I have always had a sure sense of direction, and I turned instinctively
towards the landmark of my promised destination, although it was invisible
from that side of the Hall--screened by the avenue of tall forest trees,
chiefly elms, that led up from the principal entrance to the Park. I had
noticed one side road leading into this avenue as I had driven up from the
station the previous afternoon, and I sought that turning now, with a
feeling of certainty that it would take me in the right direction. As,
indeed, it did; for it actually skirted the base of "Jervaise Clump,"
which touched the extreme edge of the Park on that side.

As I cautiously felt my way down the avenue--it was still black dark under
the dark trees--and later up the tunnel of the side road which I hit upon
by an instinct that made me feel for it at the precise moment when I
reached the point of its junction with the avenue--I returned with a sense
of satisfaction to the memory of the last four hours. I was conscious of
some kind of plan in the way the comedy of Brenda's disappearance had been
put before us. I realised that, as an art form, the plan was essentially
undramatic, but the thought of it gave me, nevertheless, a distinct
feeling of pleasure.

I saw the experience as a prelude to this lonely adventure of mine--a
prelude full of movement and contrast; but I had no premonition of any
equally diverting sequel.

The daylight was coming, and I believed, a trifle regretfully, that that
great solvent of all mysteries would display these emotions of the night
as the phantasmagoria of our imagination.

Before I had reached the end of the tunnel through the wood and had come
out into the open whence I could, now, see the loom of Jervaise Clump