“Here’s a rope, you fellows! He’s gone down the face of the cliff. Swum the lake, probably.”
Mephistopheles dissented in a languid drawl.
“Not he, Clifton. I’ve had my eye on the water ever since I got up to the barbed wire. You could spot the faintest ripple in this moonshine. He didn’t get off that way.”
“Sure of that?” demanded Michael.
“Dead sure. I watched specially.”
Michael hesitated for a moment or two, considering the situation. Then his face cleared.
“I see it! I remember there’s a cave right below here, in the cliff-face. He’s gone to ground there. Half of you get through the barbed wire on the right; the rest take the left side. Line up on the banks when you get down to the water. He may swim for it yet if we don’t hurry.”
They raced off to carry out his instructions, while Michael pulled up the rope and flung it on the terrace.
“That cuts off his escape in this direction,” he said to himself. “Now we can dig him out at leisure.”
Without hurrying, he made his way down to the water.