"And don't make a row," Hedley added.
It was the work of only a few minutes to detach the wheel. There was no conversation; everybody showed nervous impatience; two or three men kept watch at the edge of the wood.
"Now then," said Hedley.
He led the way, groping through the wood. Burton followed on his heels: he felt himself a compendium of aches. Rain was still falling. Through it could be seen the blurred lights of a distant building. A short walk brought the party to what appeared to be a thick hedge of bramble bounding a field. There was a whispered challenge.
"Potsdam," whispered Hedley in return, giving the password.
He turned, took Burton by the arm, and guided him through an opening which had suddenly disclosed itself in the bramble hedge. A sentry stood aside; the party filed in. Burton found himself moving down a sharp declivity, which by and by opened out into a spacious cave, lit by a single candle-lamp. Two or three men got up from the stools on which they had been sitting. The floor was roughly boarded. A table stood in the centre. Along one side were a number of large wooden bins.
"We sleep on them," said Hedley. "Rather stuffy quarters, you perceive."
"Concentrated essence of earth and candle smoke," said Burton, sniffing.
"Also bacon fat and the smell of our cooker. Sit down, you shall have something to eat and drink in a jiffy."
"You won't forget the wheel?"