We had done the six miles, mostly up hill, in twenty-one minutes. Now we turned through the gate, along a turf track deeply rutted. Luckily the weather had been dry for the last fortnight. We crawled up to the top of the crest and then along it for a mile. I saw lights ahead in a hollow below. A dog barked savagely.
"That Felonsdene?" I asked.
"That's it. The descent is bad."
When I got to it I found that it was very bad. I stopped the engines.
"If we break our necks we shan't be much use," I said. "I'll leave the car here. There's nobody to run away with it."
"Shall we take a lamp?" he asked.
"Better."
He picked up my bag, unhitched one lamp, and extinguished the other, while I spread the rug over the seats. His ordinary slowness was deceptive. When he was actually doing something he was remarkably quick without being hurried. He was quick too in seeing a mechanical device—that was clear from the way he handled the lamps. We began the brief descent, and the dog barked more furiously than ever.
"Is that dog loose?" I asked, as we neared the house.
"Yes," he said. "But he's educated. He'd kill a stranger who came alone; he won't touch you."