"It's ten miles," said the chauffeur.
"It would be the death of me," the Professor wailed.
"I utterly refuse to walk ten miles through a Polar waste with a gouty
foot," McCurdie declared wrathfully.
The chauffeur offered a solution of the difficulty. He would set out
alone for Foullis Castle--five miles farther on was an inn where he
could obtain a horse and trap--and would return for the three gentlemen
with another car. In the meanwhile they could take shelter in a little
house which they had just passed, some half mile up the road. This was
agreed to. The chauffeur went on cheerily enough with a lamp, and the
three travellers with another lamp started off in the opposite
direction. As far as they could see they were in a long, desolate
valley, a sort of No Man's Land, deathly silent. The eastern sky had
cleared somewhat, and they faced a loose rack through which one pale
star was dimly visible.
* * * * *
"I'm a man of science," said McCurdie as they trudged through the snow,
"and I dismiss the supernatural as contrary to reason; but I have
Highland blood in my veins that plays me exasperating tricks. My reason
tells me that this place is only a commonplace moor, yet it seems like a
Valley of Bones haunted by malignant spirits who have lured us here to
our destruction.
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