We reached the outskirts of the town, and a piece of luck saved us from inquiring for the police station; for, approaching us on a bicycle, we saw a blue, helmeted figure, and by the stripes on his arm we knew him for a sergeant of police. Tarlyon pulled up. “Better leave the bicycle and come with us to Carmion Wood,” he said. “Explain as we go. Urgent.” The sergeant looked closely into Tarlyon’s face. “Right, sir,” said he, and quickly gave the custody of his bicycle to a gnarled-looking woman in the open doorway of a labourer’s dwelling. “What’s oop over ut Carmion?” asked she. “You may well ask,” said Tarlyon. No laggard was that sergeant of police. A grizzled man, with a reticent face. I sat behind and heard Tarlyon explain. The sergeant said nothing, listening intently, until the end. “Where did you say the house was, sir?” he asked then. “I’ve just been telling you, man! In a little clearing in the wood.” “Very good, sir,” said the sergeant of police. Silently we sped into Carmion Wood. “You see, sir,” said the sergeant, “it’s a powerful long time since I’ve been here. Folk roundabout mislike the wood.” “Don’t feel very attached to it myself,” grunted Tarlyon. “Ah, here we are!” But it was not going to be as easy as that. For when we left the car, at the identical spot where, we were certain, the little old woman had stopped us, we somehow lost our way. We wandered about for some time, up little twisting lanes, down tangled untidy lanes, up no lanes at all: we ploughed through the growth and lush of the wood, like angry flies beating about a crypt to which the sun filtered in tortured patches of light. We perspired enormously--and Tarlyon lost his temper. He had had no luncheon, you understand, and it was now past five; and so he was fluent in the forbidden language. But the sergeant of police was a tough and silent man, he neither sweated nor spoke. “Where did you say the house was, sir?” asked the sergeant at last: and very amiably, I thought, considering.... “Oh,” says Tarlyon. “So you’ve heard me mention a house, have you!” We stood very still, the three of us, and Tarlyon glared. “Look here, sergeant,” he snarled, “if you ask me again where that house is I shall get cross.... I’ve told you, man! Body of God, if----” “_Please_, sir!” said the sergeant quickly. “What d’you mean by ‘Please, sir?’” Tarlyon was well away. It was a very warm day, you understand. “I mean, sir,” said the sergeant of police, “please don’t swear on the name or the body of God.” V Well, we went on ... and, at last, unmistakably hit the path up which we had followed the little old woman. We followed the path, Tarlyon first, then me, then the sergeant. And then we came upon the clearing, and the sun lay on it like a carpet of gold. We stared. Like idiots, we stared. For, except the sun, there was nothing in that clearing but the rust and bones of a long-ruined house.