FESTING KEEPS HIS WORD Next afternoon Festing leaned his borrowed bicycle against the gate at Knott Scar and walked up the drive.

He had grave misgivings, but it was too late to indulge them, and he braced himself and looked about with keen curiosity.

The drive curved and a bank of shrubs on one side obstructed his view, but the Scar rose in front, with patches of heather glowing a rich crimson among the gray rocks.

Beneath these, a dark beech wood rolled down the hill.

On the other side there was a lawn that looked like green velvet.