I had a bad moment, for I reckoned that if Gresson recognized Amos he might take fright.  Perhaps the driver of the gig thought the same, for he appeared to be very drunk.  He waved his whip, he jiggoted the reins, and he made an effort to sing.  He looked towards the figures on the hillside, and cried out something.  The gig narrowly missed the ditch, and then to my relief the horse bolted.  Swaying like a ship in a gale, the whole outfit lurched out of sight round the corner of hill where lay my cache.  If Amos could stop the beast and deliver the goods there, he had put up a masterly bit of buffoonery.

The two men laughed at the performance, and then they parted.  Gresson retraced his steps up the hill.  The other man—­I called him in my mind the Portuguese Jew—­started off at a great pace due west, across the road, and over a big patch of bog towards the northern butt of the Coolin.  He had some errand, which Gresson knew about, and he was in a hurry to perform it.  It was clearly my job to get after him.

I had a rotten afternoon.  The fellow covered the moorland miles like a deer, and under the hot August sun I toiled on his trail.  I had to keep well behind, and as much as possible in cover, in case he looked back; and that meant that when he had passed over a ridge I had to double not to let him get too far ahead, and when we were in an open place I had to make wide circuits to keep hidden.  We struck a road which crossed a low pass and skirted the flank of the mountains, and this we followed till we were on the western side and within sight of the sea.  It was gorgeous weather, and out on the blue water I saw cool sails moving and little breezes ruffling the calm, while I was glowing like a furnace.  Happily I was in fair training, and I needed it.  The Portuguese Jew must have done a steady six miles an hour over abominable country.

About five o’clock we came to a point where I dared not follow.  The road ran flat by the edge of the sea, so that several miles of it were visible.  Moreover, the man had begun to look round every few minutes.  He was getting near something and wanted to be sure that no one was in his neighbourhood.  I left the road accordingly, and took to the hillside, which to my undoing was one long cascade of screes and tumbled rocks.  I saw him drop over a rise which seemed to mark the rim of a little bay into which descended one of the big corries of the mountains.  It must have been a good half-hour later before I, at my greater altitude and with far worse going, reached the same rim.  I looked into the glen and my man had disappeared.

He could not have crossed it, for the place was wider than I had thought.  A ring of black precipices came down to within half a mile of the shore, and between them was a big stream—­long, shallow pools at the sea end and a chain of waterfalls above.  He had gone to earth like a badger somewhere, and I dared not move in case he might be watching me from behind a boulder.