Watters kept a steady pace as he walked upwards into the dark of the night. He heard the crunch of boots behind him, with an occasional muttered word and the click of stone on stone. When they neared the belt of woodland, Watters halted the men. Two had straggled in the dark, and some others were already blowing hard.
“Spread out,” Watters ordered. “There might be sentries in the trees. I want them arrested without noise.”
The men grunted, shapeless and faceless in the night. Watters saw Duff and Scuddamore side-by-side in the centre of the mass, with Shaw a few yards away. He raised his voice slightly.
“Once we’re clear of the trees, a stretch of rough heather ground leads to the fort itself. The fort is only a rough stone wall, with guards on patrol.”
The police shuffled their feet,
