In the middle of that empty road, in that alien land, under the hostile stars, I took my electric torch and endeavoured to discover what was the matter. From the moment I remembered the probable salt, wet cause of my mishap I had a pretty hopeless feeling. At the end of ten minutes I felt not merely quite hopeless, but utterly helpless. Helpless as a child before a charging elephant, hopeless as a man at the bottom of an Alpine crevasse. Ignition, carburettor, what had been damaged? In good daylight it might take me an hour or two first to discover and then to mend. By the radiance of my torch I would probably spend a night or two, and be none the wiser. And meantime the precious dark hours were slipping away, and scattered all over the miles of country lay foemen sleeping--nothing but foes. I was in a sea-girt isle with but one solitary friend, and he was nearly twenty miles away, and I had the strictest orders not to approach him save under the cover of darkness. Enough cause for a few pretty black moments, I think you will allow. And then I took myself by the scruff of the neck and gave myself a hearty shake. Had I been picked for this errand because I was a coward or a resourceless fool? No! Well, then, I must keep my head and use my wits, and if I could not achieve the best thing, I must try to do the second best. I ran over all the factors in the problem. Firstly, to wait in the middle of that road trying to accomplish a job which I knew perfectly well it was a thousand chances to one against my managing, was sheer perverse folly. Secondly, to leave my cycle in a ditch and try to cover the distance on my own two legs before daybreak was a physical impossibility. My cycle being one of the modern kind with no pedals, I could not even essay the dreadful task of grinding it along with my feet. Therefore I could not reach my haven to-night by any conceivable means. On the other hand, I would still be expected to-morrow night, for our plans were laid to allow something for mischances; so if I could conceal myself and my cycle through the coming day, all might yet be well. Therefore I must devise some plan for concealing myself. Logic had brought me beautifully so far, but now came the rub--Where was I to hide? These islands, you may or may not know, are to all practical purposes treeless and hedgeless. They have many moors and waste places, but of an abominable kind for a fugitive--especially a fugitive with a motor-cycle. The slopes are long and usually gentle and quite exposed; ravines and dells are few and far between and farther still to reach. Caves and clefts among the rocks might be found no doubt, but I should probably break my neck looking for them in the dark. Conceive of a man with a motor-bicycle looking for a cave by starlight!