He led me through the hall, unlocked the front door, and we crossed the snowy lawn to the garage.  The place was empty but for a great car, which bore the marks of having come from the muddy lowlands.  To my joy I saw that it was a Daimler, a type with which I was familiar.  I lit the lamps, started the engine, and ran it out on to the road.

‘You will want an overcoat,’ he said.

‘I never wear them.’

‘Food?’

‘I have some chocolate.  I will breakfast at Santa Chiara.’

‘Well, God go with you!’

A minute later I was tearing along the lake-side towards St Anton village.

* * * * *

I stopped at the cottage on the hill.  Peter was not yet in bed.  I found him sitting by the fire, trying to read, but I saw by his face that he had been waiting anxiously on my coming.

‘We’re in the soup, old man,’ I said as I shut the door.  In a dozen sentences I told him of the night’s doings, of Ivery’s plan and my desperate errand.

‘You wanted a share,’ I cried.  ’Well, everything depends on you now.  I’m off after Ivery, and God knows what will happen.  Meantime, you have got to get on to Blenkiron, and tell him what I’ve told you.  He must get the news through to G.H.Q. somehow.  He must trap the Wild Birds before they go.  I don’t know how, but he must.  Tell him it’s all up to him and you, for I’m out of it.  I must save Mary, and if God’s willing I’ll settle with Ivery.  But the big job is for Blenkiron—­and you.  Somehow he has made a bad break, and the enemy has got ahead of him.  He must sweat blood to make up.  My God, Peter, it’s the solemnest moment of our lives.  I don’t see any light, but we mustn’t miss any chances.  I’m leaving it all to you.’

I spoke like a man in a fever, for after what I had been through I wasn’t quite sane.  My coolness in the Pink Chalet had given place to a crazy restlessness.  I can see Peter yet, standing in the ring of lamplight, supporting himself by a chair back, wrinkling his brows and, as he always did in moments of excitement, scratching gently the tip of his left ear.  His face was happy.

‘Never fear, Dick,’ he said.  ’It will all come right. Ons sal ’n plan maak.’

And then, still possessed with a demon of disquiet, I was on the road again, heading for the pass that led to Italy.

The mist had gone from the sky, and the stars were shining brightly.  The moon, now at the end of its first quarter, was setting in a gap of the mountains, as I climbed the low col from the St Anton valley to the greater Staubthal.  There was frost and the hard snow crackled under my wheels, but there was also that feel in the air which preludes storm.  I wondered if I should run into snow in the high hills.  The whole land was deep in peace.  There was not a light in the hamlets I passed through, not a soul on the highway.