I was running apparently no great personal risk, and I had always the unpleasing fear that Blenkiron might have been too clever and that the whole thing might be a mare's nest.

But that dark mountain mass changed my outlook.

I began to have a queer instinct that that was the place, that something might be concealed there, something pretty damnable.

I remember I sat on a top for half an hour raking the hills with my glasses.

I made out ugly precipices, and glens which lost themselves in primeval blackness.