He made a right angled swerve away from the house. He blessed the dykes that had bewildered him during the day. There must be one somewhere at hand. He must find it before the house was aroused and they turned the dog loose. He tripped over a knot of tufted grass and came down on hands and knees into six inches of water. Recovering himself he pushed forward through mud and weeds into the ditch. It passed through his mind that some of these dykes had water ten feet deep, and that the weeds could baffle the most accomplished swimmer. That was a risk which there was no time to consider. He pushed forward and the mud dragged at his ankles.

Behind him he could hear the mutter of men’s voices and someone speaking to the dog. In the strange way in which fog sometimes carries sound he heard the snap of the gate padlock and the whimper of the dog as it thudded through in eager pursuit. He was up to his waist by now, and he turned and waded along the stream for a few yards. The wolfhound drew nearer, and Labar nerving himself dropped to his knees and wondered if it became necessary how long he might be able to keep his head below water.