Nightspore ate and drank little, but Maskull sat down with good appetite.  There being no milk, whisky took the place of it; the nearly black tea was mixed with an equal quantity of the spirit.  Of this concoction Maskull drank cup after cup, and long after the tongue had disappeared he was still imbibing.

Nightspore looked at him queerly.  “Do you intend to finish the bottle before Krag comes?”

“Krag won’t want any, and one must do something.  I feel restless.”

“Let us take a look at the country.”

The cup, which was on its way to Maskull’s lips, remained poised in the air.  “Have you anything in view, Nightspore?”

“Let us walk out to the Gap of Sorgie.”

“What’s that?”

“A showplace,” answered Nightspore, biting his lip.

Maskull finished off the cup, and rose to his feet.  “Walking is better than soaking at any time, and especially on a day like this....  How far is it?”

“Three or four miles each way.”

“You probably mean something,” said Maskull, “for I’m beginning to regard you as a second Krag.  But if so, so much the better.  I am growing nervous, and need incidents.”

They left the house by the door, which they left ajar, and immediately found themselves again on the moorland road that had brought them from Haillar.  This time they continued along it, past the tower.

Maskull, as they went by, regarded the erection with puzzled interest.  “What is that tower, Nightspore?”

“We sail from the platform on the top.”

“Tonight?”—­throwing him a quick look.

“Yes.”

Maskull smiled, but his eyes were grave.  “Then we are looking at the gateway of Arcturus, and Krag is now travelling north to unlock it.”

“You no longer think it impossible, I fancy,” mumbled Nightspore.

After a mile or two, the road parted from the sea coast and swerved sharply inland, across the hills.  With Nightspore as guide, they left it and took to the grass.  A faint sheep path marked the way along the cliff edge for some distance, but at the end of another mile it vanished.  The two men then had some rough walking up and down hillsides and across deep gullies.  The sun disappeared behind the hills, and twilight imperceptibly came on.  They soon reached a spot where further progress appeared impossible.  The buttress of a mountain descended at a steep angle to the very edge of the cliff, forming an impassable slope of slippery grass.  Maskull halted, stroked his beard, and wondered what the next step was to be.

“There’s a little scrambling here,” said Nightspore.  “We are both used to climbing, and there is not much in it.”