“Did you get a bang, Mr Fletcher?”

“No, I didn’t get a bang, but somebody butted me very heavily in the stomach and knocked my wind out.”

“There you are. I wondered what kind of a queer noise you were making, but I thought it must be your prayers you were saying. They’re very different from our prayers, these Episcopalian prayers. Quite another kind of worship altogether.”

“Well, passing from the study of comparative religion to the position in which we find ourselves, what do we do now?” Mr Fletcher asked a little irritably. Few men recovering their breath after being winded are able to combine sweetness with dignity. If they can sustain their dignity after making the idiotic noises winded people do make they are lucky.

“We’ll just have to wait until they come and let us out again,” Duncan replied.

“Who?”

“The hikers.”

“I’m afraid we’ll have to wait a very long time before the hikers let us out. They made on me a strong impression of being out for revenge. I don’t suppose they saw I was a clergyman.”

“No, they did not see a thing. They just put their heads down and rushed at us like bulls. Oh, well, we’ll just have to wait until somebody does come and let us out.”

“If anybody knows we’re here,” said the chaplain gloomily. “And if anybody has the key.”

“You’re looking too much on the dark side of things, Mr Fletcher. When you don’t come in for dinner Ben Nevis will send somebody to look for you.”