The fallen stone lay in irregular heaps on the ground at its foot;
all around it were clumps of furze and bramble. From the level plateau on
which it stood the Glen fell away in horseshoe formation gradually
narrowing and descending until it terminated in a thick covert of fir and
pine that ran down to the land end of the cove of which Spurge had told
them. And beyond that stretched the wide expanse of sea, with here and
there a red-sailed fishing boat tossing restlessly on the white-capped
waves, and over that and the land was a chill silence, broken only by the
occasional cry of the sea-birds and the bleating of the mountain sheep.
"A lone spot indeed!" said Gilling in a whisper. "Spurge, where is that
stuff hidden?"
"Other side of the tower--in an angle of the old courtyard," replied
Spurge, "Can't see the spot from here."
"And where's that road you told us about?" asked Copplestone. "The
moor road?"
"Top o' the bank yonder--beyond the tower," said Spurge. "Runs round
yonder corner o' this wood and goes right round it to High Nick, where
we've cut across from. Hush now, all of you, gentlemen--I'm going to
signal Jim."
Screwing up his mobile face into a strange contortion, Spurge emitted
from his puckered lips a queer cry--a cry as of some trapped animal--so
shrill and realistic that his hearers started.
"What on earth's that represent?" asked Gilling.
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