I rose and very carefully led my cycle over the heather down to the road, and then, still pushing it, walked quickly down the steep hill to where the side road turned off. There was not a sound save my footfall as I approached the house. A dark mass loomed in front of me, which I saw in a moment to be a garden wall with a few of the low wind-bent island trees showing above it. This side road led right up to an iron gate in the wall, and just as I got close enough to distinguish the bars, I heard a gentle creak and saw them begin to swing open. Beyond, the trees overarched the drive, and the darkness was profound. I had passed between the gate-posts before I saw or heard anything more. And then a quiet voice spoke.
"It is a dark night," it said in perfect English.
"Dark as pitch," I answered.
"It was darker last night," said the voice.
"It is dark enough," I answered.
Not perhaps a very remarkable conversation, you may think; but I can assure you my fingers were on my revolver, just in case one single word had been different. Now I breathed freely at last.
"Herr Tiel?" I inquired.
"Mr Tiel," corrected the invisible man beside me.
I saw him then for the first time as he stepped out from the shelter of the trees and closed the gate behind me—a tall dim figure in black.
"I'll lead your cycle," he said in a low voice, as he came back to me; "I know the way best."