He should not wait up, I would let myself
in; and I went out.
I remember that I got a cap and a stick out of the rack; there
was no element of selection in the cap, but there was a decided
subconscious direction about the selection of the stick. It was
a heavy blackthorn, with an iron ferrule and a silver weight set
in the head; picked up - by my father at some Irish fair - a
weapon in fact.
It was not dark. It was one of those clear hard nights that are
not uncommon on this island in midsummer; with a full moon, the
road was visible even in the wood. I swung along it with no
particular precaution; I was not expecting anything to happen,
and in fact, nothing did happen on the way into the village.
But in this attitude of confidence I failed to discover an event
of this night that might have given the whole adventure a
different ending.
There is a point near the village where a road enters our private
one; skirts the border of the mountain, and, making a great turn,
enters the village from the south. At this division of the road
I heard distinctly a sound in the wood.
It was not a sound to incite inquiry.
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