He indicated a narrow ledge, winding along the face of the precipice a few yards beneath where they were standing.  It averaged from fifteen to thirty inches in width.  Without waiting for Maskull’s consent to the undertaking, he instantly swung himself down and started walking along this ledge at a rapid pace.  Maskull, seeing that there was no help for it, followed him.  The shelf did not extend for above a quarter of a mile, but its passage was somewhat unnerving; there was a sheer drop to the sea, four hundred feet below.  In a few places they had to sidle along without placing one foot before another.  The sound of the breakers came up to them in a low, threatening roar.

Upon rounding a corner, the ledge broadened out into a fair-sized platform of rock and came to a sudden end.  A narrow inlet of the sea separated them from the continuation of the cliffs beyond.

“As we can’t get any further,” said Maskull, “I presume this is your Gap of Sorgie?”

“Yes,” answered his friend, first dropping on his knees and then lying at full length, face downward.  He drew his head and shoulders over the edge and began to stare straight down at the water.

“What is there interesting down there, Nightspore?”

Receiving no reply, however, he followed his friend’s example, and the next minute was looking for himself.  Nothing was to be seen; the gloom had deepened, and the sea was nearly invisible.  But, while he was ineffectually gazing, he heard what sounded like the beating of a drum on the narrow strip of shore below.  It was very faint, but quite distinct.  The beats were in four-four time, with the third beat slightly accented.  He now continued to hear the noise all the time he was lying there.  The beats were in no way drowned by the far louder sound of the surf, but seemed somehow to belong to a different world....

When they were on their feet again, he questioned Nightspore.  “We came here solely to hear that?”

Nightspore cast one of his odd looks at him.  “It’s called locally ‘The Drum Taps of Sorgie.’  You will not hear that name again, but perhaps you will hear the sound again.”

“And if I do, what will it imply?” demanded Maskull in amazement.

“It bears its own message.  Only try always to hear it more and more distinctly....  Now it’s growing dark, and we must get back.”

Maskull pulled out his watch automatically, and looked at the time.  It was past six....  But he was thinking of Nightspore’s words, and not of the time.

Night had already fallen by the time they regained the tower.  The black sky was glorious with liquid stars.  Arcturus was a little way above the sea, directly opposite them, in the east.  As they were passing the base of the tower, Maskull observed with a sudden shock that the gate was open.  He caught hold of Nightspore’s arm violently.  “Look!  Krag is back.”

“Yes, we must make haste to the house.”