close by which Till and Tweed meet.  Hot as the night was, and unpleasant for riding, I had plenty and to spare of time in hand, and when I came to the cross-ways between Norham and Grindon, I got off my machine and sat down on the bank at the roadside to rest a bit before going further.  It was a quiet and a very lonely spot that; for three miles or more I had not met a soul along the road, and there being next to nothing in the way of village or farmstead between me and Cornhill, I did not expect to meet one in the next stages of my journey.  But as I sat there on the bank, under a thick hedge, my bicycle lying at my side, I heard steps coming along the road in the gloom—­swift, sure steps, as of a man who walks fast, and puts his feet firmly down as with determination to get somewhere as soon as he may.  And hearing that—­and to this day I have often wondered what made me do it—­I off with my cap, and laid it over the bicycle-lamp, and myself sat as still as any of the wee creatures that were doubtless lying behind me in the hedge.

The steps came from the direction in which I was bound.  There was a bit of a dip in the road just there:  they came steadily, strongly, up it.  And presently—­for this was the height of June, when the nights are never really dark—­the figure of a man came over the ridge of the dip, and showed itself plain against a piece of grey sky that was framed by the fingers of the pines and firs on either side of the way.  A strongly-built figure it was, and, as I said before, the man put his feet, evidently well shod, firmly and swiftly down, and with this alternate sound came the steady and equally swift tapping of an iron-shod stick.  Whoever this night-traveller was, it was certain he was making his way somewhere without losing any time in the business.

The man came close by me and my cover, seeing nothing, and at a few yards’ distance stopped dead.  I knew why.  He had come to the cross-roads, and it was evident from his movements that he was puzzled and uncertain.  He went to the corners of each way:  it seemed to me that he was seeking for a guide-post.  But, as I knew very well, there was no guide-post at any corner, and presently he came to the middle of the roads again and stood, looking this way and that, as if still in a dubious mood.  And then I heard a crackling and rustling as of stiff paper—­he was never more than a dozen yards from me all the time,—­and in another minute there was a spurt up of bluish flame, and I saw that the man had turned on the light of an electric pocket-torch and was shining it on a map which he had unfolded and shaken out, and was holding in his right hand.