“Now, Mr. MacIan, you must listen to me.  You must listen to me, not merely because I know the country, which you might learn by looking at a map, but because I know the people of the country, whom you could not know by living here thirty years.  That infernal city down there is awake; and it is awake against us.  All those endless rows of windows and windows are all eyes staring at us.  All those forests of chimneys are fingers pointing at us, as we stand here on the hillside.  This thing has caught on.  For the next six mortal months they will think of nothing but us, as for six mortal months they thought of nothing but the Dreyfus case.  Oh, I know it’s funny.  They let starving children, who don’t want to die, drop by the score without looking round.  But because two gentlemen, from private feelings of delicacy, do want to die, they will mobilize the army and navy to prevent them.  For half a year or more, you and I, Mr. MacIan, will be an obstacle to every reform in the British Empire.  We shall prevent the Chinese being sent out of the Transvaal and the blocks being stopped in the Strand.  We shall be the conversational substitute when anyone recommends Home Rule, or complains of sky signs.  Therefore, do not imagine, in your innocence, that we have only to melt away among those English hills as a Highland cateran might into your god-forsaken Highland mountains.  We must be eternally on our guard; we must live the hunted life of two distinguished criminals.  We must expect to be recognized as much as if we were Napoleon escaping from Elba.  We must be prepared for our descriptions being sent to every tiny village, and for our faces being recognized by every ambitious policeman.  We must often sleep under the stars as if we were in Africa.  Last and most important we must not dream of effecting our—­our final settlement, which will be a thing as famous as the Phoenix Park murders, unless we have made real and precise arrangements for our isolation—­I will not say our safety.  We must not, in short, fight until we have thrown them off our scent, if only for a moment.  For, take my word for it, Mr. MacIan, if the British Public once catches us up, the British Public will prevent the duel, if it is only by locking us both up in asylums for the rest of our days.”

MacIan was looking at the horizon with a rather misty look.

“I am not at all surprised,” he said, “at the world being against us.  It makes me feel I was right to——­”

“Yes?” said Turnbull.

“To smash your window,” said MacIan.  “I have woken up the world.”

“Very well, then,” said Turnbull, stolidly.  “Let us look at a few final facts.  Beyond that hill there is comparatively clear country.  Fortunately, I know the part well, and if you will follow me exactly, and, when necessary, on your stomach, we may be able to get ten miles out of London, literally without meeting anyone at all, which will be the best possible beginning, at any rate.  We have provisions for at least two days and two nights, three days if we do it carefully.  We may be able to get fifty or sixty miles away without even walking into an inn door.  I have the biscuits and the tinned meat, and the milk.  You have the chocolate, I think?  And the brandy?”