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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..181f7d8 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #66881 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/66881) diff --git a/old/66881-0.txt b/old/66881-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index a1bcb81..0000000 --- a/old/66881-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3861 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Warning to the Curious and Other Ghost -Stories, by Montague Rhodes James - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: A Warning to the Curious and Other Ghost Stories - -Author: Montague Rhodes James - -Release Date: December 4, 2021 [eBook #66881] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Emmanuel Ackerman, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was - produced from scanned images of public domain material from - the Google Books project.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A WARNING TO THE CURIOUS AND OTHER -GHOST STORIES *** - - - - -A WARNING TO THE CURIOUS - - - - - By Dr M. R. JAMES - PROVOST OF ETON - - - GHOST STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY - 5s. net. - - MORE GHOST STORIES - 5s. net. - - A THIN GHOST AND OTHERS - 4s. 6d. net. - - THE FIVE JARS - With Illustrations. 6s. net. - - - LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD & CO. - - - - - A WARNING TO - THE CURIOUS - - and other Ghost Stories - - BY - MONTAGUE RHODES JAMES - Author of “Ghost Stories of an Antiquary,” etc. - - LONDON - EDWARD ARNOLD & CO. - 1925 - - [_All rights reserved_] - - - - - MADE AND PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY - THE EDINBURGH PRESS, 9 AND 11 YOUNG STREET, EDINBURGH. - - - - -ACKNOWLEDGMENTS - - -The first of these stories was written for the library of the Queen’s -Doll’s House, and was printed in the Book thereof; I gratefully -acknowledge the gracious permission granted by Her Majesty to have it -reprinted in this volume. - -For like permissions from the editors of the _Atlantic Monthly_, -_Empire Review_, _London Mercury_, and _Eton Chronic_ I return thanks. - - M. R. JAMES. - - _September 1925._ - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - THE HAUNTED DOLL’S HOUSE 9 - - THE UNCOMMON PRAYER-BOOK 35 - - A NEIGHBOUR’S LANDMARK 70 - - A VIEW FROM A HILL 97 - - A WARNING TO THE CURIOUS 138 - - AN EVENING’S ENTERTAINMENT 176 - - - - -THE HAUNTED DOLL’S HOUSE. - - -“I suppose you get stuff of that kind through your hands pretty often?” -said Mr Dillet, as he pointed with his stick to an object which shall -be described when the time comes: and when he said it, he lied in his -throat, and knew that he lied. Not once in twenty years--perhaps not -once in a lifetime--could Mr Chittenden, skilled as he was in ferreting -out the forgotten treasures of half-a-dozen counties, expect to -handle such a specimen. It was collectors’ palaver, and Mr Chittenden -recognised it as such. - -“Stuff of that kind, Mr Dillet! It’s a museum piece, that is.” - -“Well, I suppose there are museums that’ll take anything.” - -“I’ve seen one, not as good as that, years back,” said Mr Chittenden, -thoughtfully. “But that’s not likely to come into the market: and -I’m told they ’ave some fine ones of the period over the water. No: -I’m only telling you the truth, Mr Dillet, when I say that if you was -to place an unlimited order with me for the very best that could be -got--and you know I ’ave facilities for getting to know of such things, -and a reputation to maintain--well, all I can say is, I should lead you -straight up to that one and say, ‘I can’t do no better for you than -that, Sir.’” - -“Hear, hear!” said Mr Dillet, applauding ironically with the end of his -stick on the floor of the shop. “How much are you sticking the innocent -American buyer for it, eh?” - -“Oh, I shan’t be over hard on the buyer, American or otherwise. You -see, it stands this way, Mr Dillet--if I knew just a bit more about the -pedigree----” - -“Or just a bit less,” Mr Dillet put in. - -“Ha, ha! you will have your joke, Sir. No, but as I was saying, if I -knew just a little more than what I do about the piece--though anyone -can see for themselves it’s a genuine thing, every last corner of it, -and there’s not been one of my men allowed to so much as touch it since -it came into the shop--there’d be another figure in the price I’m -asking.” - -“And what’s that: five and twenty?” - -“Multiply that by three and you’ve got it, Sir. Seventy-five’s my -price.” - -“And fifty’s mine,” said Mr Dillet. - -The point of agreement was, of course, somewhere between the two, it -does not matter exactly where--I think sixty guineas. But half-an-hour -later the object was being packed, and within an hour Mr Dillet had -called for it in his car and driven away. Mr Chittenden, holding -the cheque in his hand, saw him off from the door with smiles, and -returned, still smiling, into the parlour where his wife was making the -tea. He stopped at the door. - -“It’s gone,” he said. - -“Thank God for that!” said Mrs Chittenden, putting down the teapot. “Mr -Dillet, was it?” - -“Yes, it was.” - -“Well, I’d sooner it was him than another.” - -“Oh, I don’t know, he ain’t a bad feller, my dear.” - -“May be not, but in my opinion he’d be none the worse for a bit of a -shake up.” - -“Well, if that’s your opinion, it’s my opinion he’s put himself into -the way of getting one. Anyhow, we shan’t have no more of it, and -that’s something to be thankful for.” - -And so Mr and Mrs Chittenden sat down to tea. - -And what of Mr Dillet and of his new acquisition? What it was, the -title of this story will have told you. What it was like, I shall have -to indicate as well as I can. - -There was only just room enough for it in the car, and Mr Dillet had to -sit with the driver: he had also to go slow, for though the rooms of -the Doll’s House had all been stuffed carefully with soft cotton-wool, -jolting was to be avoided, in view of the immense number of small -objects which thronged them; and the ten-mile drive was an anxious -time for him, in spite of all the precautions he insisted upon. At last -his front door was reached, and Collins, the butler, came out. - -“Look here, Collins, you must help me with this thing--it’s a delicate -job. We must get it out upright, see? It’s full of little things that -mustn’t be displaced more than we can help. Let’s see, where shall we -have it? (After a pause for consideration). Really, I think I shall -have to put it in my own room, to begin with at any rate. On the big -table--that’s it.” - -It was conveyed--with much talking--to Mr Dillet’s spacious room on the -first floor, looking out on the drive. The sheeting was unwound from -it, and the front thrown open, and for the next hour or two Mr Dillet -was fully occupied in extracting the padding and setting in order the -contents of the rooms. - -When this thoroughly congenial task was finished, I must say that -it would have been difficult to find a more perfect and attractive -specimen of a Doll’s House in Strawberry Hill Gothic than that which -now stood on Mr Dillet’s large kneehole table, lighted up by the -evening sun which came slanting through three tall sash-windows. - -It was quite six feet long, including the Chapel or Oratory which -flanked the front on the left as you faced it, and the stable on -the right. The main block of the house was, as I have said, in the -Gothic manner: that is to say, the windows had pointed arches and were -surmounted by what are called ogival hoods, with crockets and finials -such as we see on the canopies of tombs built into church walls. At the -angles were absurd turrets covered with arched panels. The Chapel had -pinnacles and buttresses, and a bell in the turret and coloured glass -in the windows. When the front of the house was open you saw four large -rooms, bedroom, dining-room, drawing-room and kitchen, each with its -appropriate furniture in a very complete state. - -The stable on the right was in two storeys, with its proper complement -of horses, coaches and grooms, and with its clock and Gothic cupola -for the clock bell. - -Pages, of course, might be written on the outfit of the mansion--how -many frying pans, how many gilt chairs, what pictures, carpets, -chandeliers, four-posters, table linen, glass, crockery and plate it -possessed; but all this must be left to the imagination. I will only -say that the base or plinth on which the house stood (for it was fitted -with one of some depth which allowed of a flight of steps to the front -door and a terrace, partly balustraded) contained a shallow drawer -or drawers in which were neatly stored sets of embroidered curtains, -changes of raiment for the inmates, and, in short, all the materials -for an infinite series of variations and refittings of the most -absorbing and delightful kind. - -“Quintessence of Horace Walpole, that’s what it is: he must have had -something to do with the making of it.” Such was Mr Dillet’s murmured -reflection as he knelt before it in a reverent ecstasy. “Simply -wonderful; this is my day and no mistake. Five hundred pound coming in -this morning for that cabinet which I never cared about, and now this -tumbling into my hands for a tenth, at the very most, of what it would -fetch in town. Well, well! It almost makes one afraid something’ll -happen to counter it. Let’s have a look at the population, anyhow.” - -Accordingly, he set them before him in a row. Again, here is an -opportunity, which some would snatch at, of making an inventory of -costume: I am incapable of it. - -There were a gentleman and lady, in blue satin and brocade -respectively. There were two children, a boy and a girl. There was -a cook, a nurse, a footman, and there were the stable servants, two -postillions, a coachman, two grooms. - -“Anyone else? Yes, possibly.” - -The curtains of the four-poster in the bedroom were closely drawn round -four sides of it, and he put his finger in between them and felt in -the bed. He drew the finger back hastily, for it almost seemed to him -as if something had--not stirred, perhaps, but yielded--in an odd live -way as he pressed it. Then he put back the curtains, which ran on rods -in the proper manner, and extracted from the bed a white-haired old -gentleman in a long linen night-dress and cap, and laid him down by the -rest. The tale was complete. - -Dinner time was now near, so Mr Dillet spent but five minutes in -putting the lady and children into the drawing-room, the gentleman into -the dining-room, the servants into the kitchen and stables, and the old -man back into his bed. He retired into his dressing room next door, and -we see and hear no more of him until something like eleven o’clock at -night. - -His whim was to sleep surrounded by some of the gems of his collection. -The big room in which we have seen him contained his bed: bath, -wardrobe, and all the appliances of dressing were in a commodious room -adjoining: but his four-poster, which itself was a valued treasure, -stood in the large room where he sometimes wrote, and often sat, -and even received visitors. To-night he repaired to it in a highly -complacent frame of mind. - -There was no striking clock within earshot--none on the staircase, none -in the stable, none in the distant Church tower. Yet it is indubitable -that Mr Dillet was startled out of a very pleasant slumber by a bell -tolling One. - -He was so much startled that he did not merely lie breathless with -wide-open eyes, but actually sat up in his bed. - -He never asked himself, till the morning hours, how it was that, -though there was no light at all in the room, the Doll’s House on the -kneehole table stood out with complete clearness. But it was so. The -effect was that of a bright harvest moon shining full on the front of -a big white stone mansion--a quarter of a mile away it might be, and -yet every detail was photographically sharp. There were trees about -it, too--trees rising behind the chapel and the house. He seemed to be -conscious of the scent of a cool still September night. He thought he -could hear an occasional stamp and clink from the stables, as of horses -stirring. And with another shock he realized that, above the house, he -was looking, not at the wall of his room with its pictures, but into -the profound blue of a night sky. - -There were lights, more than one, in the windows, and he quickly saw -that this was no four-roomed house with a movable front, but one of -many rooms, and staircases--a real house, but seen as if through the -wrong end of a telescope. “You mean to show me something,” he muttered -to himself, and he gazed earnestly on the lighted windows. They would -in real life have been shuttered or curtained, no doubt, he thought; -but, as it was, there was nothing to intercept his view of what was -being transacted inside the rooms. - -Two rooms were lighted--one on the ground floor to the right of the -door, one upstairs, on the left--the first brightly enough, the other -rather dimly. The lower room was the dining-room: a table was laid, -but the meal was over, and only wine and glasses were left on the -table. The man of the blue satin and the woman of the brocade were -alone in the room, and they were talking very earnestly, seated close -together at the table, their elbows on it: every now and again stopping -to listen, as it seemed. Once _he_ rose, came to the window and opened -it and put his head out and his hand to his ear. There was a lighted -taper in a silver candlestick on a sideboard. When the man left the -window he seemed to leave the room also; and the lady, taper in hand, -remained standing and listening. The expression on her face was that -of one striving her utmost to keep down a fear that threatened to -master her--and succeeding. It was a hateful face, too; broad, flat and -sly. Now the man came back and she took some small thing from him and -hurried out of the room. He, too, disappeared, but only for a moment or -two. The front door slowly opened and he stepped out and stood on the -top of the _perron_, looking this way and that; then turned towards -the upper window that was lighted, and shook his fist. - -It was time to look at that upper window. Through it was seen a -four-post bed: a nurse or other servant in an armchair, evidently -sound asleep; in the bed an old man lying: awake, and, one would say, -anxious, from the way in which he shifted about and moved his fingers, -beating tunes on the coverlet. Beyond the bed a door opened. Light was -seen on the ceiling, and the lady came in: she set down her candle on -a table, came to the fireside and roused the nurse. In her hand she -had an old-fashioned wine bottle, ready uncorked. The nurse took it, -poured some of the contents into a little silver sauce-pan, added some -spice and sugar from casters on the table, and set it to warm on the -fire. Meanwhile the old man in the bed beckoned feebly to the lady, -who came to him, smiling, took his wrist as if to feel his pulse, and -bit her lip as if in consternation. He looked at her anxiously, and -then pointed to the window, and spoke. She nodded, and did as the -man below had done; opened the casement and listened--perhaps rather -ostentatiously: then drew in her head and shook it, looking at the old -man, who seemed to sigh. - -By this time the posset on the fire was steaming, and the nurse poured -it into a small two-handled silver bowl and brought it to the bedside. -The old man seemed disinclined for it and was waving it away, but the -lady and the nurse together bent over him and evidently pressed it -upon him. He must have yielded, for they supported him into a sitting -position, and put it to his lips. He drank most of it, in several -draughts, and they laid him down. The lady left the room, smiling -good-night to him, and took the bowl, the bottle and the silver -sauce-pan with her. The nurse returned to the chair, and there was an -interval of complete quiet. - -Suddenly the old man started up in his bed--and he must have uttered -some cry, for the nurse started out of her chair and made but one step -of it to the bedside. He was a sad and terrible sight--flushed in -the face, almost to blackness, the eyes glaring whitely, both hands -clutching at his heart, foam at his lips. - -For a moment the nurse left him, ran to the door, flung it wide open, -and, one supposes, screamed aloud for help, then darted back to the bed -and seemed to try feverishly to soothe him--to lay him down--anything. -But as the lady, her husband, and several servants, rushed into the -room with horrified faces, the old man collapsed under the nurse’s -hands and lay back, and the features, contorted with agony and rage, -relaxed slowly into calm. - -A few moments later, lights showed out to the left of the house, and -a coach with flambeaux drove up to the door. A white-wigged man in -black got nimbly out and ran up the steps, carrying a small leather -trunk-shaped box. He was met in the doorway by the man and his wife, -she with her handkerchief clutched between her hands, he with a tragic -face, but retaining his self-control. They led the newcomer into the -dining-room, where he set his box of papers on the table, and, turning -to them, listened with a face of consternation at what they had to -tell. He nodded his head again and again, threw out his hands slightly, -declined, it seemed, offers of refreshment and lodging for the night, -and within a few minutes came slowly down the steps entering the coach -and driving off the way he had come. As the man in blue watched him -from the top of the steps, a smile not pleasant to see stole slowly -over his fat white face. Darkness fell over the whole scene as the -lights of the coach disappeared. - -But Mr Dillet remained sitting up in the bed: he had rightly guessed -that there would be a sequel. The house front glimmered out again -before long. But now there was a difference. The lights were in other -windows, one at the top of the house, the other illuminating the range -of coloured windows of the chapel. How he saw through these is not -quite obvious, but he did. The interior was as carefully furnished as -the rest of the establishment, with its minute red cushions on the -desks, its Gothic stall-canopies, and its western gallery and pinnacled -organ with gold pipes. On the centre of the black and white pavement -was a bier: four tall candles burned at the corners. On the bier was a -coffin covered with a pall of black velvet. - -As he looked the folds of the pall stirred. It seemed to rise at one -end: it slid downwards: it fell away, exposing the black coffin with -its silver handles and name-plate. One of the tall candlesticks swayed -and toppled over. Ask no more, but turn, as Mr Dillet hastily did, -and look in at the lighted window at the top of the house, where a -boy and girl lay in two truckle-beds, and a four-poster for the nurse -rose above them. The nurse was not visible for the moment; but the -father and mother were there, dressed now in mourning, but with very -little sign of mourning in their demeanour. Indeed, they were laughing -and talking with a good deal of animation, sometimes to each other, -and sometimes throwing a remark to one or other of the children, -and again laughing at the answers. Then the father was seen to go on -tiptoe out of the room, taking with him as he went a white garment that -hung on a peg near the door. He shut the door after him. A minute or -two later it was slowly opened again, and a muffled head poked round -it. A bent form of sinister shape stepped across to the truckle-beds, -and suddenly stopped, threw up its arms and revealed, of course, the -father, laughing. The children were in agonies of terror, the boy with -the bed clothes over his head, the girl throwing herself out of bed -into her mother’s arms. Attempts at consolation followed--the parents -took the children on their laps, patted them, picked up the white gown -and showed there was no harm in it, and so forth; and at last putting -the children back into bed, left the room with encouraging waves of the -hand. As they left it, the nurse came in, and soon the light died down. - -Still Mr Dillet watched immovable. - -A new sort of light--not of lamp or candle--a pale ugly light, -began to dawn around the door-case at the back of the room. The door -was opening again. The seer does not like to dwell upon what he saw -entering the room: he says it might be described as a frog--the size of -a man--but it had scanty white hair about its head. It was busy about -the truckle-beds, but not for long. The sound of cries--faint, as if -coming out of a vast distance--but, even so, infinitely appalling, -reached the ear. - -There were signs of a hideous commotion all over the house: lights -passed along and up, and doors opened and shut, and running figures -passed within the windows. The clock in the stable turret tolled one, -and darkness fell again. - -It was only dispelled once more, to show the house front. At the bottom -of the steps dark figures were drawn up in two lines, holding flaming -torches. More dark figures came down the steps, bearing, first one, -then another small coffin. And the lines of torch-bearers with the -coffins between them moved silently onward to the left. - -The hours of night passed on--never so slowly, Mr Dillet thought. -Gradually he sank down from sitting to lying in his bed--but he did not -close an eye: and early next morning he sent for the doctor. - -The doctor found him in a disquieting state of nerves, and recommended -sea-air. To a quiet place on the East Coast he accordingly repaired by -easy stages in his car. - -One of the first people he met on the sea-front was Mr Chittenden, who, -it appeared, had likewise been advised to take his wife away for a bit -of a change. - -Mr Chittenden looked somewhat askance upon him when they met: and not -without cause. - -“Well, I don’t wonder at you being a bit upset, Mr Dillet. What? yes, -well, I might say ’orrible upset, to be sure, seeing what me and my -poor wife went through ourselves. But I put it to you, Mr Dillet, one -of two things: was I going to scrap a lovely piece like that on the one -’and, or was I going to tell customers: ‘I’m selling you a regular -picture-palace-dramar in reel life of the olden time, billed to perform -regular at one o’clock a.m.’? Why, what would you ’ave said yourself? -And next thing you know, two Justices of the Peace in the back parlour, -and pore Mr and Mrs Chittenden off in a spring cart to the County -Asylum and everyone in the street saying, ‘Ah, I thought it ’ud come -to that. Look at the way the man drank!’--and me next door, or next -door but one, to a total abstainer, as you know. Well, there was my -position. What? Me ’ave it back in the shop? Well, what do _you_ think? -No, but I’ll tell you what I will do. You shall have your money back, -bar the ten pound I paid for it, and you make what you can.” - -Later in the day, in what is offensively called the “smoke-room” of the -hotel, a murmured conversation between the two went on for some time. - -“How much do you really know about that thing, and where it came from?” - -“Honest, Mr Dillet, I don’t know the ’ouse. Of course, it came out -of the lumber room of a country ’ouse--that anyone could guess. But -I’ll go as far as say this, that I believe it’s not a hundred miles -from this place. Which direction and how far I’ve no notion. I’m only -judging by guess-work. The man as I actually paid the cheque to ain’t -one of my regular men, and I’ve lost sight of him; but I ’ave the idea -that this part of the country was his beat, and that’s every word I can -tell you. But now, Mr Dillet, there’s one thing that rather physicks -me--that old chap,--I suppose you saw him drive up to the door--I -thought so: now, would he have been the medical man, do you take it? My -wife would have it so, but I stuck to it that was the lawyer, because -he had papers with him, and one he took out was folded up.” - -“I agree,” said Mr Dillet. “Thinking it over, I came to the conclusion -that was the old man’s will, ready to be signed.” - -“Just what I thought,” said Mr Chittenden, “and I took it that will -would have cut out the young people, eh? Well, well! It’s been a -lesson to me, I know that. I shan’t buy no more dolls’ houses, nor -waste no more money on the pictures--and as to this business of -poisonin’ grandpa, well, if I know myself, I never ’ad much of a turn -for that. Live and let live: that’s bin my motto throughout life, and I -ain’t found it a bad one.” - -Filled with these elevated sentiments, Mr Chittenden retired to -his lodgings. Mr Dillet next day repaired to the local Institute, -where he hoped to find some clue to the riddle that absorbed him. He -gazed in despair at a long file of the Canterbury and York Society’s -publications of the Parish Registers of the district. No print -resembling the house of his nightmare was among those that hung on the -staircase and in the passages. Disconsolate, he found himself at last -in a derelict room, staring at a dusty model of a church in a dusty -glass case: _Model of St Stephen’s Church, Coxham. Presented by J. -Merewether, Esq., of Ilbridge House, 1877. The work of his ancestor -James Merewether, d. 1786._ There was something in the fashion of it -that reminded him dimly of his horror. He retraced his steps to a wall -map he had noticed, and made out that Ilbridge House was in Coxham -Parish. Coxham was, as it happened, one of the parishes of which he had -retained the name when he glanced over the file of printed registers, -and it was not long before he found in them the record of the burial of -Roger Milford, aged 76, on the 11th of September, 1757, and of Roger -and Elizabeth Merewether, aged 9 and 7, on the 19th of the same month. -It seemed worth while to follow up this clue, frail as it was; and in -the afternoon he drove out to Coxham. The east end of the north aisle -of the church is a Milford chapel, and on its north wall are tablets -to the same persons; Roger, the elder, it seems, was distinguished by -all the qualities which adorn “the Father, the Magistrate, and the -Man”: the memorial was erected by his attached daughter Elizabeth, -“who did not long survive the loss of a parent ever solicitous for her -welfare, and of two amiable children.” The last sentence was plainly -an addition to the original inscription. - -A yet later slab told of James Merewether, husband of Elizabeth, -“who in the dawn of life practised, not without success, those arts -which, had he continued their exercise, might in the opinion of the -most competent judges have earned for him the name of the British -Vitruvius: but who, overwhelmed by the visitation which deprived him of -an affectionate partner and a blooming offspring, passed his Prime and -Age in a secluded yet elegant Retirement: his grateful Nephew and Heir -indulges a pious sorrow by this too brief recital of his excellences.” - -The children were more simply commemorated. Both died on the night of -the 12th of September. - -Mr Dillet felt sure that in Ilbridge House he had found the scene of -his drama. In some old sketch-book, possibly in some old print, he may -yet find convincing evidence that he is right. But the Ilbridge House -of to-day is not that which he sought; it is an Elizabethan erection of -the forties, in red brick with stone quoins and dressings. A quarter -of a mile from it, in a low part of the park, backed by ancient, -stag-horned, ivy-strangled trees and thick undergrowth, are marks of -a terraced platform overgrown with rough grass. A few stone balusters -lie here and there, and a heap or two, covered with nettles and ivy, -of wrought stones with badly carved crockets. This, someone told Mr -Dillet, was the site of an older house. - -As he drove out of the village, the hall clock struck four, and Mr -Dillet started up and clapped his hands to his ears. It was not the -first time he had heard that bell. - -Awaiting an offer from the other side of the Atlantic, the doll’s house -still reposes, carefully sheeted, in a loft over Mr Dillet’s stables, -whither Collins conveyed it on the day when Mr Dillet started for the -sea coast. - - * * * * * - -[It will be said, perhaps, and not unjustly, that this is no more than -a variation on a former story of mine called _The Mezzotint_. I can -only hope that there is enough of variation in the setting to make the -repetition of the _motif_ tolerable]. - - - - -THE UNCOMMON PRAYER-BOOK - - -I - -Mr Davidson was spending the first week in January alone in a country -town. A combination of circumstances had driven him to that drastic -course: his nearest relations were enjoying winter sports abroad, -and the friends who had been kindly anxious to replace them had an -infectious complaint in the house. Doubtless he might have found -someone else to take pity on him. “But,” he reflected, “most of them -have made up their parties, and, after all, it is only for three or -four days at most that I have to fend for myself, and it will be just -as well if I can get a move on with my introduction to the Leventhorp -Papers. I might use the time by going down as near as I can to -Gaulsford and making acquaintance with the neighbourhood. I ought to -see the remains of Leventhorp House, and the tombs in the church.” - -The first day after his arrival at the Swan Hotel at Longbridge was -so stormy that he got no farther than the tobacconist’s. The next, -comparatively bright, he used for his visit to Gaulsford, which -interested him more than a little, but had no ulterior consequences. -The third, which was really a pearl of a day for early January, was -too fine to be spent indoors. He gathered from the landlord that a -favourite practice of visitors in the summer was to take a morning -train to a couple of stations westward, and walk back down the valley -of the Tent, through Stanford St Thomas and Stanford Magdalene, both -of which were accounted highly picturesque villages. He closed with -this plan, and we now find him seated in a third-class carriage at 9.45 -A.M., on his way to Kingsbourne Junction, and studying the map of the -district. - -One old man was his only fellow-traveller, a piping old man, who seemed -inclined for conversation. So Mr Davidson, after going through the -necessary versicles and responses about the weather, inquired whether -he was going far. - -“No, sir, not far, not this morning, sir,” said the old man. “I ain’t -only goin’ so far as what they call Kingsbourne Junction. There isn’t -but two stations betwixt here and there. Yes, they calls it Kingsbourne -Junction.” - -“I’m going there, too,” said Mr Davidson. - -“Oh, indeed, sir; do you know that part?” - -“No, I’m only going for the sake of taking a walk back to Longbridge, -and seeing a bit of the country.” - -“Oh, indeed, sir! Well, ’tis a beautiful day for a gentleman as enjoys -a bit of a walk.” - -“Yes, to be sure. Have you got far to go when you get to Kingsbourne?” - -“No, sir, I ain’t got far to go, once I get to Kingsbourne Junction. -I’m agoin’ to see my daughter, sir. She live at Brockstone. That’s -about two mile across the fields from what they call Kingsbourne -Junction, that is. You’ve got that marked down on your map, I expect, -sir.” - -“I expect I have. Let me see, Brockstone, did you say? Here’s -Kingsbourne, yes; and which way is Brockstone--toward the Stanfords? -Ah, I see it: Brockstone Court, in a park. I don’t see the village, -though.” - -“No, sir, you wouldn’t see no village of Brockstone. There ain’t only -the Court and the Chapel at Brockstone.” - -“Chapel? Oh, yes, that’s marked here, too. The Chapel; close by the -Court, it seems to be. Does it belong to the Court?” - -“Yes, sir, that’s close up to the Court, only a step. Yes, that belong -to the Court. My daughter, you see, sir, she’s the keeper’s wife now, -and she live at the Court and look after things now the family’s away.” - -“No one living there now, then?” - -“No, sir, not for a number of years. The old gentleman, he lived there -when I was a lad; and the lady, she lived on after him to very near -upon ninety years of age. And then she died, and them that have it -now, they’ve got this other place, in Warwickshire I believe it is, and -they don’t do nothin’ about lettin’ the Court out; but Colonel Wildman, -he have the shooting, and young Mr Clark, he’s the agent, he come over -once in so many weeks to see to things, and my daughter’s husband, he’s -the keeper.” - -“And who uses the Chapel? just the people round about, I suppose.” - -“Oh, no, no one don’t use the Chapel. Why, there ain’t no one to go. -All the people about, they go to Stanford St Thomas Church; but my -son-in-law, he go to Kingsbourne Church now, because the gentleman at -Stanford, he have this Gregory singin’, and my son-in-law, he don’t -like that; he say he can hear the old donkey brayin’ any day of the -week, and he like something a little cheerful on the Sunday.” The -old man drew his hand across his mouth and laughed. “That’s what my -son-in-law say; he say he can hear the old donkey,” etc., _da capo_. - -Mr Davidson also laughed as honestly as he could, thinking meanwhile -that Brockstone Court and Chapel would probably be worth including -in his walk; for the map showed that from Brockstone he could -strike the Tent Valley quite as easily as by following the main -Kingsbourne-Longbridge road. So, when the mirth excited by the -remembrance of the son-in-law’s _bon mot_ had died down, he returned to -the charge, and ascertained that both the Court and the Chapel were of -the class known as “old-fashioned places,” and that the old man would -be very willing to take him thither, and his daughter would be happy to -show him whatever she could. - -“But that ain’t a lot, sir, not as if the family was livin’ there; all -the lookin’-glasses is covered up, and the paintin’s, and the curtains -and carpets folded away; not but what I dare say she could show you -a pair just to look at, because she go over them to see as the morth -shouldn’t get into ’em.” - -“I shan’t mind about that, thank you; if she can show me the inside of -the Chapel, that’s what I’d like best to see.” - -“Oh, she can show you that right enough, sir. She have the key of the -door, you see, and most weeks she go in and dust about. That’s a nice -Chapel, that is. My son-in-law, he say he’ll be bound they didn’t have -none of this Gregory singin’ there. Dear! I can’t help but smile when I -think of him sayin’ that about th’ old donkey. ‘I can hear him bray,’ -he say, ‘any day of the week’; and so he can, sir; that’s true, anyway.” - -The walk across the fields from Kingsbourne to Brockstone was very -pleasant. It lay for the most part on the top of the country, and -commanded wide views over a succession of ridges, plough and pasture, -or covered with dark-blue woods--all ending, more or less abruptly, -on the right, in headlands that overlooked the wide valley of a great -western river. The last field they crossed was bounded by a close -copse, and no sooner were they in it than the path turned downward -very sharply, and it became evident that Brockstone was neatly fitted -into a sudden and very narrow valley. It was not long before they had -glimpses of groups of smokeless stone chimneys, and stone-tiled roofs, -close beneath their feet; and, not many minutes after that, they were -wiping their shoes at the back door of Brockstone Court, while the -keeper’s dogs barked very loudly in unseen places, and Mrs Porter, in -quick succession, screamed at them to be quiet, greeted her father, and -begged both her visitors to step in. - - -II - -It was not to be expected that Mr Davidson should escape being taken -through the principal rooms of the Court, in spite of the fact that -the house was entirely out of commission. Pictures, carpets, curtains, -furniture, were all covered up or put away, as old Mr Avery had -said; and the admiration which our friend was very ready to bestow -had to be lavished on the proportions of the rooms, and on the one -painted ceiling, upon which an artist who had fled from London in the -plague-year had depicted the Triumph of Loyalty and Defeat of Sedition. -In this Mr Davidson could show an unfeigned interest. The portraits of -Cromwell, Ireton, Bradshaw, Peters, and the rest, writhing in carefully -devised torments, were evidently the part of the design to which most -pains had been devoted. - -“That were the old Lady Sadleir had that paintin’ done, same as the -one what put up the Chapel. They say she were the first that went up -to London to dance on Oliver Cromwell’s grave.” So said Mr Avery, and -continued musingly, “Well, I suppose she got some satisfaction to her -mind, but I don’t know as I should want to pay the fare to London and -back just for that; and my son-in-law, he say the same; he say he don’t -know as he should have cared to pay all that money only for that. I was -tellin’ the gentleman as we came along in the train, Mary, what your -’Arry says about this Gregory singin’ down at Stanford here. We ’ad a -bit of a laugh over that, sir, didn’t us?” - -“Yes, to be sure we did; ha! ha!” Once again Mr Davidson strove to do -justice to the pleasantry of the keeper. “But,” he said, “if Mrs Porter -can show me the Chapel, I think it should be now, for the days aren’t -long, and I want to get back to Longbridge before it falls quite dark.” - -Even if Brockstone Court has not been illustrated in _Rural Life_ (and -I think it has not), I do not propose to point out its excellences -here; but of the Chapel a word must be said. It stands about a hundred -yards from the house, and has its own little graveyard and trees about -it. It is a stone building about seventy feet long, and in the Gothic -style, as that style was understood in the middle of the seventeenth -century. On the whole it resembles some of the Oxford college chapels -as much as anything, save that it has a distinct chancel, like a parish -church, and a fanciful domed bell-turret at the south-west angle. - -When the west door was thrown open, Mr Davidson could not repress an -exclamation of pleased surprise at the completeness and richness of -the interior. Screen-work, pulpit, seating, and glass--all were of -the same period; and as he advanced into the nave and sighted the -organ-case with its gold-embossed pipes in the western gallery, his cup -of satisfaction was filled. The glass in the nave windows was chiefly -armorial; and in the chancel were figure-subjects, of the kind that may -be seen at Abbey Dore, of Lord Scudamore’s work. - -But this is not an archæological review. - -While Mr Davidson was still busy examining the remains of the organ -(attributed to one of the Dallams, I believe), old Mr Avery had -stumped up into the chancel and was lifting the dust-cloths from the -blue-velvet cushions of the stall-desks. Evidently it was here that the -family sat. - -Mr Davidson heard him say in a rather hushed tone of surprise, “Why, -Mary, here’s all the books open agin!” - -The reply was in a voice that sounded peevish rather than surprised. -“Tt-tt-tt, well, there, I never!” - -Mrs Porter went over to where her father was standing, and they -continued talking in a lower key. Mr Davidson saw plainly that -something not quite in the common run was under discussion; so he came -down the gallery stairs and joined them. There was no sign of disorder -in the chancel any more than in the rest of the Chapel, which was -beautifully clean; but the eight folio Prayer-Books on the cushions of -the stall-desks were indubitably open. - -Mrs Porter was inclined to be fretful over it. “Whoever can it be as -does it?” she said: “for there’s no key but mine, nor yet door but the -one we came in by, and the winders is barred, every one of ’em; I don’t -like it, father, that I don’t.” - -“What is it, Mrs Porter? Anything wrong?” said Mr Davidson. - -“No, sir, nothing reely wrong, only these books. Every time, pretty -near, that I come in to do up the place, I shuts ’em and spreads the -cloths over ’em to keep off the dust, ever since Mr Clark spoke about -it, when I first come; and yet there they are again, and always the -same page--and as I says, whoever it can be as does it with the door -and winders shut; and as I says, it makes anyone feel queer comin’ in -here alone, as I ’ave to do, not as I’m given that way myself, not -to be frightened easy, I mean to say; and there’s not a rat in the -place--not as no rat wouldn’t trouble to do a thing like that, do you -think, sir?” - -“Hardly, I should say; but it sounds very queer. Are they always open -at the same place, did you say?” - -“Always the same place, sir, one of the psalms it is, and I didn’t -particular notice it the first time or two, till I see a little red -line of printing, and it’s always caught my eye since.” - -Mr Davidson walked along the stalls and looked at the open books. Sure -enough, they all stood at the same page; Psalm cix., and at the head -of it, just between the number and the _Deus laudum_, was a rubric, -“For the 25th day of April.” Without pretending to minute knowledge -of the history of the Book of Common Prayer, he knew enough to be sure -that this was a very odd and wholly unauthorized addition to its text; -and though he remembered that April 25 is St Mark’s Day, he could not -imagine what appropriateness this very savage psalm could have to that -festival. With slight misgivings he ventured to turn over the leaves to -examine the title-page, and knowing the need for particular accuracy in -these matters, he devoted some ten minutes to making a line-for-line -transcript of it. The date was 1653; the printer called himself Anthony -Cadman. He turned to the list of proper psalms for certain days; yes, -added to it was that same inexplicable entry: _For the 25th day of -April: the 109th Psalm_. An expert would no doubt have thought of many -other points to inquire into, but this antiquary, as I have said, was -no expert. He took stock, however, of the binding--a handsome one of -tooled blue leather, bearing the arms that figured in several of the -nave windows in various combinations. - -“How often,” he said at last to Mrs Porter, “have you found these books -lying open like this?” - -“Reely I couldn’t say, sir, but it’s a great many times now. Do you -recollect, father, me telling you about it the first time I noticed it?” - -“That I do, my dear; you was in a rare taking, and I don’t so much -wonder at it; that was five year ago I was paying you a visit at -Michaelmas time, and you come in at tea-time, and says you, ‘Father, -there’s the books laying open under the cloths agin;’ and I didn’t -know what my daughter was speakin’ about, you see, sir, and I says, -‘Books?’ just like that, I says; and then it all came out. But as Harry -says,--that’s my son-in-law, sir,--‘whoever it can be,’ he says, ‘as -does it, because there ain’t only the one door, and we keeps the key -locked up,’ he says, ‘and the winders is barred, every one on ’em. -Well,’ he says, ‘I lay once I could catch ’em at it, they wouldn’t do -it a second time,’ he says. And no more they wouldn’t, I don’t believe, -sir. Well, that was five year ago, and it’s been happenin’ constant -ever since by your account, my dear. Young Mr Clark, he don’t seem to -think much to it; but then he don’t live here, you see, and ’tisn’t his -business to come and clean up here of a dark afternoon, is it?” - -“I suppose you never notice anything else odd when you are at work -here, Mrs Porter?” said Mr Davidson. - -“No, sir, I do not,” said Mrs Porter, “and it’s a funny thing to me I -don’t, with the feeling I have as there’s someone settin’ here--no, -it’s the other side, just within the screen--and lookin’ at me all the -time I’m dustin’ in the gallery and pews. But I never yet see nothin’ -worse than myself, as the sayin’ goes, and I kindly hope I never may.” - - -III - -In the conversation that followed (there was not much of it), nothing -was added to the statement of the case. Having parted on good terms -with Mr Avery and his daughter, Mr Davidson addressed himself to his -eight-mile walk. The little valley of Brockstone soon led him down into -the broader one of the Tent, and on to Stanford St Thomas, where he -found refreshment. - -We need not accompany him all the way to Longbridge. But as he -was changing his socks before dinner, he suddenly paused and said -half-aloud, “By Jove, that is a rum thing!” It had not occurred to him -before how strange it was that any edition of the Prayer-Book should -have been issued in 1653, seven years before the Restoration, five -years before Cromwell’s death, and when the use of the book, let alone -the printing of it, was penal. He must have been a bold man who put his -name and a date on that title-page. Only, Mr Davidson reflected, it -probably was not his name at all, for the ways of printers in difficult -times were devious. - -As he was in the front hall of the Swan that evening, making some -investigations about trains, a small motor stopped in front of the -door, and out of it came a small man in a fur coat, who stood on the -steps and gave directions in a rather yapping foreign accent to his -chauffeur. When he came into the hotel, he was seen to be black-haired -and pale-faced, with a little pointed beard, and gold _pince-nez_; -altogether, very neatly turned out. - -He went to his room, and Mr Davidson saw no more of him till -dinner-time. As they were the only two dining that night, it was not -difficult for the newcomer to find an excuse for falling into talk; he -was evidently wishing to make out what brought Mr Davidson into that -neighbourhood at that season. - -“Can you tell me how far it is from here to Arlingworth?” was one of -his early questions; and it was one which threw some light on his -own plans; for Mr Davidson recollected having seen at the station an -advertisement of a sale at Arlingworth Hall, comprising old furniture, -pictures, and books. This, then, was a London dealer. - -“No,” he said, “I’ve never been there. I believe it lies out by -Kingsbourne--it can’t be less than twelve miles. I see there’s a sale -there shortly.” - -The other looked at him inquisitively, and he laughed. “No,” he said, -as if answering a question, “you needn’t be afraid of my competing; I’m -leaving this place to-morrow.” - -This cleared the air, and the dealer, whose name was Homberger, -admitted that he was interested in books, and thought there might be -in these old country-house libraries something to repay a journey. -“For,” said he, “we English have always this marvellous talent for -accumulating rarities in the most unexpected places, ain’t it?” - -And in the course of the evening he was most interesting on the subject -of finds made by himself and others. “I shall take the occasion after -this sale to look round the district a bit; perhaps you could inform me -of some likely spots, Mr Davidson?” - -But Mr Davidson, though he had seen some very tempting locked-up -book-cases at Brockstone Court, kept his counsel. He did not really -like Mr Homberger. - -Next day, as he sat in the train, a little ray of light came to -illuminate one of yesterday’s puzzles. He happened to take out an -almanac-diary that he had bought for the new year, and it occurred to -him to look at the remarkable events for April 25. There it was: “St -Mark. Oliver Cromwell born, 1599.” - -That, coupled with the painted ceiling, seemed to explain a good -deal. The figure of old Lady Sadleir became more substantial to his -imagination, as of one in whom love for Church and King had gradually -given place to intense hate of the power that had silenced the one and -slaughtered the other. What curious evil service was that which she and -a few like her had been wont to celebrate year by year in that remote -valley? And how in the world had she managed to elude authority? And -again, did not this persistent opening of the books agree oddly with -the other traits of her portrait known to him? It would be interesting -for anyone who chanced to be near Brockstone on the twenty-fifth -of April to look in at the Chapel and see if anything exceptional -happened. When he came to think of it, there seemed to be no reason -why he should not be that person himself; he, and if possible, some -congenial friend. He resolved that so it should be. - -Knowing that he knew really nothing about the printing of Prayer-Books, -he realized that he must make it his business to get the best light -on the matter without divulging his reasons. I may say at once that -his search was entirely fruitless. One writer of the early part of the -nineteenth century, a writer of rather windy and rhapsodical chat about -books, professed to have heard of a special anti-Cromwellian issue of -the Prayer-Book in the very midst of the Commonwealth period. But he -did not claim to have seen a copy, and no one had believed him. Looking -into this matter, Mr Davidson found that the statement was based on -letters from a correspondent who had lived near Longbridge; so he was -inclined to think that the Brockstone Prayer-Books were at the bottom -of it, and had excited a momentary interest. - -Months went on, and St Mark’s Day came near. Nothing interfered with Mr -Davidson’s plans of visiting Brockstone, or with those of the friend -whom he had persuaded to go with him, and to whom alone he had confided -the puzzle. The same 9.45 train which had taken him in January took -them now to Kingsbourne; the same field-path led them to Brockstone. -But to-day they stopped more than once to pick a cowslip; the distant -woods and ploughed uplands were of another colour, and in the copse -there was, as Mrs Porter said, “a regular charm of birds; why you -couldn’t hardly collect your mind sometimes with it.” - -She recognized Mr Davidson at once, and was very ready to do the -honours of the Chapel. The new visitor, Mr Witham, was as much struck -by the completeness of it as Mr Davidson had been. “There can’t be -such another in England,” he said. - -“Books open again, Mrs Porter?” said Davidson, as they walked up to the -chancel. - -“Dear, yes, I expect so, sir,” said Mrs Porter, as she drew off the -cloths. “Well, there!” she exclaimed the next moment, “if they ain’t -shut! That’s the first time ever I’ve found ’em so. But it’s not for -want of care on my part, I do assure you, gentlemen, if they wasn’t, -for I felt the cloths the last thing before I shut up last week, when -the gentleman had done photografting the heast winder, and every one -was shut, and where there was ribbons left, I tied ’em. Now I think -of it, I don’t remember ever to ’ave done that before, and per’aps, -whoever it is, it just made the difference to ’em. Well, it only shows, -don’t it? If at first you don’t succeed, try, try, try again.” - -Meanwhile the two men had been examining the books, and now Davidson -spoke. - -“I’m sorry to say I’m afraid there’s something wrong here, Mrs Porter. -These are not the same books.” - -It would make too long a business to detail all Mrs Porter’s outcries, -and the questionings that followed. The upshot was this. Early in -January the gentleman had come to see over the Chapel, and thought a -great deal of it, and said he must come back in the spring weather -and take some photografts. And only a week ago he had drove up in his -motoring car, and a very ’eavy box with the slides in it, and she had -locked him in because he said something about a long explosion, and she -was afraid of some damage happening; and he says, no, not explosion, -but it appeared the lantern what they take the slides with worked very -slow; and so he was in there the best part of an hour and she come and -let him out, and he drove off with his box and all and gave her his -visiting-card, and oh, dear, dear, to think of such a thing! he must -have changed the books and took the old ones away with him in his box. - -“What sort of man was he?” - -“Oh, dear, he was a small-made gentleman, if you can call him so after -the way he’ve behaved, with black hair, that is if it was hair, and -gold eye-glasses, if they was gold; reely, one don’t know what to -believe. Sometimes I doubt he weren’t a reel Englishman at all, and yet -he seemed to know the language, and had the name on his visiting-card -like anybody else might.” - -“Just so; might we see the card? Yes; T. W. Henderson, and an address -somewhere near Bristol. Well, Mrs Porter, it’s quite plain this -Mr Henderson, as he calls himself, has walked off with your eight -Prayer-Books and put eight others about the same size in place of them. -Now listen to me. I suppose you must tell your husband about this, but -neither you nor he must say one word about it to anyone else. If you’ll -give me the address of the agent,--Mr Clark, isn’t it?--I will write to -him and tell him exactly what has happened, and that it really is no -fault of yours. But, you understand, we must keep it very quiet; and -why? Because this man who has stolen the books will of course try to -sell them one at a time--for I may tell you they are worth a good deal -of money--and the only way we can bring it home to him is by keeping a -sharp lookout and saying nothing.” - -By dint of repeating the same advice in various forms, they succeeded -in impressing Mrs Porter with the real need for silence, and were -forced to make a concession only in the case of Mr Avery, who was -expected on a visit shortly. “But you may be safe with father, sir,” -said Mrs Porter. “Father ain’t a talkin’ man.” - -It was not quite Mr Davidson’s experience of him; still, there were no -neighbours at Brockstone, and even Mr Avery must be aware that gossip -with anybody on such a subject would be likely to end in the Porters’ -having to look out for another situation. - -A last question was whether Mr Henderson, so-called, had anyone with -him. - -“No, sir, not when he come he hadn’t; he was working his own motoring -car himself, and what luggage he had, let me see: there was his -lantern and this box of slides inside the carriage, which I helped him -into the Chapel and out of it myself with it, if only I’d knowed! And -as he drove away under the big yew tree by the monument, I see the long -white bundle laying on the top of the coach, what I didn’t notice when -he drove up. But he set in front, sir, and only the boxes inside behind -him. And do you reely think, sir, as his name weren’t Henderson at all? -Oh, dear me, what a dreadful thing! Why, fancy what trouble it might -bring to a innocent person that might never have set foot in the place -but for that!” - -They left Mrs Porter in tears. On the way home there was much -discussion as to the best means of keeping watch upon possible sales. -What Henderson-Homberger (for there could be no real doubt of the -identity) had done was, obviously, to bring down the requisite number -of folio Prayer-Books--disused copies from college chapels and the -like, bought ostensibly for the sake of the bindings, which were -superficially like enough to the old ones--and to substitute them at -his leisure for the genuine articles. A week had now passed without -any public notice being taken of the theft. He would take a little -time himself to find out about the rarity of the books, and would -ultimately, no doubt, “place” them cautiously. Between them, Davidson -and Witham were in a position to know a good deal of what was passing -in the book-world, and they could map out the ground pretty completely. -A weak point with them at the moment was that neither of them knew -under what other name or names Henderson-Homberger carried on business. -But there are ways of solving these problems. - -And yet all this planning proved unnecessary. - - -IV - -We are transported to a London office on this same 25th of April. -We find there, within closed doors, late in the day, two police -inspectors, a commissionaire, and a youthful clerk. The two latter, -both rather pale and shaky in appearance, are sitting on chairs and -being questioned. - -“How long do you say you’ve been in this Mr Poschwitz’s employment? -Six months? And what was his business? Attended sales in various parts -and brought home parcels of books. Did he keep a shop anywhere? No? -Disposed of ’em here and there, and sometimes to private collectors. -Right. Now then, when did he go out last? Rather better than a week -ago? Tell you where he was going? No? Said he was going to start next -day from his private residence, and shouldn’t be at the office--that’s -here, eh?--before two days; you was to attend as usual. Where is his -private residence? Oh, that’s the address, Norwood way; I see. Any -family? Not in this country? Now, then, what account do you give of -what’s happened since he came back? Came back on the Tuesday, did he? -and this is the Saturday. Bring any books? One package; where is it? -In the safe? You got the key? No, to be sure, it’s open, of course. -How did he seem when he got back--cheerful? Well, but how do you -mean--curious? Thought he might be in for an illness: he said that, did -he? Odd smell got in his nose, couldn’t get rid of it; told you to let -him know who wanted to see him before you let ’em in? That wasn’t usual -with him? Much the same all Wednesday, Thursday, Friday. Out a good -deal; said he was going to the British Museum. Often went there to make -inquiries in the way of his business. Walked up and down a lot in the -office when he was in. Anyone call in on those days? Mostly when he was -out. Anyone find him in? Oh, Mr Collinson? Who’s Mr Collinson? An old -customer; know his address? All right, give it us afterwards. Well, -now, what about this morning? You left Mr Poschwitz’s here at twelve -and went home. Anybody see you? Commissionaire, you did? Remained at -home till summoned here. Very well. - -“Now, commissionaire; we have your name--Watkins, eh? Very well, make -your statement; don’t go too quick, so as we can get it down.” - -“I was on duty ’ere later than usual, Mr Potwitch ’aving asked me -to remain on, and ordered his lunching to be sent in, which came as -ordered. I was in the lobby from eleven-thirty on, and see Mr Bligh -[the clerk] leave at about twelve. After that no one come in at all -except Mr Potwitch’s lunching come at one o’clock and the man left in -five minutes’ time. Towards the afternoon I became tired of waitin’ -and I come upstairs to this first floor. The outer door what lead to -the orfice stood open, and I come up to the plate-glass door here. Mr -Potwitch he was standing behind the table smoking a cigar, and he laid -it down on the mantelpiece and felt in his trouser pockets and took -out a key and went across to the safe. And I knocked on the glass, -thinkin’ to see if he wanted me to come and take away his tray; but he -didn’t take no notice, bein’ engaged with the safe door. Then he got -it open and stooped down and seemed to be lifting up a package off of -the floor of the safe. And then, sir, I see what looked to be like a -great roll of old shabby white flannel, about four to five feet high, -fall for’ards out of the inside of the safe right against Mr Potwitch’s -shoulder as he was stooping over; and Mr Potwitch, he raised himself up -as it were, resting his hands on the package, and gave a exclamation. -And I can’t hardly expect you should take what I says, but as true as -I stand here I see this roll had a kind of a face in the upper end of -it, sir. You can’t be more surprised than what I was, I can assure you, -and I’ve seen a lot in me time. Yes, I can describe it if you wish it, -sir; it was very much the same as this wall here in colour [the wall -had an earth-coloured distemper] and it had a bit of a band tied round -underneath. And the eyes, well they was dry-like, and much as if there -was two big spiders’ bodies in the holes. Hair? no, I don’t know as -there was much hair to be seen; the flannel-stuff was over the top of -the ’ead. I’m very sure it warn’t what it should have been. No, I only -see it in a flash, but I took it in like a photograft--wish I hadn’t. -Yes, sir, it fell right over on to Mr Potwitch’s shoulder, and this -face hid in his neck,--yes, sir, about where the injury was,--more like -a ferret going for a rabbit than anythink else; and he rolled over, and -of course I tried to get in at the door; but as you know, sir, it were -locked on the inside, and all I could do, I rung up everyone, and the -surgeon come, and the police and you gentlemen, and you know as much as -what I do. If you won’t be requirin’ me any more to-day I’d be glad to -be getting off home; it’s shook me up more than I thought for.” - -“Well,” said one of the inspectors, when they were left alone; and -“Well?” said the other inspector; and, after a pause, “What’s the -surgeon’s report again? You’ve got it there. Yes. Effect on the blood -like the worst kind of snake-bite; death almost instantaneous. I’m glad -of that, for his sake; he was a nasty sight. No case for detaining this -man Watkins, anyway; we know all about him. And what about this safe, -now? We’d better go over it again; and, by the way, we haven’t opened -that package he was busy with when he died.” - -“Well, handle it careful,” said the other; “there might be this snake -in it, for what you know. Get a light into the corners of the place, -too. Well, there’s room for a shortish person to stand up in; but what -about ventilation?” - -“Perhaps,” said the other slowly, as he explored the safe with an -electric torch, “perhaps they didn’t require much of that. My word! it -strikes warm coming out of that place! like a vault, it is. But here, -what’s this bank-like of dust all spread out into the room? That must -have come there since the door was opened; it would sweep it all away -if you moved it--see? Now what do you make of that?” - -“Make of it? About as much as I make of anything else in this case. -One of London’s mysteries this is going to be, by what I can see. And -I don’t believe a photographer’s box full of large-size old-fashioned -Prayer-Books is going to take us much further. For that’s just what -your package is.” - -It was a natural but hasty utterance. The preceding narrative shows -that there was in fact plenty of material for constructing a case; and -when once Messrs Davidson and Witham had brought their end to Scotland -Yard, the join-up was soon made, and the circle completed. - -To the relief of Mrs Porter, the owners of Brockstone decided not -to replace the books in the Chapel; they repose, I believe, in a -safe-deposit in town. The police have their own methods of keeping -certain matters out of the newspapers; otherwise, it can hardly be -supposed that Watkins’s evidence about Mr Poschwitz’s death could have -failed to furnish a good many head-lines of a startling character to -the press. - - - - -A NEIGHBOUR’S LANDMARK - - -Those who spend the greater part of their time in reading or writing -books are, of course, apt to take rather particular notice of -accumulations of books when they come across them. They will not pass a -stall, a shop, or even a bedroom-shelf without reading some title, and -if they find themselves in an unfamiliar library, no host need trouble -himself further about their entertainment. The putting of dispersed -sets of volumes together, or the turning right way up of those which -the dusting housemaid has left in an apoplectic condition, appeals to -them as one of the lesser Works of Mercy. Happy in these employments, -and in occasionally opening an eighteenth-century octavo, to see “what -it is all about,” and to conclude after five minutes that it deserves -the seclusion it now enjoys, I had reached the middle of a wet August -afternoon at Betton Court---- - -“You begin in a deeply Victorian manner,” I said; “is this to continue?” - -“Remember, if you please,” said my friend, looking at me over his -spectacles, “that I am a Victorian by birth and education, and that -the Victorian tree may not unreasonably be expected to bear Victorian -fruit. Further, remember that an immense quantity of clever and -thoughtful Rubbish is now being written about the Victorian age. Now,” -he went on, laying his papers on his knee, “that article, ‘The Stricken -Years,’ in the _Times_ Literary Supplement the other day,--able? of -course it is able; but, oh! my soul and body, do just hand it over -here, will you? it’s on the table by you.” - -“I thought you were to read me something you had written,” I said, -without moving, “but, of course----” - -“Yes, I know,” he said. “Very well, then, I’ll do that first. But I -_should_ like to show you afterwards what I mean. However----” And he -lifted the sheets of paper and adjusted his spectacles. - -----at Betton Court, where, generations back, two country-house -libraries had been fused together, and no descendant of either stock -had ever faced the task of picking them over or getting rid of -duplicates. Now I am not setting out to tell of rarities I may have -discovered, of Shakespeare quartos bound up in volumes of political -tracts, or anything of that kind, but of an experience which befell me -in the course of my search--an experience which I cannot either explain -away or fit into the scheme of my ordinary life. - -It was, I said, a wet August afternoon, rather windy, rather warm. -Outside the window great trees were stirring and weeping. Between them -were stretches of green and yellow country (for the Court stands high -on a hillside), and blue hills far off, veiled with rain. Up above -was a very restless and hopeless movement of low clouds travelling -north-west. I had suspended my work--if you call it work--for some -minutes to stand at the window and look at these things, and at the -greenhouse roof on the right with the water sliding off it, and the -Church tower that rose behind that. It was all in favour of my going -steadily on; no likelihood of a clearing up for hours to come. I, -therefore, returned to the shelves, lifted out a set of eight or nine -volumes, lettered “Tracts,” and conveyed them to the table for closer -examination. - -They were for the most part of the reign of Anne. There was a good -deal of _The Late Peace_, _The Late War_, _The Conduct of the Allies_: -there were also _Letters to a Convocation Man_; _Sermons preached at -St Michael’s, Queenhithe_; _Enquiries into a late Charge of the Rt. -Rev. the Lord Bishop of Winchester_ (or more probably Winton) _to his -Clergy_: things all very lively once, and indeed still keeping so much -of their old sting that I was tempted to betake myself into an armchair -in the window, and give them more time than I had intended. Besides, -I was somewhat tired by the day. The Church clock struck four, and it -really was four, for in 1889 there was no saving of daylight. - -So I settled myself. And first I glanced over some of the War -pamphlets, and pleased myself by trying to pick out Swift by his style -from among the undistinguished. But the War pamphlets needed more -knowledge of the geography of the Low Countries than I had. I turned -to the Church, and read several pages of what the Dean of Canterbury -said to the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge on the occasion -of their anniversary meeting in 1711. When I turned over to a Letter -from a Beneficed Clergyman in the Country to the Bishop of C....r, I -was becoming languid, and I gazed for some moments at the following -sentence without surprise: - -“This Abuse (for I think myself justified in calling it by that name) -is one which I am persuaded Your Lordship would (if ’twere known to -you) exert your utmost efforts to do away. But I am also persuaded -that you know no more of its existence than (in the words of the -Country Song) - - ‘That which walks in Betton Wood - Knows why it walks or why it cries.’” - -Then indeed I did sit up in my chair, and run my finger along the -lines to make sure that I had read them right. There was no mistake. -Nothing more was to be gathered from the rest of the pamphlet. The -next paragraph definitely changed the subject: “But I have said enough -upon this _Topick_” were its opening words. So discreet, too, was the -namelessness of the Beneficed Clergyman that he refrained even from -initials, and had his letter printed in London. - -The riddle was of a kind that might faintly interest anyone: to me, -who have dabbled a good deal in works of folklore, it was really -exciting. I was set upon solving it--on finding out, I mean, what story -lay behind it; and, at least, I felt myself lucky in one point, that, -whereas I might have come on the paragraph in some College Library far -away, here I was at Betton, on the very scene of action. - -The Church clock struck five, and a single stroke on a gong followed. -This, I knew, meant tea. I heaved myself out of the deep chair, and -obeyed the summons. - -My host and I were alone at the Court. He came in soon, wet from a -round of landlord’s errands, and with pieces of local news which had to -be passed on before I could make an opportunity of asking whether there -was a particular place in the Parish that was still known as Betton -Wood. - -“Betton Wood,” he said, “was a short mile away, just on the crest of -Betton Hill, and my father stubbed up the last bit of it when it paid -better to grow corn than scrub oaks. Why do you want to know about -Betton Wood?” - -“Because,” I said, “in an old pamphlet I was reading just now, there -are two lines of a country song which mention it, and they sound as if -there was a story belonging to them. Someone says that someone else -knows no more of whatever it may be-- - - ‘Than that which walks in Betton Wood - Knows why it walks or why it cries.’” - -“Goodness,” said Philipson, “I wonder whether that was why.... I must -ask old Mitchell.” He muttered something else to himself, and took some -more tea, thoughtfully. - -“Whether that was why----?” I said. - -“Yes, I was going to say, whether that was why my father had the Wood -stubbed up. I said just now it was to get more plough-land, but I -don’t really know if it was. I don’t believe he ever broke it up: it’s -rough pasture at this moment. But there’s one old chap at least who’d -remember something of it--old Mitchell.” He looked at his watch. “Blest -if I don’t go down there and ask him. I don’t think I’ll take you,” -he went on, “he’s not so likely to tell anything he thinks is odd if -there’s a stranger by.” - -“Well, mind you remember every single thing he does tell. As for me, if -it clears up, I shall go out, and if it doesn’t, I shall go on with the -books.” - -It did clear up, sufficiently at least to make me think it worth while -to walk up the nearest hill and look over the country. I did not know -the lie of the land; it was the first visit I had paid to Philipson, -and this was the first day of it. So I went down the garden and through -the wet shrubberies with a very open mind, and offered no resistance -to the indistinct impulse--was it, however, so very indistinct?--which -kept urging me to bear to the left whenever there was a forking of -the path. The result was that after ten minutes or more of dark going -between dripping rows of box and laurel and privet, I was confronted by -a stone arch in the Gothic style set in the stone wall which encircled -the whole demesne. The door was fastened by a spring-lock, and I took -the precaution of leaving this on the jar as I passed out into the -road. That road I crossed, and entered a narrow lane between hedges -which led upward; and that lane I pursued at a leisurely pace for as -much as half-a-mile, and went on to the field to which it led. I was -now on a good point of vantage for taking in the situation of the -Court, the village, and the environment; and I leant upon a gate and -gazed westward and downward. - -I think we must all know the landscapes--are they by Birket Foster, -or somewhat earlier?--which, in the form of wood-cuts, decorate the -volumes of poetry that lay on the drawing-room tables of our fathers -and grandfathers--volumes in “Art Cloth, embossed bindings”; that -strikes me as being the right phrase. I confess myself an admirer of -them, and especially of those which show the peasant leaning over a -gate in a hedge and surveying, at the bottom of a downward slope, the -village church spire--embosomed amid venerable trees, and a fertile -plain intersected by hedgerows, and bounded by distant hills, behind -which the orb of day is sinking (or it may be rising) amid level clouds -illumined by his dying (or nascent) ray. The expressions employed here -are those which seem appropriate to the pictures I have in mind; and -were there opportunity, I would try to work in the Vale, the Grove, -the Cot, and the Flood. Anyhow, they are beautiful to me, these -landscapes, and it was just such a one that I was now surveying. It -might have come straight out of “Gems of Sacred Song, selected by a -Lady” and given as a birthday present to Eleanor Philipson in 1852 by -her attached friend Millicent Graves. All at once I turned as if I had -been stung. There thrilled into my right ear and pierced my head a -note of incredible sharpness, like the shriek of a bat, only ten times -intensified--the kind of thing that makes one wonder if something has -not given way in one’s brain. I held my breath, and covered my ear, -and shivered. Something in the circulation: another minute or two, -I thought, and I return home. But I must fix the view a little more -firmly in my mind. Only, when I turned to it again, the taste was gone -out of it. The sun was down behind the hill, and the light was off the -fields, and when the clock bell in the Church tower struck seven, I -thought no longer of kind mellow evening hours of rest, and scents of -flowers and woods on evening air; and of how someone on a farm a mile -or two off would be saying “How clear Betton bell sounds to-night after -the rain!”; but instead images came to me of dusty beams and creeping -spiders and savage owls up in the tower, and forgotten graves and their -ugly contents below, and of flying Time and all it had taken out of my -life. And just then into my left ear--close as if lips had been put -within an inch of my head, the frightful scream came thrilling again. - -There was no mistake possible now. It _was_ from outside. “With no -language but a cry” was the thought that flashed into my mind. Hideous -it was beyond anything I had heard or have heard since, but I could -read no emotion in it, and doubted if I could read any intelligence. -All its effect was to take away every vestige, every possibility, of -enjoyment, and make this no place to stay in one moment more. Of course -there was nothing to be seen: but I was convinced that, if I waited, -the thing would pass me again on its aimless, endless beat, and I could -not bear the notion of a third repetition. I hurried back to the lane -and down the hill. But when I came to the arch in the wall I stopped. -Could I be sure of my way among those dank alleys, which would be -danker and darker now? No, I confessed to myself that I was afraid: so -jarred were all my nerves with the cry on the hill that I really felt -I could not afford to be startled even by a little bird in a bush, or -a rabbit. I followed the road which followed the wall, and I was not -sorry when I came to the gate and the lodge, and descried Philipson -coming up towards it from the direction of the village. - -“And where have you been?” said he. - -“I took that lane that goes up the hill opposite the stone arch in the -wall.” - -“Oh! did you? Then you’ve been very near where Betton Wood used to be: -at least, if you followed it up to the top, and out into the field.” - -And if the reader will believe it, that was the first time that I put -two and two together. Did I at once tell Philipson what had happened to -me? I did not. I have not had other experiences of the kind which are -called super-natural, or -normal, or -physical, but, though I knew very -well I must speak of this one before long, I was not at all anxious to -do so; and I think I have read that this is a common case. - -So all I said was: “Did you see the old man you meant to?” - -“Old Mitchell? Yes, I did; and got something of a story out of him. -I’ll keep it till after dinner. It really is rather odd.” - -So when we were settled after dinner he began to report, faithfully, -as he said, the dialogue that had taken place. Mitchell, not far off -eighty years old, was in his elbow-chair. The married daughter with -whom he lived was in and out preparing for tea. - -After the usual salutations: “Mitchell, I want you to tell me something -about the Wood.” - -“What Wood’s that, Master Reginald?” - -“Betton Wood. Do you remember it?” - -Mitchell slowly raised his hand and pointed an accusing forefinger. “It -were your father done away with Betton Wood, Master Reginald, I can -tell you that much.” - -“Well, I know it was, Mitchell. You needn’t look at me as if it were my -fault.” - -“Your fault? No, I says it were your father done it, before your time.” - -“Yes, and I dare say if the truth was known, it was your father that -advised him to do it, and I want to know why.” - -Mitchell seemed a little amused. “Well,” he said, “my father were -woodman to your father and your grandfather before him, and if he -didn’t know what belonged to his business, he’d oughter done. And if -he did give advice that way, I suppose he might have had his reasons, -mightn’t he now?” - -“Of course he might, and I want you to tell me what they were.” - -“Well now, Master Reginald, whatever makes you think as I know what his -reasons might ’a been I don’t know how many year ago?” - -“Well, to be sure, it is a long time, and you might easily have -forgotten, if ever you knew. I suppose the only thing is for me to go -and ask old Ellis what he can recollect about it.” - -That had the effect I hoped for. - -“Old Ellis!” he growled. “First time ever I hear anyone say old Ellis -were any use for any purpose. I should ’a thought you know’d better -than that yourself, Master Reginald. What do you suppose old Ellis can -tell you better’n what I can about Betton Wood, and what call have -he got to be put afore me, I should like to know. His father warn’t -woodman on the place: he were ploughman--that’s what he was, and so -anyone could tell you what knows; anyone could tell you that, I says.” - -“Just so, Mitchell, but if you know all about Betton Wood and won’t -tell me, why, I must do the next best I can, and try and get it out of -somebody else; and old Ellis has been on the place very nearly as long -as you have.” - -“That he ain’t, not by eighteen months! Who says I wouldn’t tell you -nothing about the Wood? I ain’t no objection; only it’s a funny kind -of a tale, and ’taint right to my thinkin’ it should be all about the -Parish. You, Lizzie, do you keep in your kitchen a bit. Me and Master -Reginald wants to have a word or two private. But one thing I’d like -to know, Master Reginald, what come to put you upon asking about it -to-day?” - -“Oh! well, I happened to hear of an old saying about something that -walks in Betton Wood. And I wondered if that had anything to do with -its being cleared away: that’s all.” - -“Well, you was in the right, Master Reginald, however you come to hear -of it, and I believe I can tell you the rights of it better than anyone -in this Parish, let alone old Ellis. You see it came about this way: -that the shortest road to Allen’s Farm laid through the Wood, and when -we was little my poor mother she used to go so many times in the week -to the farm to fetch a quart of milk, because Mr Allen what had the -farm then under your father, he was a good man, and anyone that had a -young family to bring up, he was willing to allow ’em so much in the -week. But never you mind about that now. And my poor mother she never -liked to go through the Wood, because there was a lot of talk in the -place, and sayings like what you spoke about just now. But every now -and again, when she happened to be late with her work, she’d have to -take the short road through the Wood, and as sure as ever she did, -she’d come home in a rare state. I remember her and my father talking -about it, and he’d say, ‘Well, but it can’t do you no harm, Emma,’ and -she’d say, ‘Oh! but you haven’t an idear of it, George. Why, it went -right through my head,’ she says, ‘and I came over all bewildered-like, -and as if I didn’t know where I was. You see, George,’ she says, ‘it -ain’t as if you was about there in the dusk. You always goes there in -the daytime, now don’t you?’ and he says: ‘Why, to be sure I do, do -you take me for a fool?’ And so they’d go on. And time passed by, and -I think it wore her out, because, you understand, it warn’t no use -to go for the milk not till the afternoon, and she wouldn’t never -send none of us children instead, for fear we should get a fright. -Nor she wouldn’t tell us about it herself. ‘No,’ she says, ‘it’s bad -enough for me. I don’t want no one else to go through it, nor yet hear -talk about it.’ But one time I recollect she says, ‘Well, first it’s -a rustling-like all along in the bushes, coming very quick, either -towards me or after me according to the time, and then there comes -this scream as appears to pierce right through from the one ear to the -other, and the later I am coming through, the more like I am to hear -it twice over; but thanks be, I never yet heard it the three times.’ -And then I asked her, and I says: ‘Why, that seems like someone walking -to and fro all the time, don’t it?’ and she says, ‘Yes, it do, and -whatever it is she wants, I can’t think’: and I says, ‘Is it a woman, -mother?’ and she says, ‘Yes, I’ve heard it is a woman.’ - -“Anyway, the end of it was my father he spoke to your father, and told -him the Wood was a bad wood. ‘There’s never a bit of game in it, and -there’s never a bird’s nest there,’ he says, ‘and it ain’t no manner -of use to you.’ And after a lot of talk, your father he come and see -my mother about it, and he see she warn’t one of these silly women as -gets nervish about nothink at all, and he made up his mind there was -somethink in it, and after that he asked about in the neighbourhood, -and I believe he made out somethink, and wrote it down in a paper what -very like you’ve got up at the Court, Master Reginald. And then he gave -the order, and the Wood was stubbed up. They done all the work in the -daytime, I recollect, and was never there after three o’clock.” - -“Didn’t they find anything to explain it, Mitchell? No bones or -anything of that kind?” - -“Nothink at all, Master Reginald, only the mark of a hedge and ditch -along the middle, much about where the quickset hedge run now, and with -all the work they done, if there had been anyone put away there, they -was bound to find ’em. But I don’t know whether it done much good, -after all. People here don’t seem to like the place no better than they -did afore.” - -“That’s about what I got out of Mitchell,” said Philipson, “and as far -as any explanation goes, it leaves us very much where we were. I must -see if I can’t find that paper.” - -“Why didn’t your father ever tell you about the business?” I said. - -“He died before I went to school, you know, and I imagine he didn’t -want to frighten us children by any such story. I can remember being -shaken and slapped by my nurse for running up that lane towards the -Wood when we were coming back rather late one winter afternoon: but in -the daytime no one interfered with our going into the Wood if we wanted -to--only we never did want.” - -“Hm!” I said, and then, “Do you think you’ll be able to find that paper -that your father wrote?” - -“Yes,” he said, “I do. I expect it’s no further away than that -cupboard behind you. There’s a bundle or two of things specially put -aside, most of which I’ve looked through at various times, and I know -there’s one envelope labelled Betton Wood: but as there was no Betton -Wood any more, I never thought it would be worth while to open it, and -I never have. We’ll do it now, though.” - -“Before you do,” I said (I was still reluctant, but I thought this was -perhaps the moment for my disclosure), “I’d better tell you I think -Mitchell was right when he doubted if clearing away the Wood had put -things straight.” And I gave the account you have heard already: I -need not say Philipson was interested. “Still there?” he said. “It’s -amazing. Look here, will you come out there with me now, and see what -happens?” - -“I will do no such thing,” I said, “and if you knew the feeling, you’d -be glad to walk ten miles in the opposite direction. Don’t talk of it. -Open your envelope, and let’s hear what your father made out.” - -He did so, and read me the three or four pages of jottings which it -contained. At the top was written a motto from Scott’s _Glenfinlas_, -which seemed to me well-chosen: - - “Where walks, they say, the shrieking ghost.” - -Then there were notes of his talk with Mitchell’s mother, from which -I extract only this much. “I asked her if she never thought she saw -anything to account for the sounds she heard. She told me, no more -than once, on the darkest evening she ever came through the Wood; and -then she seemed forced to look behind her as the rustling came in the -bushes, and she thought she saw something all in tatters with the two -arms held out in front of it coming on very fast, and at that she ran -for the stile, and tore her gown all to flinders getting over it.” - -Then he had gone to two other people whom he found very shy of talking. -They seemed to think, among other things, that it reflected discredit -on the parish. However, one, Mrs Emma Frost, was prevailed upon to -repeat what her mother had told her. “They say it was a lady of title -that married twice over, and her first husband went by the name of -Brown, or it might have been Bryan (“Yes, there were Bryans at the -Court before it came into our family,” Philipson put in), and she -removed her neighbour’s landmark: leastways she took in a fair piece -of the best pasture in Betton Parish what belonged by rights to two -children as hadn’t no one to speak for them, and they say years after -she went from bad to worse, and made out false papers to gain thousands -of pounds up in London, and at last they was proved in law to be false, -and she would have been tried and put to death very like, only she -escaped away for the time. But no one can’t avoid the curse that’s laid -on them that removes the landmark, and so we take it she can’t leave -Betton before someone take and put it right again.” - -At the end of the paper there was a note to this effect. “I regret -that I cannot find any clue to previous owners of the fields adjoining -the Wood. I do not hesitate to say that if I could discover their -representatives, I should do my best to indemnify them for the wrong -done to them in years now long past: for it is undeniable that the -Wood is very curiously disturbed in the manner described by the people -of the place. In my present ignorance alike of the extent of the land -wrongly appropriated, and of the rightful owners, I am reduced to -keeping a separate note of the profits derived from this part of the -estate, and my custom has been to apply the sum that would represent -the annual yield of about five acres to the common benefit of the -Parish and to charitable uses: and I hope that those who succeed me may -see fit to continue this practice.” - -So much for the elder Mr Philipson’s paper. To those who, like myself, -are readers of the State Trials it will have gone far to illuminate -the situation. They will remember how between the years 1678 and 1684 -the Lady Ivy, formerly Theodosia Bryan, was alternately Plaintiff and -Defendant in a series of trials in which she was trying to establish -a claim against the Dean and Chapter of St Paul’s for a considerable -and very valuable tract of land in Shadwell: how in the last of those -trials, presided over by L.C.J. Jeffreys, it was proved up to the hilt -that the deeds upon which she based her claim were forgeries executed -under her orders: and how, after an information for perjury and forgery -was issued against her, she disappeared completely--so completely, -indeed, that no expert has ever been able to tell me what became of her. - -Does not the story I have told suggest that she may still be heard of -on the scene of one of her earlier and more successful exploits? - - * * * * * - -“That,” said my friend, as he folded up his papers, “is a very faithful -record of my one extraordinary experience. And now----” - -But I had so many questions to ask him, as for instance, whether his -friend had found the proper owner of the land, whether he had done -anything about the hedge, whether the sounds were ever heard now, what -was the exact title and date of his pamphlet, etc., etc., that bed-time -came and passed, without his having an opportunity to revert to the -Literary Supplement of the _Times_. - - - - -A VIEW FROM A HILL - - -How pleasant it can be, alone in a first-class railway carriage, on the -first day of a holiday that is to be fairly long, to dawdle through a -bit of English country that is unfamiliar, stopping at every station. -You have a map open on your knee, and you pick out the villages that -lie to right and left by their church towers. You marvel at the -complete stillness that attends your stoppage at the stations, broken -only by a footstep crunching the gravel. Yet perhaps that is best -experienced after sundown, and the traveller I have in mind was making -his leisurely progress on a sunny afternoon in the latter half of June. - -He was in the depths of the country. I need not particularise further -than to say that if you divided the map of England into four quarters, -he would have been found in the south-western of them. - -He was a man of academic pursuits, and his term was just over. He was -on his way to meet a new friend, older than himself. The two of them -had met first on an official enquiry in town, had found that they had -many tastes and habits in common, liked each other, and the result was -an invitation from Squire Richards to Mr Fanshawe which was now taking -effect. - -The journey ended about five o’clock. Fanshawe was told by a cheerful -country porter that the car from the Hall had been up to the station -and left a message that something had to be fetched from half-a-mile -farther on, and would the gentleman please to wait a few minutes till -it came back? “But I see,” continued the porter, “as you’ve got your -bysticle, and very like you’d find it pleasanter to ride up to the -’All yourself. Straight up the road ’ere, and then first turn to the -left--it ain’t above two mile--and I’ll see as your things is put in -the car for you. You’ll excuse me mentioning it, only I thought it -were a nice evening for a ride. Yes, sir, very seasonable weather for -the haymakers: let me see, I have your bike ticket. Thank you, sir; -much obliged: you can’t miss your road, etc., etc.” - -The two miles to the Hall were just what was needed, after the day in -the train, to dispel somnolence and impart a wish for tea. The Hall, -when sighted, also promised just what was needed in the way of a quiet -resting-place after days of sitting on committees and college-meetings. -It was neither excitingly old nor depressingly new. Plastered walls, -sash-windows, old trees, smooth lawns, were the features which Fanshawe -noticed as he came up the drive. Squire Richards, a burly man of sixty -odd, was awaiting him in the porch with evident pleasure. - -“Tea first,” he said, “or would you like a longer drink? No? All right, -tea’s ready in the garden. Come along, they’ll put your machine away. I -always have tea under the lime-tree by the stream on a day like this.” - -Nor could you ask for a better place. Midsummer afternoon, shade and -scent of a vast lime-tree, cool, swirling water within five yards. It -was long before either of them suggested a move. But about six, Mr -Richards sat up, knocked out his pipe, and said: “Look here, it’s cool -enough now to think of a stroll, if you’re inclined? All right: then -what I suggest is that we walk up the park and get on to the hillside, -where we can look over the country. We’ll have a map, and I’ll show you -where things are; and you can go off on your machine, or we can take -the car, according as you want exercise or not. If you’re ready, we can -start now and be back well before eight, taking it very easy.” - -“I’m ready. I should like my stick, though, and have you got any -field-glasses? I lent mine to a man a week ago, and he’s gone off Lord -knows where and taken them with him.” - -Mr Richards pondered. “Yes,” he said, “I have, but they’re not things -I use myself, and I don’t know whether the ones I have will suit you. -They’re old-fashioned, and about twice as heavy as they make ’em now. -You’re welcome to have them, but _I_ won’t carry them. By the way, what -do you want to drink after dinner?” - -Protestations that anything would do were overruled, and a satisfactory -settlement was reached on the way to the front hall, where Mr Fanshawe -found his stick, and Mr Richards, after thoughtful pinching of his -lower lip, resorted to a drawer in the hall-table, extracted a key, -crossed to a cupboard in the panelling, opened it, took a box from the -shelf, and put it on the table. “The glasses are in there,” he said, -“and there’s some dodge of opening it, but I’ve forgotten what it is. -You try.” Mr Fanshawe accordingly tried. There was no keyhole, and the -box was solid, heavy and smooth: it seemed obvious that some part of it -would have to be pressed before anything could happen. “The corners,” -said he to himself, “are the likely places; and infernally sharp -corners they are too,” he added, as he put his thumb in his mouth -after exerting force on a lower corner. - -“What’s the matter?” said the Squire. - -“Why, your disgusting Borgia box has scratched me, drat it,” said -Fanshawe. The Squire chuckled unfeelingly. “Well, you’ve got it open, -anyway,” he said. - -“So I have! Well, I don’t begrudge a drop of blood in a good cause, and -here are the glasses. They _are_ pretty heavy, as you said, but I think -I’m equal to carrying them.” - -“Ready?” said the Squire. “Come on then; we go out by the garden.” - -So they did, and passed out into the park, which sloped decidedly -upwards to the hill which, as Fanshawe had seen from the train, -dominated the country. It was a spur of a larger range that lay behind. -On the way, the Squire, who was great on earthworks, pointed out -various spots where he detected or imagined traces of war-ditches and -the like. “And here,” he said, stopping on a more or less level plot -with a ring of large trees, “is Baxter’s Roman villa.” “Baxter?” said -Mr Fanshawe. - -“I forgot; you don’t know about him. He was the old chap I got those -glasses from. I believe he made them. He was an old watch-maker down -in the village, a great antiquary. My father gave him leave to grub -about where he liked; and when he made a find he used to lend him a -man or two to help him with the digging. He got a surprising lot of -things together, and when he died--I dare say it’s ten or fifteen years -ago--I bought the whole lot and gave them to the town museum. We’ll -run in one of these days, and look over them. The glasses came to me -with the rest, but of course I kept them. If you look at them, you’ll -see they’re more or less amateur work--the body of them; naturally the -lenses weren’t his making.” - -“Yes, I see they are just the sort of thing that a clever workman in a -different line of business might turn out. But I don’t see why he made -them so heavy. And did Baxter actually find a Roman villa here?” - -“Yes, there’s a pavement turfed over, where we’re standing: it was too -rough and plain to be worth taking up, but of course there are drawings -of it: and the small things and pottery that turned up were quite good -of their kind. An ingenious chap, old Baxter: he seemed to have a -quite out-of-the-way instinct for these things. He was invaluable to -our archæologists. He used to shut up his shop for days at a time, and -wander off over the district, marking down places, where he scented -anything, on the ordnance map; and he kept a book with fuller notes of -the places. Since his death, a good many of them have been sampled, and -there’s always been something to justify him.” - -“What a good man!” said Mr Fanshawe. - -“Good?” said the Squire, pulling up brusquely. - -“I meant useful to have about the place,” said Mr Fanshawe. “But was he -a villain?” - -“I don’t know about that either,” said the Squire; “but all I can say -is, if he was good, he wasn’t lucky. And he wasn’t liked: I didn’t like -him,” he added, after a moment. - -“Oh?” said Fanshawe, interrogatively. - -“No, I didn’t; but that’s enough about Baxter: besides, this is the -stiffest bit, and I don’t want to talk and walk as well.” - -Indeed it was hot, climbing a slippery grass slope that evening. “I -told you I should take you the short way,” panted the Squire, “and I -wish I hadn’t. However, a bath won’t do us any harm when we get back. -Here we are, and there’s the seat.” - -A small clump of old Scotch firs crowned the top of the hill; and, at -the edge of it, commanding the cream of the view, was a wide and solid -seat, on which the two disposed themselves, and wiped their brows, and -regained breath. - -“Now, then,” said the Squire, as soon as he was in a condition to talk -connectedly, “this is where your glasses come in. But you’d better take -a general look round first. My word! I’ve never seen the view look -better.” - -Writing as I am now with a winter wind flapping against dark windows -and a rushing, tumbling sea within a hundred yards, I find it hard to -summon up the feelings and words which will put my reader in possession -of the June evening and the lovely English landscape of which the -Squire was speaking. - -Across a broad level plain they looked upon ranges of great hills, -whose uplands--some green, some furred with woods--caught the light of -a sun, westering but not yet low. And all the plain was fertile, though -the river which traversed it was nowhere seen. There were copses, green -wheat, hedges and pasture-land: the little compact white moving cloud -marked the evening train. Then the eye picked out red farms and grey -houses, and nearer home scattered cottages, and then the Hall, nestled -under the hill. The smoke of chimneys was very blue and straight. There -was a smell of hay in the air: there were wild roses on bushes hard by. -It was the acme of summer. - -After some minutes of silent contemplation, the Squire began to point -out the leading features, the hills and valleys, and told where the -towns and villages lay. “Now,” he said, “with the glasses you’ll be -able to pick out Fulnaker Abbey. Take a line across that big green -field, then over the wood beyond it, then over the farm on the knoll.” - -“Yes, yes,” said Fanshawe. “I’ve got it. What a fine tower!” - -“You must have got the wrong direction,” said the Squire; “there’s not -much of a tower about there that I remember, unless it’s Oldbourne -Church that you’ve got hold of. And if you call that a fine tower, -you’re easily pleased.” - -“Well, I do call it a fine tower,” said Fanshawe, the glasses still at -his eyes, “whether it’s Oldbourne or any other. And it must belong to a -largish church--it looks to me like a central tower; four big pinnacles -at the corners, and four smaller ones between. I must certainly go over -there. How far is it?” - -“Oldbourne’s about nine miles, or less,” said the Squire. “It’s a long -time since I’ve been there, but I don’t remember thinking much of it. -Now I’ll show you another thing.” - -Fanshawe had lowered the glasses, and was still gazing in the Oldbourne -direction. “No,” he said, “I can’t make out anything with the naked -eye. What was it you were going to show me?” - -“A good deal more to the left--it oughtn’t to be difficult to find. Do -you see a rather sudden knob of a hill with a thick wood on top of it? -It’s in a dead line with that single tree on the top of the big ridge.” - -“I do,” said Fanshawe, “and I believe I could tell you without much -difficulty what it’s called.” - -“Could you now?” said the Squire. “Say on.” - -“Why, Gallows Hill,” was the answer. - -“How did you guess that?” - -“Well, if you don’t want it guessed, you shouldn’t put up a dummy -gibbet and a man hanging on it.” - -“What’s that?” said the Squire abruptly. “There’s nothing on that hill -but wood.” - -“On the contrary,” said Fanshawe, “there’s a largish expanse of grass -on the top and your dummy gibbet in the middle; and I thought there was -something on it when I looked first. But I see there’s nothing--or is -there? I can’t be sure.” - -“Nonsense, nonsense, Fanshawe, there’s no such thing as a dummy gibbet, -or any other sort, on that hill. And it’s thick wood--a fairly young -plantation. I was in it myself not a year ago. Hand me the glasses, -though I don’t suppose I can see anything.” After a pause: “No, I -thought not: they won’t show a thing.” - -Meanwhile Fanshawe was scanning the hill--it might be only two or three -miles away. “Well, it’s very odd,” he said, “it does look exactly like -a wood without the glass.” He took it again. “That _is_ one of the -oddest effects. The gibbet is perfectly plain, and the grass field, and -there even seem to be people on it, and carts, or _a_ cart, with men -in it. And yet when I take the glass away, there’s nothing. It must -be something in the way this afternoon light falls: I shall come up -earlier in the day when the sun’s full on it.” - -“Did you say you saw people and a cart on that hill?” said the Squire -incredulously. “What should they be doing there at this time of day, -even if the trees have been felled? Do talk sense--look again.” - -“Well, I certainly thought I saw them. Yes, I should say there were a -few, just clearing off. And now--by Jove, it does look like something -hanging on the gibbet. But these glasses are so beastly heavy I can’t -hold them steady for long. Anyhow, you can take it from me there’s -no wood. And if you’ll show me the road on the map, I’ll go there -to-morrow.” - -The Squire remained brooding for some little time. At last he rose and -said, “Well, I suppose that will be the best way to settle it. And now -we’d better be getting back. Bath and dinner is my idea.” And on the -way back he was not very communicative. - -They returned through the garden, and went into the great hall to -leave sticks, etc., in their due place. And here they found the aged -butler Patten evidently in a state of some anxiety. “Beg pardon, Master -Henry,” he began at once, “but someone’s been up to mischief here, -I’m much afraid.” He pointed to the open box which had contained the -glasses. - -“Nothing worse than that, Patten?” said the Squire. “Mayn’t I take out -my own glasses and lend them to a friend? Bought with my own money, you -recollect? At old Baxter’s sale, eh?” - -Patten bowed, unconvinced. “O, very well, Master Henry, as long as you -know who it was. Only I thought proper to name it, for I didn’t think -that box’d been off its shelf since you first put it there; and, if -you’ll excuse me, after what happened....” The voice was lowered, and -the rest was not audible to Fanshawe. The Squire replied with a few -words and a gruff laugh, and called on Fanshawe to come and be shown -his room. And I do not think that anything else happened that night -which bears on my story. - -Except, perhaps, the sensation which invaded Fanshawe in the small -hours that something had been let out which ought not to have been -let out. It came into his dreams. He was walking in a garden which -he seemed half to know, and stopped in front of a rockery made of -old wrought stones, pieces of window tracery from a church, and even -bits of figures. One of these moved his curiosity: it seemed to be a -sculptured capital with scenes carved on it. He felt he must pull it -out, and worked away, and, with an ease that surprised him, moved the -stones that obscured it aside, and pulled out the block. As he did so, -a tin label fell down by his feet with a little clatter. He picked it -up and read on it: “On no account move this stone. Yours sincerely, J. -Patten.” As often happens in dreams, he felt that this injunction was -of extreme importance; and with an anxiety that amounted to anguish he -looked to see if the stone had really been shifted. Indeed it had; -in fact he could not see it anywhere. The removal had disclosed the -mouth of a burrow, and he bent down to look into it. Something stirred -in the blackness, and then, to his intense horror, a hand emerged--a -clean right hand in a neat cuff and coat-sleeve, just in the attitude -of a hand that means to shake yours. He wondered whether it would not -be rude to let it alone. But, as he looked at it, it began to grow -hairy and dirty and thin, and also to change its pose and stretch -out as if to take hold of his leg. At that he dropped all thought of -politeness, decided to run, screamed and woke himself up. - -This was the dream he remembered; but it seemed to him (as, again, it -often does) that there had been others of the same import before, but -not so insistent. He lay awake for some little time, fixing the details -of the last dream in his mind, and wondering in particular what the -figures had been which he had seen or half seen on the carved capital. -Something quite incongruous, he felt sure; but that was the most he -could recall. - -Whether because of the dream, or because it was the first day of his -holiday, he did not get up very early; nor did he at once plunge into -the exploration of the country. He spent a morning, half lazy, half -instructive, in looking over the volumes of the County Archæological -Society’s transactions, in which were many contributions from Mr -Baxter on finds of flint implements, Roman sites, ruins of monastic -establishments; in fact, most departments of archæology. They were -written in an odd, pompous, only half-educated style. If the man had -had more early schooling, thought Fanshawe, he would have been a very -distinguished antiquary; or he might have been (he thus qualified his -opinion a little later), but for a certain love of opposition and -controversy, and, yes, a patronising tone as of one possessing superior -knowledge, which left an unpleasant taste. He might have been a very -respectable artist. There was an imaginary restoration and elevation of -a priory church which was very well conceived. A fine pinnacled central -tower was a conspicuous feature of this; it reminded Fanshawe of that -which he had seen from the hill, and which the Squire had told him -must be Oldbourne. But it was not Oldbourne; it was Fulnaker Priory. -“Oh, well,” he said to himself, “I suppose Oldbourne Church may have -been built by Fulnaker monks, and Baxter has copied Oldbourne tower. -Anything about it in the letterpress? Ah, I see it was published after -his death,--found among his papers.” - -After lunch the Squire asked Fanshawe what he meant to do. - -“Well,” said Fanshawe, “I think I shall go out on my bike about four as -far as Oldbourne and back by Gallows Hill. That ought to be a round of -about fifteen miles, oughtn’t it?” - -“About that,” said the Squire, “and you’ll pass Lambsfield and -Wanstone, both of which are worth looking at. There’s a little glass at -Lambsfield and the stone at Wanstone.” - -“Good,” said Fanshawe, “I’ll get tea somewhere, and may I take the -glasses? I’ll strap them on my bike, on the carrier.” - -“Of course, if you like,” said the Squire. “I really ought to have some -better ones. If I go into the town to-day, I’ll see if I can pick up -some.” - -“Why should you trouble to do that, if you can’t use them yourself?” -said Fanshawe. - -“Oh, I don’t know; one ought to have a decent pair; and--well, old -Patten doesn’t think those are fit to use.” - -“Is he a judge?” - -“He’s got some tale: I don’t know: something about old Baxter. I’ve -promised to let him tell me about it. It seems very much on his mind -since last night.” - -“Why that? Did he have a nightmare like me?” - -“He had something: he was looking an old man this morning, and he said -he hadn’t closed an eye.” - -“Well, let him save up his tale till I come back.” - -“Very well, I will if I can. Look here, are you going to be late? If -you get a puncture eight miles off and have to walk home, what then? I -don’t trust these bicycles: I shall tell them to give us cold things to -eat.” - -“I shan’t mind that, whether I’m late or early. But I’ve got things to -mend punctures with. And now I’m off.” - - * * * * * - -It was just as well that the Squire had made that arrangement about -a cold supper, Fanshawe thought, and not for the first time, as he -wheeled his bicycle up the drive about nine o’clock. So also the Squire -thought and said, several times, as he met him in the hall, rather -pleased at the confirmation of his want of faith in bicycles than -sympathetic with his hot, weary, thirsty, and indeed haggard, friend. -In fact, the kindest thing he found to say was: “You’ll want a long -drink to-night? Cider-cup do? All right. Hear that, Patten? Cider-cup, -iced, lots of it.” Then to Fanshawe, “Don’t be all night over your -bath.” - -By half-past nine they were at dinner, and Fanshawe was reporting -progress, if progress it might be called. - -“I got to Lambsfield very smoothly, and saw the glass. It is very -interesting stuff, but there’s a lot of lettering I couldn’t read.” - -“Not with glasses?” said the Squire. - -“Those glasses of yours are no manner of use inside a church--or inside -anywhere, I suppose, for that matter. But the only places I took ’em -into were churches.” - -“H’m! Well, go on,” said the Squire. - -“However, I took some sort of a photograph of the window, and I dare -say an enlargement would show what I want. Then Wanstone; I should -think that stone was a very out-of-the-way thing, only I don’t know -about that class of antiquities. Has anybody opened the mound it stands -on?” - -“Baxter wanted to, but the farmer wouldn’t let him.” - -“Oh, well, I should think it would be worth doing. Anyhow, the next -thing was Fulnaker and Oldbourne. You know, it’s very odd about that -tower I saw from the hill. Oldbourne Church is nothing like it, and of -course there’s nothing over thirty feet high at Fulnaker, though you -can see it had a central tower. I didn’t tell you, did I? that Baxter’s -fancy drawing of Fulnaker shows a tower exactly like the one I saw.” - -“So you thought, I dare say,” put in the Squire. - -“No, it wasn’t a case of thinking. The picture actually _reminded_ -me of what I’d seen, and I made sure it was Oldbourne, well before I -looked at the title.” - -“Well, Baxter had a very fair idea of architecture. I dare say what’s -left made it easy for him to draw the right sort of tower.” - -“That may be it, of course, but I’m doubtful if even a professional -could have got it so exactly right. There’s absolutely nothing left at -Fulnaker but the bases of the piers which supported it. However, that -isn’t the oddest thing.” - -“What about Gallows Hill?” said the Squire. “Here, Patten, listen to -this. I told you what Mr Fanshawe said he saw from the hill.” - -“Yes, Master Henry, you did; and I can’t say I was so much surprised, -considering.” - -“All right, all right. You keep that till afterwards. We want to hear -what Mr Fanshawe saw to-day. Go on, Fanshawe. You turned to come back -by Ackford and Thorfield, I suppose?” - -“Yes, and I looked into both the churches. Then I got to the turning -which goes to the top of Gallows Hill; I saw that if I wheeled my -machine over the field at the top of the hill I could join the home -road on this side. It was about half-past six when I got to the top -of the hill, and there was a gate on my right, where it ought to be, -leading into the belt of plantation.” - -“You hear that, Patten? A belt, he says.” - -“So I thought it was--a belt. But it wasn’t. You were quite right, -and I was hopelessly wrong. I _cannot_ understand it. The whole top -is planted quite thick. Well, I went on into this wood, wheeling and -dragging my bike, expecting every minute to come to a clearing, and -then my misfortunes began. Thorns, I suppose; first I realised that the -front tyre was slack, then the back. I couldn’t stop to do more than -try to find the punctures and mark them; but even that was hopeless. So -I ploughed on, and the farther I went, the less I liked the place.” - -“Not much poaching in that cover, eh, Patten?” said the Squire. - -“No, indeed, Master Henry: there’s very few cares to go----” - -“No, I know: never mind that now. Go on, Fanshawe.” - -“I don’t blame anybody for not caring to go there. I know I had all -the fancies one least likes: steps crackling over twigs behind me, -indistinct people stepping behind trees in front of me, yes, and even -a hand laid on my shoulder. I pulled up very sharp at that and looked -round, but there really was no branch or bush that could have done it. -Then, when I was just about at the middle of the plot, I was convinced -that there was someone looking down on me from above--and not with any -pleasant intent. I stopped again, or at least slackened my pace, to -look up. And as I did, down I came, and barked my shins abominably on, -what do you think? a block of stone with a big square hole in the top -of it. And within a few paces there were two others just like it. The -three were set in a triangle. Now, do you make out what they were put -there for?” - -“I think I can,” said the Squire, who was now very grave and absorbed -in the story. “Sit down, Patten.” - -It was time, for the old man was supporting himself by one hand, and -leaning heavily on it. He dropped into a chair, and said in a very -tremulous voice, “You didn’t go between them stones, did you, sir?” - -“I did _not_,” said Fanshawe, emphatically. “I dare say I was an -ass, but as soon as it dawned on me where I was, I just shouldered -my machine and did my best to run. It seemed to me as if I was in an -unholy evil sort of graveyard, and I was most profoundly thankful that -it was one of the longest days and still sunlight. Well, I had a horrid -run, even if it was only a few hundred yards. Everything caught on -everything: handles and spokes and carrier and pedals--caught in them -viciously, or I fancied so. I fell over at least five times. At last I -saw the hedge, and I couldn’t trouble to hunt for the gate.” - -“There _is_ no gate on my side,” the Squire interpolated. - -“Just as well I didn’t waste time, then. I dropped the machine over -somehow and went into the road pretty near head-first; some branch or -something got my ankle at the last moment. Anyhow, there I was out of -the wood, and seldom more thankful or more generally sore. Then came -the job of mending my punctures. I had a good outfit and I’m not at all -bad at the business; but this was an absolutely hopeless case. It was -seven when I got out of the wood, and I spent fifty minutes over one -tyre. As fast as I found a hole and put on a patch, and blew it up, it -went flat again. So I made up my mind to walk. That hill isn’t three -miles away, is it?” - -“Not more across country, but nearer six by road.” - -“I thought it must be. I thought I couldn’t have taken well over the -hour over less than five miles, even leading a bike. Well, there’s my -story: where’s yours and Patten’s?” - -“Mine? I’ve no story,” said the Squire. “But you weren’t very far out -when you thought you were in a graveyard. There must be a good few of -them up there, Patten, don’t you think? They left ’em there when they -fell to bits, I fancy.” - -Patten nodded, too much interested to speak. “Don’t,” said Fanshawe. - -“Now then, Patten,” said the Squire, “you’ve heard what sort of a time -Mr Fanshawe’s been having. What do you make of it? Anything to do with -Mr Baxter? Fill yourself a glass of port, and tell us.” - -“Ah, that done me good, Master Henry,” said Patten, after absorbing -what was before him. “If you really wish to know what were in my -thoughts, my answer would be clear in the affirmative. Yes,” he went -on, warming to his work, “I should say as Mr Fanshawe’s experience of -to-day were very largely doo to the person you named. And I think, -Master Henry, as I have some title to speak, in view of me ’aving been -many years on speaking terms with him, and swore in to be jury on the -Coroner’s inquest near this time ten years ago, you being then, if you -carry your mind back, Master Henry, travelling abroad, and no one ’ere -to represent the family.” - -“Inquest?” said Fanshawe. “An inquest on Mr Baxter, was there?” - -“Yes, sir, on--on that very person. The facts as led up to that -occurrence was these. The deceased was, as you may have gathered, a -very peculiar individual in ’is ’abits--in my idear, at least, but all -must speak as they find. He lived very much to himself, without neither -chick nor child, as the saying is. And how he passed away his time was -what very few could orfer a guess at.” - -“He lived unknown, and few could know when Baxter ceased to be,” said -the Squire to his pipe. - -“I beg pardon, Master Henry, I was just coming to that. But when I say -how he passed away his time--to be sure we know ’ow intent he was in -rummaging and ransacking out all the ’istry of the neighbourhood and -the number of things he’d managed to collect together--well, it was -spoke of for miles round as Baxter’s Museum, and many a time when he -might be in the mood, and I might have an hour to spare, have he showed -me his pieces of pots and what not, going back by his account to the -times of the ancient Romans. However, you know more about that than -what I do, Master Henry: only what I was a-going to say was this, as -know what he might and interesting as he might be in his talk, there -was something about the man--well, for one thing, no one ever remember -to see him in church nor yet chapel at service-time. And that made -talk. Our rector he never come in the house but once. ‘Never ask me -what the man said’: that was all anybody could ever get out of _him_. -Then how did he spend his nights, particularly about this season of the -year? Time and again the labouring men’d meet him coming back as they -went out to their work, and he’d pass ’em by without a word, looking, -they says, like someone straight out of the asylum. They see the whites -of his eyes all round. He’d have a fish-basket with him, that they -noticed, and he always come the same road. And the talk got to be that -he’d made himself some business, and that not the best kind--well, not -so far from where you was at seven o’clock this evening, sir. - -“Well, now, after such a night as that, Mr Baxter he’d shut up the -shop, and the old lady that did for him had orders not to come in; -and knowing what she did about his language, she took care to obey -them orders. But one day it so happened, about three o’clock in the -afternoon, the house being shut up as I said, there come a most fearful -to-do inside, and smoke out of the windows, and Baxter crying out -seemingly in an agony. So the man as lived next door he run round to -the back premises and burst the door in, and several others come too. -Well, he tell me he never in all his life smelt such a fearful--well, -odour, as what there was in that kitchen-place. It seem as if Baxter -had been boiling something in a pot and overset it on his leg. There -he laid on the floor, trying to keep back the cries, but it was more -than he could manage, and when he seen the people come in--oh, he was -in a nice condition: if his tongue warn’t blistered worse than his -leg it warn’t his fault. Well, they picked him up, and got him into a -chair, and run for the medical man, and one of ’em was going to pick -up the pot, and Baxter, he screams out to let it alone. So he did, -but he couldn’t see as there was anything in the pot but a few old -brown bones. Then they says ‘Dr Lawrence’ll be here in a minute, Mr -Baxter; he’ll soon put you to rights.’ And then he was off again. He -must be got up to his room, he couldn’t have the doctor come in there -and see all that mess--they must throw a cloth over it--anything--the -table-cloth out of the parlour; well, so they did. But that must have -been poisonous stuff in that pot, for it was pretty near on two months -afore Baxter were about agin. Beg pardon, Master Henry, was you going -to say something?” - -“Yes, I was,” said the Squire. “I wonder you haven’t told me all this -before. However, I was going to say I remember old Lawrence telling me -he’d attended Baxter. He was a queer card, he said. Lawrence was up in -the bedroom one day, and picked up a little mask covered with black -velvet, and put it on in fun and went to look at himself in the glass. -He hadn’t time for a proper look, for old Baxter shouted out to him -from the bed: ‘Put it down, you fool! Do you want to look through a -dead man’s eyes?’ and it startled him so that he did put it down, and -then he asked Baxter what he meant. And Baxter insisted on him handing -it over, and said the man he bought it from was dead, or some such -nonsense. But Lawrence felt it as he handed it over, and he declared -he was sure it was made out of the front of a skull. He bought a -distilling apparatus at Baxter’s sale, he told me, but he could never -use it: it seemed to taint everything, however much he cleaned it. But -go on, Patten.” - -“Yes, Master Henry, I’m nearly done now, and time, too, for I don’t -know what they’ll think about me in the servants’ ’all. Well, this -business of the scalding was some few years before Mr Baxter was took, -and he got about again, and went on just as he’d used. And one of the -last jobs he done was finishing up them actual glasses what you took -out last night. You see he’d made the body of them some long time, and -got the pieces of glass for them, but there was somethink wanted to -finish ’em, whatever it was, I don’t know, but I picked up the frame -one day, and I says: ‘Mr Baxter, why don’t you make a job of this?’ -And he says, ‘Ah, when I’ve done that, you’ll hear news, you will: -there’s going to be no such pair of glasses as mine when they’re filled -and sealed,’ and there he stopped, and I says: ‘Why, Mr Baxter, you -talk as if they was wine bottles: filled and sealed--why, where’s the -necessity for that?’ ‘Did I say filled and sealed?’ he says, ‘O, well, -I was suiting my conversation to my company.’ Well, then come round -this time of year, and one fine evening, I was passing his shop on my -way home, and he was standing on the step, very pleased with hisself, -and he says: ‘All right and tight now: my best bit of work’s finished, -and I’ll be out with ’em to-morrow.’ ‘What, finished them glasses?’ I -says, ‘might I have a look at them?’ ‘No, no,’ he says, ‘I’ve put ’em -to bed for to-night, and when I do show ’em you, you’ll have to pay for -peepin’, so I tell you.’ And that, gentlemen, were the last words I -heard that man say. - -“That were the 17th of June, and just a week after, there was a funny -thing happened, and it was doo to that as we brought in ‘unsound mind’ -at the inquest, for barring that, no one as knew Baxter in business -could anyways have laid that against him. But George Williams, as lived -in the next house, and do now, he was woke up that same night with a -stumbling and tumbling about in Mr Baxter’s premises, and he got out -o’ bed, and went to the front window on the street to see if there was -any rough customers about. And it being a very light night, he could -make sure as there was not. Then he stood and listened, and he hear Mr -Baxter coming down his front stair one step after another very slow, -and he got the idear as it was like someone bein’ pushed or pulled -down and holdin’ on to everythin’ he could. Next thing he hear the -street door come open, and out come Mr Baxter into the street in his -day-clothes, ’at and all, with his arms straight down by his sides, -and talking to hisself, and shakin’ his head from one side to the -other, and walking in that peculiar way that he appeared to be going -as it were against his own will. George Williams put up the window, -and hear him say: ‘O mercy, gentlemen!’ and then he shut up sudden as -if, he said, someone clapped his hand over his mouth, and Mr Baxter -threw his head back, and his hat fell off. And Williams see his face -looking something pitiful, so as he couldn’t keep from calling out to -him: ‘Why, Mr Baxter, ain’t you well?’ and he was goin’ to offer to -fetch Dr Lawrence to him, only he heard the answer: ‘’Tis best you mind -your own business. Put in your head.’ But whether it were Mr Baxter -said it so hoarse-like and faint, he never could be sure. Still there -weren’t no one but him in the street, and yet Williams was that upset -by the way he spoke that he shrank back from the window and went and -sat on the bed. And he heard Mr Baxter’s step go on and up the road, -and after a minute or more he couldn’t help but look out once more and -he see him going along the same curious way as before. And one thing he -recollected was that Mr Baxter never stopped to pick up his ’at when -it fell off, and yet there it was on his head. Well, Master Henry, -that was the last anybody see of Mr Baxter, leastways for a week or -more. There was a lot of people said he was called off on business, or -made off because he’d got into some scrape, but he was well-known for -miles round, and none of the railway-people nor the public-house people -hadn’t seen him; and then ponds was looked into and nothink found; and -at last one evening Fakes the keeper come down from over the hill to -the village, and he says he seen the Gallows Hill planting black with -birds, and that were a funny thing, because he never see no sign of a -creature there in his time. So they looked at each other a bit, and -first one says: ‘I’m game to go up,’ and another says: ‘So am I, if you -are,’ and half a dozen of ’em set out in the evening time, and took Dr -Lawrence with them, and you know, Master Henry, there he was between -them three stones with his neck broke.” - -Useless to imagine the talk which this story set going. It is not -remembered. But before Patten left them, he said to Fanshawe: “Excuse -me, sir, but did I understand as you took out them glasses with you -to-day? I thought you did; and might I ask, did you make use of them at -all?” - -“Yes. Only to look at something in a church.” - -“Oh, indeed, you took ’em into the church, did you, sir?” - -“Yes, I did; it was Lambsfield church. By the way, I left them strapped -on to my bicycle, I’m afraid, in the stable-yard.” - -“No matter for that, sir. I can bring them in the first thing to-morrow -and perhaps you’ll be so good as to look at ’em then.” - -Accordingly, before breakfast, after a tranquil and well-earned -sleep, Fanshawe took the glasses into the garden and directed them -to a distant hill. He lowered them instantly, and looked at top and -bottom, worked the screws, tried them again and yet again, shrugged his -shoulders and replaced them on the hall-table. - -“Patten,” he said, “they’re absolutely useless. I can’t see a thing: -it’s as if someone had stuck a black wafer over the lens.” - -“Spoilt my glasses, have you?” said the Squire. “Thank you: the only -ones I’ve got.” - -“You try them yourself,” said Fanshawe, “I’ve done nothing to them.” - -So after breakfast the Squire took them out to the terrace and stood -on the steps. After a few ineffectual attempts, “Lord, how heavy they -are!” he said impatiently, and in the same instant dropped them on to -the stones, and the lens splintered and the barrel cracked: a little -pool of liquid formed on the stone slab. It was inky black, and the -odour that rose from it is not to be described. - -“Filled and sealed, eh?” said the Squire. “If I could bring myself to -touch it, I dare say we should find the seal. So that’s what came of -his boiling and distilling, is it? Old Ghoul!” - -“What in the world do you mean?” - -“Don’t you see, my good man? Remember what he said to the doctor about -looking through dead men’s eyes? Well, this was another way of it. But -they didn’t like having their bones boiled, I take it, and the end of -it was they carried him off whither he would not. Well, I’ll get a -spade, and we’ll bury this thing decently.” - -As they smoothed the turf over it, the Squire, handing the spade to -Patten, who had been a reverential spectator, remarked to Fanshawe: -“It’s almost a pity you took that thing into the church: you might have -seen more than you did. Baxter only had them for a week, I make out, -but I don’t see that he did much in the time.” - -“I’m not sure,” said Fanshawe, “there is that picture of Fulnaker -Priory Church.” - - - - -A WARNING TO THE CURIOUS - - -The place on the east coast which the reader is asked to consider is -Seaburgh. It is not very different now from what I remember it to have -been when I was a child. Marshes intersected by dykes to the south, -recalling the early chapters of _Great Expectations_; flat fields -to the north, merging into heath; heath, fir woods, and, above all, -gorse, inland. A long sea-front and a street: behind that a spacious -church of flint, with a broad, solid western tower and a peal of six -bells. How well I remember their sound on a hot Sunday in August, as -our party went slowly up the white, dusty slope of road towards them, -for the church stands at the top of a short, steep incline. They rang -with a flat clacking sort of sound on those hot days, but when the air -was softer they were mellower too. The railway ran down to its little -terminus farther along the same road. There was a gay white windmill -just before you came to the station, and another down near the shingle -at the south end of the town, and others on higher ground to the north. -There were cottages of bright red brick with slate roofs ... but why do -I encumber you with these commonplace details? The fact is that they -come crowding to the point of the pencil when it begins to write of -Seaburgh. I should like to be sure that I had allowed the right ones -to get on to the paper. But I forgot. I have not quite done with the -word-painting business yet. - -Walk away from the sea and the town, pass the station, and turn up the -road on the right. It is a sandy road, parallel with the railway, and -if you follow it, it climbs to somewhat higher ground. On your left -(you are now going northward) is heath, on your right (the side towards -the sea) is a belt of old firs, wind-beaten, thick at the top, with -the slope that old seaside trees have; seen on the skyline from the -train they would tell you in an instant, if you did not know it, that -you were approaching a windy coast. Well, at the top of my little hill, -a line of these firs strikes out and runs towards the sea, for there is -a ridge that goes that way; and the ridge ends in a rather well-defined -mound commanding the level fields of rough grass, and a little knot of -fir trees crowns it. And here you may sit on a hot spring day, very -well content to look at blue sea, white windmills, red cottages, bright -green grass, church tower, and distant martello tower on the south. - -As I have said, I began to know Seaburgh as a child; but a gap of a -good many years separates my early knowledge from that which is more -recent. Still it keeps its place in my affections, and any tales of it -that I pick up have an interest for me. One such tale is this: it came -to me in a place very remote from Seaburgh, and quite accidentally, -from a man whom I had been able to oblige--enough in his opinion to -justify his making me his confidant to this extent. - - * * * * * - -I know all that country more or less, (he said). I used to go to -Seaburgh pretty regularly for golf in the spring. I generally put -up at the “Bear,” with a friend--Henry Long it was, you knew him -perhaps--(“Slightly,” I said) and we used to take a sitting-room and -be very happy there. Since he died I haven’t cared to go there. And -I don’t know that I should anyhow after the particular thing that -happened on our last visit. - -It was in April, 19--, we were there, and by some chance we were -almost the only people in the hotel. So the ordinary public rooms were -practically empty, and we were the more surprised when, after dinner, -our sitting-room door opened, and a young man put his head in. We were -aware of this young man. He was rather a rabbity anæmic subject--light -hair and light eyes--but not unpleasing. So when he said: “I beg your -pardon, is this a private room?” we did not growl and say: “Yes, it -is,” but Long said, or I did--no matter which: “Please come in.” “Oh, -may I?” he said, and seemed relieved. Of course it was obvious that he -wanted company; and as he was a reasonable kind of person--not the sort -to bestow his whole family history on you--we urged him to make himself -at home. “I dare say you find the other rooms rather bleak,” I said. -Yes, he did: but it was really too good of us, and so on. That being -got over, he made some pretence of reading a book. Long was playing -Patience, I was writing. It became plain to me after a few minutes that -this visitor of ours was in rather a state of fidgets or nerves, which -communicated itself to me, and so I put away my writing and turned to -at engaging him in talk. - -After some remarks, which I forget, he became rather confidential. -“You’ll think it very odd of me,” (this was the sort of way he began), -“but the fact is I’ve had something of a shock.” Well, I recommended a -drink of some cheering kind, and we had it. The waiter coming in made -an interruption (and I thought our young man seemed very jumpy when -the door opened), but after a while he got back to his woes again. -There was nobody he knew in the place, and he did happen to know who we -both were (it turned out there was some common acquaintance in town), -and really he did want a word of advice, if we didn’t mind. Of course -we both said: “By all means,” or “Not at all,” and Long put away his -cards. And we settled down to hear what his difficulty was. - -“It began,” he said, “more than a week ago, when I bicycled over to -Froston, only about five or six miles, to see the church--I’m very much -interested in architecture, and it’s got one of those pretty porches -with niches and shields. I took a photograph of it, and then an old man -who was tidying up in the churchyard came and asked if I’d care to look -into the church. I said yes, and he produced a key and let me in. There -wasn’t much inside, but I told him it was a nice little church, and he -kept it very clean, ‘but,’ I said, ‘the porch is the best part of it.’ -We were just outside the porch then, and he said, ‘Ah, yes, that is a -nice porch; and do you know, sir, what’s the meanin’ of that coat of -arms there?’ - -“It was the one with the three crowns, and though I’m not much of a -herald, I was able to say yes, I thought it was the old arms of the -kingdom of East Anglia. - -“‘That’s right, sir,’ he said, ‘and do you know the meanin’ of them -three crowns that’s on it?’ - -“I said I’d no doubt it was known, but I couldn’t recollect to have -heard it myself. - -“‘Well, then,’ he said, ‘for all you’re a scholard, I can tell you -something you don’t know. Them’s the three ’oly crowns what was buried -in the ground near by the coast to keep the Germans from landing--ah, -I can see you don’t believe that. But I tell you, if it hadn’t have -been for one of them ’oly crowns bein’ there still, them Germans would -a landed here time and again, they would. Landed with their ships, and -killed man, woman and child in their beds. Now then, that’s the truth -what I’m telling you, that is; and if you don’t believe me, you ast -the rector. There he comes: you ast him, I says.’ - -“I looked round, and there was the rector, a nice-looking old man, -coming up the path; and before I could begin assuring my old man, who -was getting quite excited, that I didn’t disbelieve him, the rector -struck in, and said: ‘What’s all this about, John? Good-day to you, -sir. Have you been looking at our little church?’ - -“So then there was a little talk which allowed the old man to calm -down, and then the rector asked him again what was the matter. - -“‘Oh,’ he said, ‘it warn’t nothink, only I was telling this gentleman -he’d ought to ast you about them ’oly crowns.’ - -“‘Ah, yes, to be sure,’ said the rector, ‘that’s a very curious matter, -isn’t it? But I don’t know whether the gentleman is interested in our -old stories, eh?’ - -“‘Oh, he’ll be interested fast enough,’ says the old man, ‘he’ll put -his confidence in what you tells him, sir; why, you known William Ager -yourself, father and son too.’ - -“Then I put in a word to say how much I should like to hear all about -it, and before many minutes I was walking up the village street with -the rector who had one or two words to say to parishioners, and then to -the rectory, where he took me into his study. He had made out, on the -way, that I really was capable of taking an intelligent interest in a -piece of folklore and not quite the ordinary tripper. So he was very -willing to talk, and it is rather surprising to me that the particular -legend he told me has not made its way into print before. His account -of it was this: ‘There has always been a belief in these parts in the -three holy crowns. The old people say they were buried in different -places near the coast to keep off the Danes or the French or the -Germans. And they say that one of the three was dug up a long time ago, -and another has disappeared by the encroaching of the sea, and one’s -still left doing its work, keeping off invaders. Well, now, if you -have read the ordinary guides and histories of this county, you will -remember perhaps that in 1687 a crown, which was said to be the crown -of Redwald, King of the East Angles, was dug up at Rendlesham, and -alas! alas! melted down before it was even properly described or drawn. -Well, Rendlesham isn’t on the coast, but it isn’t so very far inland, -and it’s on a very important line of access. And I believe that is the -crown which the people mean when they say that one has been dug up. -Then on the south you don’t want me to tell you where there was a Saxon -royal palace which is now under the sea, eh? Well, there was the second -crown, I take it. And between these two, they say, lies the third.’ - -“‘Do they say where it is?’ of course I asked. - -“He said, ‘Yes, indeed, they do, but they don’t tell,’ and his manner -did not encourage me to put the obvious question. Instead of that I -waited a moment, and said: ‘What did the old man mean when he said you -knew William Ager, as if that had something to do with the crowns?’ - -“‘To be sure,’ he said, ‘now that’s another curious story. These -Agers--it’s a very old name in these parts, but I can’t find that they -were ever people of quality or big owners--these Agers say, or said, -that their branch of the family were the guardians of the last crown. -A certain old Nathaniel Ager was the first one I knew--I was born and -brought up quite near here--and he, I believe, camped out at the place -during the whole of the war of 1870. William, his son, did the same, -I know, during the South African War. And young William, _his_ son, who -has only died fairly recently, took lodgings at the cottage nearest the -spot, and I’ve no doubt hastened his end, for he was a consumptive, by -exposure and night watching. And he was the last of that branch. It was -a dreadful grief to him to think that he was the last, but he could do -nothing, the only relations at all near to him were in the colonies. I -wrote letters for him to them imploring them to come over on business -very important to the family, but there has been no answer. So the -last of the holy crowns, if it’s there, has no guardian now.’ - -“That was what the rector told me, and you can fancy how interesting I -found it. The only thing I could think of when I left him was how to -hit upon the spot where the crown was supposed to be. I wish I’d left -it alone. - -“But there was a sort of fate in it, for as I bicycled back past the -churchyard wall my eye caught a fairly new gravestone, and on it was -the name of William Ager. Of course I got off and read it. It said ‘of -this parish, died at Seaburgh, 19--, aged 28.’ There it was, you see. -A little judicious questioning in the right place, and I should at -least find the cottage nearest the spot. Only I didn’t quite know what -was the right spot to begin my questioning at. Again there was fate: -it took me to the curiosity-shop down that way--you know--and I turned -over some old books, and, if you please, one was a prayer-book of 1740 -odd, in a rather handsome binding--I’ll just go and get it, it’s in my -room.” - -He left us in a state of some surprise, but we had hardly time to -exchange any remarks when he was back, panting, and handed us the book -opened at the fly-leaf, on which was, in a straggly hand: - - “Nathaniel Ager is my name and England is my nation, - Seaburgh is my dwelling-place and Christ is my Salvation, - When I am dead and in my Grave, and all my bones are rotton, - I hope the Lord will think on me when I am quite forgotton.” - -This poem was dated 1754, and there were many more entries of Agers, -Nathaniel, Frederick, William, and so on, ending with William, 19--. - -“You see,” he said, “anybody would call it the greatest bit of luck. -_I_ did, but I don’t now. Of course I asked the shopman about William -Ager, and of course he happened to remember that he lodged in a cottage -in the North Field and died there. This was just chalking the road for -me. I knew which the cottage must be: there is only one sizable one -about there. The next thing was to scrape some sort of acquaintance -with the people, and I took a walk that way at once. A dog did the -business for me: he made at me so fiercely that they had to run out -and beat him off, and then naturally begged my pardon, and we got -into talk. I had only to bring up Ager’s name, and pretend I knew, or -thought I knew something of him, and then the woman said how sad it was -him dying so young, and she was sure it came of him spending the night -out of doors in the cold weather. Then I had to say: ‘Did he go out on -the sea at night?’ and she said: ‘Oh, no, it was on the hillock yonder -with the trees on it.’ And there I was. - -“I know something about digging in these barrows: I’ve opened many -of them in the down country. But that was with owner’s leave, and in -broad daylight and with men to help. I had to prospect very carefully -here before I put a spade in: I couldn’t trench across the mound, and -with those old firs growing there I knew there would be awkward tree -roots. Still the soil was very light and sandy and easy, and there was -a rabbit hole or so that might be developed into a sort of tunnel. The -going out and coming back at odd hours to the hotel was going to be -the awkward part. When I made up my mind about the way to excavate I -told the people that I was called away for a night, and I spent it out -there. I made my tunnel: I won’t bore you with the details of how I -supported it and filled it in when I’d done, but the main thing is that -I got the crown.” - -Naturally we both broke out into exclamations of surprise and interest. -I for one had long known about the finding of the crown at Rendlesham -and had often lamented its fate. No one has ever seen an Anglo-Saxon -crown--at least no one had. But our man gazed at us with a rueful eye. -“Yes,” he said, “and the worst of it is I don’t know how to put it -back.” - -“Put it back?” we cried out. “Why, my dear sir, you’ve made one of -the most exciting finds ever heard of in this country. Of course it -ought to go to the Jewel House at the Tower. What’s your difficulty? If -you’re thinking about the owner of the land, and treasure-trove, and -all that, we can certainly help you through. Nobody’s going to make a -fuss about technicalities in a case of this kind.” - -Probably more was said, but all he did was to put his face in his -hands, and mutter: “I don’t know how to put it back.” - -At last Long said: “You’ll forgive me, I hope, if I seem impertinent, -but are you _quite_ sure you’ve got it?” I was wanting to ask much the -same question myself, for of course the story did seem a lunatic’s -dream when one thought over it. But I hadn’t quite dared to say what -might hurt the poor young man’s feelings. However he took it quite -calmly--really, with the calm of despair, you might say. He sat up and -said: “Oh yes, there’s no doubt of that: I have it here, in my room, -locked up in my bag. You can come and look at it if you like: I won’t -offer to bring it here.” - -We were not likely to let the chance slip. We went with him; his -room was only a few doors off. The boots was just collecting shoes -in the passage: or so we thought: afterwards we were not sure. Our -visitor--his name was Paxton--was in a worse state of shivers than -before, and went hurriedly into the room, and beckoned us after him, -turned on the light, and shut the door carefully. Then he unlocked his -kit-bag, and produced a bundle of clean pocket-handkerchiefs in which -something was wrapped, laid it on the bed, and undid it. I can now -say I _have_ seen an actual Anglo-Saxon crown. It was of silver--as -the Rendlesham one is always said to have been--it was set with some -gems, mostly antique intaglios and cameos, and was of rather plain, -almost rough workmanship. In fact, it was like those you see on the -coins and in the manuscripts. I found no reason to think it was later -than the ninth century. I was intensely interested, of course, and I -wanted to turn it over in my hands, but Paxton prevented me. “Don’t -_you_ touch it,” he said, “I’ll do that.” And with a sigh that was, -I declare to you, dreadful to hear, he took it up and turned it about -so that we could see every part of it. “Seen enough?” he said at last, -and we nodded. He wrapped it up and locked it in his bag, and stood -looking at us dumbly. “Come back to our room,” Long said, “and tell us -what the trouble is.” He thanked us, and said: “Will you go first and -see if--if the coast is clear?” That wasn’t very intelligible, for our -proceedings hadn’t been, after all, very suspicious, and the hotel, -as I said, was practically empty. However, we were beginning to have -inklings of--we didn’t know what, and anyhow nerves are infectious. So -we did go, first peering out as we opened the door, and fancying (I -found we both had the fancy) that a shadow, or more than a shadow--but -it made no sound--passed from before us to one side as we came out -into the passage. “It’s all right,” we whispered to Paxton--whispering -seemed the proper tone--and we went, with him between us, back to our -sitting-room. I was preparing, when we got there, to be ecstatic about -the unique interest of what we had seen, but when I looked at Paxton I -saw that would be terribly out of place, and I left it to him to begin. - -“What _is_ to be done?” was his opening. Long thought it right (as he -explained to me afterwards) to be obtuse, and said: “Why not find out -who the owner of the land is, and inform----” “Oh, no, no!” Paxton -broke in impatiently, “I beg your pardon: you’ve been very kind, but -don’t you see it’s _got_ to go back, and I daren’t be there at night, -and daytime’s impossible. Perhaps, though, you don’t see: well, then, -the truth is that I’ve never been alone since I touched it.” I was -beginning some fairly stupid comment, but Long caught my eye, and I -stopped. Long said: “I think I do see, perhaps: but wouldn’t it be--a -relief--to tell us a little more clearly what the situation is?” - -Then it all came out: Paxton looked over his shoulder and beckoned -to us to come nearer to him, and began speaking in a low voice: we -listened most intently, of course, and compared notes afterwards, and -I wrote down our version, so I am confident I have what he told us -almost word for word. He said: “It began when I was first prospecting, -and put me off again and again. There was always somebody--a -man--standing by one of the firs. This was in daylight, you know. He -was never in front of me. I always saw him with the tail of my eye on -the left or the right, and he was never there when I looked straight -for him. I would lie down for quite a long time and take careful -observations, and make sure there was no one, and then when I got up -and began prospecting again, there he was. And he began to give me -hints, besides; for wherever I put that prayer-book--short of locking -it up, which I did at last--when I came back to my room it was always -out on my table open at the fly-leaf where the names are, and one -of my razors across it to keep it open. I’m sure he just can’t open -my bag, or something more would have happened. You see, he’s light -and weak, but all the same I daren’t face him. Well, then, when I -was making the tunnel, of course it was worse, and if I hadn’t been -so keen I should have dropped the whole thing and run. It was like -someone scraping at my back all the time: I thought for a long time it -was only soil dropping on me, but as I got nearer the--the crown, it -was unmistakable. And when I actually laid it bare and got my fingers -into the ring of it and pulled it out, there came a sort of cry behind -me--Oh, I can’t tell you how desolate it was! And horribly threatening -too. It spoilt all my pleasure in my find--cut it off that moment. -And if I hadn’t been the wretched fool I am, I should have put the -thing back and left it. But I didn’t. The rest of the time was just -awful. I had hours to get through before I could decently come back -to the hotel. First I spent time filling up my tunnel and covering my -tracks, and all the while he was there trying to thwart me. Sometimes, -you know, you see him, and sometimes you don’t, just as he pleases, -I think: he’s there, but he has some power over your eyes. Well, I -wasn’t off the spot very long before sunrise, and then I had to get -to the junction for Seaburgh, and take a train back. And though it -was daylight fairly soon, I don’t know if that made it much better. -There were always hedges, or gorse-bushes, or park fences along the -road--some sort of cover, I mean--and I was never easy for a second. -And then when I began to meet people going to work, they always looked -behind me very strangely: it might have been that they were surprised -at seeing anyone so early; but I didn’t think it was only that, and -I don’t now: they didn’t look exactly at _me_. And the porter at the -train was like that too. And the guard held open the door after I’d got -into the carriage--just as he would if there was somebody else coming, -you know. Oh, you may be very sure it isn’t my fancy,” he said with a -dull sort of laugh. Then he went on: “And even if I do get it put back, -he won’t forgive me: I can tell that. And I was so happy a fortnight -ago.” He dropped into a chair, and I believe he began to cry. - -We didn’t know what to say, but we felt we must come to the rescue -somehow, and so--it really seemed the only thing,--we said if he was -so set on putting the crown back in its place, we would help him. And -I must say that after what we had heard it did seem the right thing. -If these horrid consequences had come on this poor man, might there -not really be something in the original idea of the crown having some -curious power bound up with it, to guard the coast? At least, that was -my feeling, and I think it was Long’s too. Our offer was very welcome -to Paxton, anyhow. When could we do it? It was nearing half-past ten. -Could we contrive to make a late walk plausible to the hotel people -that very night? We looked out of the window: there was a brilliant -full moon--the Paschal moon. Long undertook to tackle the boots and -propitiate him. He was to say that we should not be much over the hour, -and if we did find it so pleasant that we stopped out a bit longer we -would see that he didn’t lose by sitting up. Well, we were pretty -regular customers of the hotel, and did not give much trouble, and were -considered by the servants to be not under the mark in the way of tips; -and so the boots _was_ propitiated, and let us out on to the sea-front, -and remained, as we heard later, looking after us. Paxton had a large -coat over his arm, under which was the wrapped-up crown. - -So we were off on this strange errand before we had time to think how -very much out of the way it was. I have told this part quite shortly on -purpose, for it really does represent the haste with which we settled -our plan and took action. “The shortest way is up the hill and through -the churchyard,” Paxton said, as we stood a moment before the hotel -looking up and down the front. There was nobody about--nobody at all. -Seaburgh out of the season is an early, quiet place. “We can’t go along -the dyke by the cottage, because of the dog,” Paxton also said, when I -pointed to what I thought a shorter way along the front and across two -fields. The reason he gave was good enough. We went up the road to -the church, and turned in at the churchyard gate. I confess to having -thought that there might be some lying there who might be conscious of -our business: but if it was so, they were also conscious that one who -was on their side, so to say, had us under surveillance, and we saw no -sign of them. But under observation we felt we were, as I have never -felt it at another time. Specially was it so when we passed out of the -churchyard into a narrow path with close high hedges, through which we -hurried as Christian did through that Valley; and so got out into open -fields. Then along hedges, though I would sooner have been in the open, -where I could see if anyone was visible behind me; over a gate or two, -and then a swerve to the left, taking us up on to the ridge which ended -in that mound. - -As we neared it, Henry Long felt, and I felt too, that there were what -I can only call dim presences waiting for us, as well as a far more -actual one attending us. Of Paxton’s agitation all this time I can -give you no adequate picture: he breathed like a hunted beast, and we -could not either of us look at his face. How he would manage when we -got to the very place we had not troubled to think: he had seemed so -sure that that would not be difficult. Nor was it. I never saw anything -like the dash with which he flung himself at a particular spot in the -side of the mound, and tore at it, so that in a very few minutes the -greater part of his body was out of sight. We stood holding the coat -and that bundle of handkerchiefs, and looking, very fearfully, I must -admit, about us. There was nothing to be seen: a line of dark firs -behind us made one skyline, more trees and the church tower half-a-mile -off on the right, cottages and a windmill on the horizon on the left, -calm sea dead in front, faint barking of a dog at a cottage on a -gleaming dyke between us and it: full moon making that path we know -across the sea: the eternal whisper of the Scotch firs just above us -and of the sea in front. Yet, in all this quiet, an acute, an acrid -consciousness of a restrained hostility very near us, like a dog on a -leash that might be let go at any moment. - -Paxton pulled himself out of the hole, and stretched a hand back to -us. “Give it to me,” he whispered, “unwrapped.” We pulled off the -handkerchiefs, and he took the crown. The moonlight just fell on it as -he snatched it. We had not ourselves touched that bit of metal, and I -have thought since that it was just as well. In another moment Paxton -was out of the hole again and busy shovelling back the soil with hands -that were already bleeding. He would have none of our help, though. -It was much the longest part of the job to get the place to look -undisturbed: yet--I don’t know how--he made a wonderful success of it. -At last he was satisfied, and we turned back. - -We were a couple of hundred yards from the hill when Long suddenly said -to him: “I say, you’ve left your coat there. That won’t do. See?” And -I certainly did see it--the long dark overcoat lying where the tunnel -had been. Paxton had not stopped, however: he only shook his head, and -held up the coat on his arm. And when we joined him, he said, without -any excitement, but as if nothing mattered any more: “That wasn’t my -coat.” And, indeed, when we looked back again, that dark thing was not -to be seen. - -Well, we got out on to the road, and came rapidly back that way. It -was well before twelve when we got in, trying to put a good face on -it, and saying--Long and I--what a lovely night it was for a walk. The -boots was on the lookout for us, and we made remarks like that for his -edification as we entered the hotel. He gave another look up and down -the sea-front before he locked the front door, and said: “You didn’t -meet many people about, I s’pose, sir?” “No, indeed, not a soul,” I -said; at which I remember Paxton looked oddly at me. “Only I thought -I see someone turn up the station road after you gentlemen,” said the -boots. “Still, you was three together, and I don’t suppose he meant -mischief.” I didn’t know what to say; Long merely said “Good-night,” -and we went off upstairs, promising to turn out all lights, and to go -to bed in a few minutes. - -Back in our room, we did our very best to make Paxton take a cheerful -view. “There’s the crown safe back,” we said, “very likely you’d have -done better not to touch it” (and he heavily assented to that), “but no -real harm has been done, and we shall never give this away to anyone -who would be so mad as to go near it. Besides, don’t you feel better -yourself? I don’t mind confessing,” I said, “that on the way there -I was very much inclined to take your view about--well, about being -followed; but going back, it wasn’t at all the same thing, was it?” -No, it wouldn’t do: “_You’ve_ nothing to trouble yourselves about,” -he said, “but I’m not forgiven. I’ve got to pay for that miserable -sacrilege still. I know what you are going to say. The Church might -help. Yes, but it’s the body that has to suffer. It’s true I’m not -feeling that he’s waiting outside for me just now. But----” then he -stopped. Then he turned to thanking us, and we put him off as soon as -we could. And naturally we pressed him to use our sitting-room next -day, and said we should be glad to go out with him. Or did he play -golf, perhaps? Yes, he did, but he didn’t think he should care about -that to-morrow. Well, we recommended him to get up late and sit in our -room in the morning while we were playing, and we would have a walk -later in the day. He was very submissive and _piano_ about it all: -ready to do just what we thought best, but clearly quite certain in -his own mind that what was coming could not be averted or palliated. -You’ll wonder why we didn’t insist on accompanying him to his home and -seeing him safe into the care of brothers or someone. The fact was he -had nobody. He had had a flat in town, but lately he had made up his -mind to settle for a time in Sweden, and he had dismantled his flat and -shipped off his belongings, and was whiling away a fortnight or three -weeks before he made a start. Anyhow we didn’t see what we could do -better than sleep on it--or not sleep very much, as was my case--and -see what we felt like to-morrow morning. - -We felt very different, Long and I, on as beautiful an April morning as -you could desire; and Paxton also looked very different when we saw him -at breakfast. “The first approach to a decent night I seem ever to have -had,” was what he said. But he was going to do as we had settled: stay -in probably all the morning, and come out with us later. We went to the -links; we met some other men and played with them in the morning, and -had lunch there rather early, so as not to be late back. All the same, -the snares of death overtook him. - -Whether it could have been prevented, I don’t know. I think he would -have been got at somehow, do what we might. Anyhow, this is what -happened. - -We went straight up to our room. Paxton was there, reading quite -peaceably. “Ready to come out shortly?” said Long, “say in -half-an-hour’s time?” “Certainly,” he said: and I said we would change -first, and perhaps have baths, and call for him in half-an-hour. I had -my bath first, and went and lay down on my bed, and slept for about ten -minutes. We came out of our rooms at the same time, and went together -to the sitting-room. Paxton wasn’t there--only his book. Nor was he in -his room, nor in the downstair rooms. We shouted for him. A servant -came out and said: “Why, I thought you gentlemen was gone out already, -and so did the other gentleman. He heard you a-calling from the path -there, and run out in a hurry, and I looked out of the coffee-room -window, but I didn’t see you. ’Owever, he run off down the beach that -way.” - -Without a word we ran that way too--it was the opposite direction to -that of last night’s expedition. It wasn’t quite four o’clock, and the -day was fair, though not so fair as it had been, so there was really -no reason, you’d say, for anxiety: with people about, surely a man -couldn’t come to much harm. - -But something in our look as we ran out must have struck the servant, -for she came out on the steps, and pointed, and said, “Yes, that’s -the way he went.” We ran on as far as the top of the shingle bank, and -there pulled up. There was a choice of ways: past the houses on the -sea-front, or along the sand at the bottom of the beach, which, the -tide being now out, was fairly broad. Or of course we might keep along -the shingle between these two tracks and have some view of both of -them; only that was heavy going. We chose the sand, for that was the -loneliest, and someone _might_ come to harm there without being seen -from the public path. - -Long said he saw Paxton some distance ahead, running and waving his -stick, as if he wanted to signal to people who were on ahead of him. -I couldn’t be sure: one of these sea-mists was coming up very quickly -from the south. There was someone, that’s all I could say. And there -were tracks on the sand as of someone running who wore shoes; and there -were other tracks made before those--for the shoes sometimes trod in -them and interfered with them--of someone not in shoes. Oh, of course, -it’s only my word you’ve got to take for all this: Long’s dead. We’d -no time or means to make sketches or take casts, and the next tide -washed everything away. All we could do was to notice these marks as -we hurried on. But there they were over and over again, and we had no -doubt whatever that what we saw was the track of a bare foot, and one -that showed more bones than flesh. - -The notion of Paxton running after--after anything like this, and -supposing it to be the friends he was looking for, was very dreadful -to us. You can guess what we fancied: how the thing he was following -might stop suddenly and turn round on him, and what sort of face it -would show, half-seen at first in the mist--which all the while was -getting thicker and thicker. And as I ran on wondering how the poor -wretch could have been lured into mistaking that other thing for us, -I remembered his saying, “He has some power over your eyes.” And then -I wondered what the end would be, for I had no hope now that the end -could be averted, and--well, there is no need to tell all the dismal -and horrid thoughts that flitted through my head as we ran on into the -mist. It was uncanny, too, that the sun should still be bright in the -sky and we could see nothing. We could only tell that we were now past -the houses and had reached that gap there is between them and the old -martello tower. When you are past the tower, you know, there is nothing -but shingle for a long way--not a house, not a human creature, just -that spit of land, or rather shingle, with the river on your right and -the sea on your left. - -But just before that, just by the martello tower, you remember there -is the old battery, close to the sea. I believe there are only a few -blocks of concrete left now: the rest has all been washed away, but -at this time there was a lot more, though the place was a ruin. Well, -when we got there, we clambered to the top as quick as we could to take -breath and look over the shingle in front if by chance the mist would -let us see anything. But a moment’s rest we must have. We had run a -mile at least. Nothing whatever was visible ahead of us, and we were -just turning by common consent to get down and run hopelessly on, when -we heard what I can only call a laugh: and if you can understand what -I mean by a breathless, a lungless laugh, you have it; but I don’t -suppose you can. It came from below, and swerved away into the mist. -That was enough. We bent over the wall. Paxton was there at the bottom. - -You don’t need to be told that he was dead. His tracks showed that -he had run along the side of the battery, had turned sharp round the -corner of it, and, small doubt of it, must have dashed straight into -the open arms of someone who was waiting there. His mouth was full of -sand and stones, and his teeth and jaws were broken to bits. I only -glanced once at his face. - -At the same moment, just as we were scrambling down from the battery -to get to the body, we heard a shout, and saw a man running down the -bank of the martello tower. He was the caretaker stationed there, and -his keen old eyes had managed to descry through the mist that something -was wrong. He had seen Paxton fall, and had seen us a moment after, -running up--fortunate this, for otherwise we could hardly have escaped -suspicion of being concerned in the dreadful business. Had he, we -asked, caught sight of anybody attacking our friend? He could not be -sure. - -We sent him off for help, and stayed by the dead man till they came -with the stretcher. It was then that we traced out how he had come, on -the narrow fringe of sand under the battery wall. The rest was shingle, -and it was hopelessly impossible to tell whither the other had gone. - -What were we to say at the inquest? It was a duty, we felt, not to give -up, there and then, the secret of the crown, to be published in every -paper. I don’t know how much you would have told; but what we did agree -upon was this: to say that we had only made acquaintance with Paxton -the day before, and that he had told us he was under some apprehension -of danger at the hands of a man called William Ager. Also that we had -seen some other tracks besides Paxton’s when we followed him along the -beach. But of course by that time everything was gone from the sands. - -No one had any knowledge, fortunately, of any William Ager living in -the district. The evidence of the man at the martello tower freed us -from all suspicion. All that could be done was to return a verdict of -wilful murder by some person or persons unknown. - -Paxton was so totally without connections that all the enquiries that -were subsequently made ended in a No Thoroughfare. And I have never -been at Seaburgh, or even near it, since. - - - - -AN EVENING’S ENTERTAINMENT - - -Nothing is more common form in old-fashioned books than the description -of the winter fireside, where the aged grandam narrates to the circle -of children that hangs on her lips story after story of ghosts and -fairies, and inspires her audience with a pleasing terror. But we -are never allowed to know what the stories were. We hear, indeed, of -sheeted spectres with saucer eyes, and--still more intriguing--of -“Rawhead and Bloody Bones” (an expression which the Oxford Dictionary -traces back to 1550), but the context of these striking images eludes -us. - -Here, then, is a problem which has long obsessed me; but I see no means -of solving it finally. The aged grandams are gone, and the collectors -of folklore began their work in England too late to save most of the -actual stories which the grandams told. Yet such things do not easily -die quite out, and imagination, working on scattered hints, may be able -to devise a picture of an evening’s entertainment, such an one as Mrs -Marcet’s _Evening Conversations_, Mr Joyce’s _Dialogues on Chemistry_, -and somebody else’s _Philosophy in Sport made Science in Earnest_, -aimed at extinguishing by substituting for Error and Superstition the -light of Utility and Truth; in some such terms as these: - -_Charles_: I think, papa, that I now understand the properties of the -lever, which you so kindly explained to me on Saturday; but I have been -very much puzzled since then in thinking about the pendulum, and have -wondered why it is that, when you stop it, the clock does not go on any -more. - -_Papa_: (You young sinner, have you been meddling with the clock in the -hall? Come here to me! _No, this must be a gloss that has somehow crept -into the text_). Well, my boy, though I do not wholly approve of your -conducting without my supervision experiments which may possibly impair -the usefulness of a valuable scientific instrument, I will do my best -to explain the principles of the pendulum to you. Fetch me a piece of -stout whipcord from the drawer in my study, and ask cook to be so good -as to lend you one of the weights which she uses in her kitchen. - -And so we are off. - -How different the scene in a household to which the beams of Science -have not yet penetrated! The Squire, exhausted by a long day after the -partridges, and replete with food and drink, is snoring on one side of -the fireplace. His old mother sits opposite to him knitting, and the -children (Charles and Lucy, not Harry and Lucy: they would never have -stood it) are gathered about her knee. - -_Grandmother_: Now, my dears, you must be very good and quiet, or -you’ll wake your father, and you know what’ll happen then. - -_Charles_: Yes, I know: he’ll be woundy cross-tempered and send us off -to bed. - -_Grandmother_ (_stops knitting and speaks with severity_): What’s that? -Fie upon you, Charles! that’s not a way to speak. Now I _was_ going -to have told you a story, but if you use such-like words, I shan’t. -(_Suppressed outcry_: “Oh, granny!”) Hush! hush! Now I believe you -_have_ woke your father! - -_Squire_ (_thickly_): Look here, mother, if you can’t keep them brats -quiet---- - -_Grandmother_: Yes, John, yes! it’s too bad. I’ve been telling them if -it happens again, off to bed they shall go. - -_Squire_ relapses. - -_Grandmother_: There, now, you see, children, what did I tell you? you -_must_ be good and sit still. And I’ll tell you what: to-morrow you -shall go a-blackberrying, and if you bring home a nice basketful, I’ll -make you some jam. - -_Charles_: Oh yes, granny, do! and I know where the best blackberries -are: I saw ’em to-day. - -_Grandmother_: And where’s that, Charles? - -_Charles_: Why, in the little lane that goes up past Collins’s cottage. - -_Grandmother_ (_laying down her knitting_): Charles! whatever you do, -don’t you dare to pick one single blackberry in that lane. Don’t you -_know_--but there, how should you--what was I thinking of? Well, -anyway, you mind what I say---- - -_Charles and Lucy_: But why, granny? Why shouldn’t we pick ’em there? - -_Grandmother_: Hush! hush! Very well then, I’ll tell you all about it, -only you mustn’t interrupt. Now let me see. When I was quite a little -girl that lane had a bad name, though it seems people don’t remember -about it now. And one day--dear me, just as it might be to-night--I -told my poor mother when I came home to my supper--a summer evening -it was--I told her where I’d been for my walk, and how I’d come back -down that lane, and I asked her how it was that there were currant -and gooseberry bushes growing in a little patch at the top of the -lane. And oh, dear me, such a taking as she was in! She shook me and -she slapped me, and says she, “You naughty, naughty child, haven’t I -forbid you twenty times over to set foot in that lane? and here you go -dawdling down it at night-time,” and so forth, and when she’d finished -I was almost too much taken aback to say anything: but I did make her -believe that was the first I’d ever heard of it; and that was no more -than the truth. And then, to be sure, she was sorry she’d been so short -with me, and to make up she told me the whole story after my supper. -And since then I’ve often heard the same from the old people in the -place, and had my own reasons besides for thinking there was something -in it. - -Now, up at the far end of that lane--let me see, is it on the right- -or the left-hand side as you go up?--the left-hand side--you’ll find -a little patch of bushes and rough ground in the field, and something -like a broken old hedge round about, and you’ll notice there’s some old -gooseberry and currant bushes growing among it--or there used to be, -for it’s years now since I’ve been up that way. Well, that means there -was a cottage stood there, of course; and in that cottage, before I was -born or thought of, there lived a man named Davis. I’ve heard that he -wasn’t born in the parish, and it’s true there’s nobody of that name -been living about here since I’ve known the place. But however that -may be, this Mr Davis lived very much to himself and very seldom went -to the public-house, and he didn’t work for any of the farmers, having -as it seemed enough money of his own to get along. But he’d go to the -town on market-days and take up his letters at the post-house where -the mails called. And one day he came back from market, and brought -a young man with him; and this young man and he lived together for -some long time, and went about together, and whether he just did the -work of the house for Mr Davis, or whether Mr Davis was his teacher in -some way, nobody seemed to know. I’ve heard he was a pale, ugly young -fellow and hadn’t much to say for himself. Well, now, what did those -two men do with themselves? Of course I can’t tell you half the foolish -things that the people got into their heads, and we know, don’t we, -that you mustn’t speak evil when you aren’t sure it’s true, even when -people are dead and gone. But as I said, those two were always about -together, late and early, up on the downland and below in the woods; -and there was one walk in particular that they’d take regularly once -a month, to the place where you’ve seen that old figure cut out in the -hillside; and it was noticed that in the summer-time when they took -that walk, they’d camp out all night, either there or somewhere near -by. I remember once my father--that’s your great-grandfather--told me -he had spoken to Mr Davis about it (for it’s his land he lived on) -and asked him why he was so fond of going there, but he only said: -“Oh, it’s a wonderful old place, sir, and I’ve always been fond of the -old-fashioned things, and when him (that was his man he meant) and me -are together there, it seems to bring back the old times so plain.” And -my father said, “Well,” he said, “it may suit _you_, but _I_ shouldn’t -like a lonely place like that in the middle of the night.” And Mr Davis -smiled, and the young man, who’d been listening, said, “Oh, we don’t -want for company at such times,” and my father said he couldn’t help -thinking Mr Davis made some kind of sign, and the young man went on -quick, as if to mend his words, and said, “That’s to say, Mr Davis -and me’s company enough for each other, ain’t we, master? and then -there’s a beautiful air there of a summer night, and you can see all -the country round under the moon, and it looks so different, seemingly, -to what it do in the daytime. Why, all them barrows on the down----” - -And then Mr Davis cut in, seeming to be out of temper with the lad, and -said, “Ah yes, they’re old-fashioned places, ain’t they, sir? Now, what -would you think was the purpose of them?” And my father said (now, dear -me, it seems funny doesn’t it, that I should recollect all this: but -it took my fancy at the time, and though it’s dull perhaps for you, I -can’t help finishing it out now), well, he said, “Why, I’ve heard, Mr -Davis, that they’re all graves, and I know, when I’ve had occasion to -plough up one, there’s always been some old bones and pots turned up. -But whose graves they are, I don’t know: people say the ancient Romans -were all about this country at one time, but whether they buried their -people like that I can’t tell.” And Mr Davis shook his head, thinking, -and said, “Ah, to be sure: well they look to me to be older-like than -the ancient Romans, and dressed different--that’s to say, according -to the pictures the Romans was in armour, and you didn’t never find -no armour, did you, sir, by what you said?” And my father was rather -surprised and said, “I don’t know that I mentioned anything about -armour, but it’s true I don’t remember to have found any. But you talk -as if you’d seen ’em, Mr Davis,” and they both of them laughed, Mr -Davis and the young man, and Mr Davis said, “Seen ’em, sir? that would -be a difficult matter after all these years. Not but what I should like -well enough to know more about them old times and people, and what -they worshipped and all.” And my father said, “Worshipped? Well, I dare -say they worshipped the old man on the hill.” “Ah, indeed!” Mr Davis -said, “well, I shouldn’t wonder,” and my father went on and told them -what he’d heard and read about the heathens and their sacrifices: what -you’ll learn some day for yourself, Charles, when you go to school and -begin your Latin. And they seemed to be very much interested, both of -them; but my father said he couldn’t help thinking the most of what he -was saying was no news to them. That was the only time he ever had much -talk with Mr Davis, and it stuck in his mind, particularly, he said, -the young man’s word about _not wanting for company_: because in those -days there was a lot of talk in the villages round about--why, but for -my father interfering, the people here would have ducked an old lady -for a witch. - -_Charles_: What does that mean, granny, ducked an old lady for a witch? -Are there witches here now? - -_Grandmother_: No, no, dear! why, what ever made me stray off like -that? No, no, that’s quite another affair. What I was going to say was -that the people in other places round about believed that some sort -of meetings went on at night-time on that hill where the man is, and -that those who went there were up to no good. But don’t you interrupt -me now, for it’s getting late. Well, I suppose it was a matter of -three years that Mr Davis and this young man went on living together: -and then all of a sudden, a dreadful thing happened. I don’t know if -I ought to tell you. (_Outcries of_ “Oh yes! yes, granny, you must,” -etc.), Well, then, you must promise not to get frightened and go -screaming out in the middle of the night. (“No, no, we won’t, of course -not!”) One morning very early towards the turn of the year, I think it -was in September, one of the woodmen had to go up to his work at the -top of the long covert just as it was getting light; and just where -there were some few big oaks in a sort of clearing deep in the wood -he saw at a distance a white thing that looked like a man through the -mist, and he was in two minds about going on, but go on he did, and -made out as he came near that it _was_ a man, and more than that, it -was Mr Davis’s young man: dressed in a sort of white gown he was, and -hanging by his neck to the limb of the biggest oak, quite, quite dead: -and near his feet there lay on the ground a hatchet all in a gore of -blood. Well, what a terrible sight that was for anyone to come upon in -that lonely place! This poor man was nearly out of his wits: he dropped -everything he was carrying and ran as hard as ever he could straight -down to the Parsonage, and woke them up and told what he’d seen. And -old Mr White, who was the parson then, sent him off to get two or three -of the best men, the blacksmith and the churchwardens and what not, -while he dressed himself, and all of them went up to this dreadful -place with a horse to lay the poor body on and take it to the house. -When they got there, everything was just as the woodman had said: but -it was a terrible shock to them all to see how the corpse was dressed, -specially to old Mr White, for it seemed to him to be like a mockery of -the church surplice that was on it, only, he told my father, not the -same in the fashion of it. And when they came to take down the body -from the oak-tree they found there was a chain of some metal round the -neck and a little ornament like a wheel hanging to it on the front, -and it was very old looking, they said. Now in the meantime they had -sent off a boy to run to Mr Davis’s house and see whether he was at -home; for of course they couldn’t but have their suspicions. And Mr -White said they must send too to the constable of the next parish, and -get a message to another magistrate (he was a magistrate himself), and -so there was running hither and thither. But my father as it happened -was away from home that night, otherwise they would have fetched him -first. So then they laid the body across the horse, and they say it was -all they could manage to keep the beast from bolting away from the time -they were in sight of the tree, for it seemed to be mad with fright. -However, they managed to bind the eyes and lead it down through the -wood and back into the village street; and there, just by the big tree -where the stocks are, they found a lot of the women gathered together, -and this boy whom they’d sent to Mr Davis’s house lying in the middle, -as white as paper, and not a word could they get out of him, good or -bad. So they saw there was something worse yet to come, and they made -the best of their way up the lane to Mr Davis’s house. And when they -got near that, the horse they were leading seemed to go mad again with -fear, and reared up and screamed, and struck out with its forefeet and -the man that was leading it was as near as possible being killed, and -the dead body fell off its back. So Mr White bid them get the horse -away as quick as might be, and they carried the body straight into the -living-room, for the door stood open. And then they saw what it was -that had given the poor boy such a fright, and they guessed why the -horse went mad, for you know horses can’t bear the smell of dead blood. - -There was a long table in the room, more than the length of a man, and -on it there lay the body of Mr Davis. The eyes were bound over with a -linen band and the arms were tied across the back, and the feet were -bound together with another band. But the fearful thing was that the -breast being quite bare, the bone of it was split through from the top -downwards with an axe! Oh, it was a terrible sight; not one there but -turned faint and ill with it, and had to go out into the fresh air. -Even Mr White, who was what you might call a hard nature of a man, was -quite overcome and said a prayer for strength in the garden. - -At last they laid out the other body as best they could in the room, -and searched about to see if they could find out how such a frightful -thing had come to pass. And in the cupboards they found a quantity -of herbs and jars with liquors, and it came out, when people that -understood such matters had looked into it, that some of these liquors -were drinks to put a person asleep. And they had little doubt that that -wicked young man had put some of this into Mr Davis’s drink, and then -used him as he did, and, after that, the sense of his sin had come upon -him and he had cast himself away. - -Well now, you couldn’t understand all the law business that had to be -done by the coroner and the magistrates; but there was a great coming -and going of people over it for the next day or two, and then the -people of the parish got together and agreed that they couldn’t bear -the thought of these two being buried in the churchyard alongside of -Christian people; for I must tell you there were papers and writings -found in the drawers and cupboards that Mr White and some other -clergymen looked into; and they put their names to a paper that said -these men were guilty, by their own allowing, of the dreadful sin of -idolatry; and they feared there were some in the neighbouring places -that were not free from that wickedness, and called upon them to -repent, lest the same fearful thing that was come to these men should -befall them also; and then they burnt those writings. So then, Mr White -was of the same mind as the parishioners, and late one evening twelve -men that were chosen went with him to that evil house, and with them -they took two biers made very roughly for the purpose and two pieces of -black cloth, and down at the cross-road, where you take the turn for -Bascombe and Wilcombe, there were other men waiting with torches, and a -pit dug, and a great crowd of people gathered together from all round -about. And the men that went to the cottage went in with their hats -on their heads, and four of them took the two bodies and laid them on -the biers and covered them over with the black cloths, and no one said -a word, but they bore them down the lane, and they were cast into the -pit and covered over with stones and earth, and then Mr White spoke to -the people that were gathered together. My father was there, for he had -come back when he heard the news, and he said he never should forget -the strangeness of the sight, with the torches burning and those two -black things huddled together in the pit, and not a sound from any of -the people, except it might be a child or a woman whimpering with the -fright. And so, when Mr White had finished speaking, they all turned -away and left them lying there. - -They say horses don’t like the spot even now, and I’ve heard there -was something of a mist or a light hung about for a long time after, -but I don’t know the truth of that. But this I do know, that next day -my father’s business took him past the opening of the lane, and he saw -three or four little knots of people standing at different places along -it, seemingly in a state of mind about something; and he rode up to -them, and asked what was the matter. And they ran up to him and said, -“Oh, Squire, it’s the blood! Look at the blood!” and kept on like that. -So he got off his horse and they showed him, and there, in four places, -I think it was, he saw great patches in the road, of blood: but he -could hardly see it was blood, for almost every spot of it was covered -with great black flies, that never changed their place or moved. And -that blood was what had fallen out of Mr Davis’s body as they bore it -down the lane. Well, my father couldn’t bear to do more than just take -in the nasty sight so as to be sure of it, and then he said to one of -those men that was there, “Do you make haste and fetch a basket or a -barrow full of clean earth out of the churchyard and spread it over -these places, and I’ll wait here till you come back.” And very soon he -came back, and the old man that was sexton with him, with a shovel and -the earth in a hand-barrow: and they set it down at the first of the -places and made ready to cast the earth upon it; and as soon as ever -they did that, what do you think? the flies that were on it rose up in -the air in a kind of a solid cloud and moved off up the lane towards -the house, and the sexton (he was parish clerk as well) stopped and -looked at them and said to my father, “Lord of flies, sir,” and no more -would he say. And just the same it was at the other places, every one -of them. - -_Charles_: But what did he mean, granny? - -_Grandmother_: Well, dear, you remember to ask Mr Lucas when you go to -him for your lesson to-morrow. I can’t stop now to talk about it: it’s -long past bed-time for you already. The next thing was, my father made -up his mind no one was going to live in that cottage again, or yet use -any of the things that were in it: so, though it was one of the best in -the place, he sent round word to the people that it was to be done away -with, and anyone that wished could bring a faggot to the burning of it; -and that’s what was done. They built a pile of wood in the living-room -and loosened the thatch so as the fire could take good hold, and then -set it alight; and as there was no brick, only the chimney-stack and -the oven, it wasn’t long before it was all gone. I seem to remember -seeing the chimney when I was a little girl, but that fell down of -itself at last. - -Now this that I’ve got to is the last bit of all. You may be sure that -for a long time the people said Mr Davis and that young man were seen -about, the one of them in the wood and both of them where the house had -been, or passing together down the lane, particularly in the spring of -the year and at autumn-time. I can’t speak to that, though if we were -sure there are such things as ghosts, it would seem likely that people -like that wouldn’t rest quiet. But I can tell you this, that one -evening in the month of March, just before your grandfather and I were -married, we’d been taking a long walk in the woods together and picking -flowers and talking as young people will that are courting; and so -much taken up with each other that we never took any particular notice -where we were going. And on a sudden I cried out, and your grandfather -asked what was the matter. The matter was that I’d felt a sharp prick -on the back of my hand, and I snatched it to me and saw a black thing -on it, and struck it with the other hand and killed it. And I showed it -him, and he was a man who took notice of all such things, and he said, -“Well, I’ve never seen ought like that fly before,” and though to my -own eye it didn’t seem very much out of the common, I’ve no doubt he -was right. - -And then we looked about us and lo and behold if we weren’t in the -very lane, just in front of the place where that house had stood, and, -as they told me after, just where the men set down the biers a minute -when they bore them out of the garden gate. You may be sure we made -haste away from there; at least, I made your grandfather come away -quick, for I was wholly upset at finding myself there; but he would -have lingered about out of curiosity if I’d have let him. Whether -there was anything about there more than we could see I shall never be -sure: perhaps it was partly the venom of that horrid fly’s bite that -was working in me that made me feel so strange; for, dear me, how that -poor arm and hand of mine did swell up, to be sure! I’m afraid to tell -you how large it was round! and the pain of it, too! Nothing my mother -could put on it had any power over it at all, and it wasn’t till she -was persuaded by our old nurse to get the wise man over at Bascombe to -come and look at it, that I got any peace at all. But he seemed to know -all about it, and said I wasn’t the first that had been taken that way. -“When the sun’s gathering his strength,” he said, “and when he’s in the -height of it, and when he’s beginning to lose his hold, and when he’s -in his weakness, them that haunts about that lane had best to take heed -to themselves.” But what it was he bound on my arm and what he said -over it, he wouldn’t tell us. After that I soon got well again, but -since then I’ve heard often enough of people suffering much the same as -I did; only of late years it doesn’t seem to happen but very seldom: -and maybe things like that do die out in the course of time. - -But that’s the reason, Charles, why I say to you that I won’t have you -gathering me blackberries, no, nor eating them either, in that lane; -and now you know all about it, I don’t fancy you’ll want to yourself. -There! Off to bed you go this minute. What’s that, Lucy? A light in -your room? The idea of such a thing! You get yourself undressed at once -and say your prayers, and perhaps if your father doesn’t want me when -he wakes up, I’ll come and say good-night to you. And you, Charles, if -I hear anything of you frightening your little sister on the way up to -your bed, I shall tell your father that very moment, and you know what -happened to you the last time. - -The door closes, and granny, after listening intently for a minute or -two, resumes her knitting. 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Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/66881-0.zip b/old/66881-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 511974c..0000000 --- a/old/66881-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/66881-h.zip b/old/66881-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 4ebcd0f..0000000 --- a/old/66881-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/66881-h/66881-h.htm b/old/66881-h/66881-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 4d13bf2..0000000 --- a/old/66881-h/66881-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5986 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - A Warning to the Curious, by Montague Rhodes James—A Project Gutenberg eBook - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2,h3 { - text-align: center; - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; -} - -hr.tiny {width: 10%; margin-left: 45%; margin-right: 45%;} -hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} -@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } - - -div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} -h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} - - - -table { - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; -} - -.tdr {text-align: right;} - -.pagenum { - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; - font-style: normal; - font-weight: normal; - font-variant: normal; -} - -.pagenum2 { - position: absolute; - left: 92.3%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; - font-style: normal; - font-weight: normal; - font-variant: normal; -} - -.blockquot { - margin-left: 17.5%; - margin-right: 17.5%; -} - -div.titlepage {text-align: center; page-break-before: always; page-break-after: always;} -div.titlepage p {text-align: center; font-weight: bold; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 2em;} - -.bbox {border: 2px solid; padding: 2em;} - -.ph1 {text-align: center; font-size: large; font-weight: bold;} - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - -.allsmcap {font-variant: small-caps; text-transform: lowercase;} - -p.drop-cap { - text-indent: -0.35em; -} - -p.drop-cap:first-letter -{ - float: left; - margin: 0em 0.15em 0em 0em; - font-size: 250%; - line-height:0.85em; - text-indent: 0em; -} -.x-ebookmaker p.drop-cap - { - text-indent: 0em; -} -.x-ebookmaker p.drop-cap:first-letter -{ - float: none; - margin: 0; - font-size: 100%; -} - - -.xlarge {font-size: 200%;} -.large {font-size: 125%;} - -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; - page-break-inside: avoid; - max-width: 100%; -} - -.poetry-container {text-align: center;} -.poetry {display: inline-block; text-align: left;} -.poetry .verse {text-indent: -2.5em; padding-left: 3em;} -.poetry .indent {text-indent: 1.5em;} -@media print { .poetry {display: block;} } -.x-ebookmaker .poetry {display: block;} - - -.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; - color: black; - font-size:smaller; - margin-left: 17.5%; - margin-right: 17.5%; - padding: 1em; - margin-bottom: 1em; - font-family:sans-serif, serif; } - - </style> - </head> -<body> - -<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Warning to the Curious and Other Ghost Stories, by Montague Rhodes James</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: A Warning to the Curious and Other Ghost Stories</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Montague Rhodes James</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: December 4, 2021 [eBook #66881]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Emmanuel Ackerman, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Books project.)</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A WARNING TO THE CURIOUS AND OTHER GHOST STORIES ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/cover.jpg" width="40%" alt="" /></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<h1>A WARNING TO THE CURIOUS</h1> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="bbox"> -<p class="ph1">By Dr M. R. JAMES</p> - - -<p class="center">PROVOST OF ETON</p> - -<hr class="tiny" /> - -<p>GHOST STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY</p> - -<p class="right">5s. net.</p> - -<p>MORE GHOST STORIES</p> - -<p class="right">5s. net.</p> - -<p>A THIN GHOST AND OTHERS</p> - -<p class="right">4s. 6d. net.</p> - -<p>THE FIVE JARS</p> - -<p class="right">With Illustrations. 6s. net.</p> - -<hr class="tiny" /> - -<p class="center">LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD & CO.</p> -</div></div></div></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/title_page.jpg" alt="" /></div> -</div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="titlepage"> -<p><span class="xlarge"> -A WARNING TO<br /> -THE CURIOUS</span><br /> - -<span class="large">and other Ghost Stories</span></p> - -<p>BY<br /> - -<span class="large">MONTAGUE RHODES JAMES</span><br /> - -Author of “Ghost Stories of an Antiquary,” etc.</p> - -<p><span class="large">LONDON<br /> - -EDWARD ARNOLD & CO.<br /> - -1925</span><br /> - -[<i>All rights reserved</i>]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="center"> -MADE AND PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY<br /> -THE EDINBURGH PRESS, 9 AND 11 YOUNG STREET, EDINBURGH.</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="blockquot"> -<h2 class="nobreak">ACKNOWLEDGMENTS</h2> - - - -<p>The first of these stories was written for -the library of the Queen’s Doll’s House, -and was printed in the Book thereof; I -gratefully acknowledge the gracious permission -granted by Her Majesty to have it -reprinted in this volume.</p> - -<p>For like permissions from the editors of -the <i>Atlantic Monthly</i>, <i>Empire Review</i>, -<i>London Mercury</i>, and <i>Eton Chronic</i> I -return thanks.</p> - -<p class="right">M. R. JAMES.</p> - -<p><i>September 1925.</i></p> -</div></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">CONTENTS</h2> -</div> - - -<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2" summary="table"> - -<tr><td> </td><td class="tdr"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Haunted Doll’s House</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_9"> 9</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Uncommon Prayer-Book</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_35"> 35</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">A Neighbour’s Landmark</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_70"> 70</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">A View from a Hill</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_97"> 97</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">A Warning to the Curious</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_138"> 138</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">An Evening’s Entertainment</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_176"> 176</a></td></tr> -</table> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">THE HAUNTED DOLL’S HOUSE.</h2> -</div> - - -<p class="drop-cap">“I SUPPOSE you get stuff of that kind -through your hands pretty often?” -said Mr Dillet, as he pointed with his stick -to an object which shall be described when -the time comes: and when he said it, he -lied in his throat, and knew that he lied. -Not once in twenty years—perhaps not -once in a lifetime—could Mr Chittenden, -skilled as he was in ferreting out the forgotten -treasures of half-a-dozen counties, -expect to handle such a specimen. It was -collectors’ palaver, and Mr Chittenden -recognised it as such.</p> - -<p>“Stuff of that kind, Mr Dillet! It’s a -museum piece, that is.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I suppose there are museums -that’ll take anything.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve seen one, not as good as that, years -back,” said Mr Chittenden, thoughtfully.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span> -“But that’s not likely to come into the -market: and I’m told they ’ave some fine -ones of the period over the water. No: -I’m only telling you the truth, Mr Dillet, -when I say that if you was to place an -unlimited order with me for the very best -that could be got—and you know I ’ave -facilities for getting to know of such things, -and a reputation to maintain—well, all I -can say is, I should lead you straight up -to that one and say, ‘I can’t do no better -for you than that, Sir.’”</p> - -<p>“Hear, hear!” said Mr Dillet, applauding -ironically with the end of his stick on the -floor of the shop. “How much are you -sticking the innocent American buyer for -it, eh?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I shan’t be over hard on the buyer, -American or otherwise. You see, it stands -this way, Mr Dillet—if I knew just a bit -more about the pedigree——”</p> - -<p>“Or just a bit less,” Mr Dillet put in.</p> - -<p>“Ha, ha! you will have your joke, Sir. -No, but as I was saying, if I knew just a -little more than what I do about the piece—though<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span> -anyone can see for themselves -it’s a genuine thing, every last corner of -it, and there’s not been one of my men -allowed to so much as touch it since it -came into the shop—there’d be another -figure in the price I’m asking.”</p> - -<p>“And what’s that: five and twenty?”</p> - -<p>“Multiply that by three and you’ve got -it, Sir. Seventy-five’s my price.”</p> - -<p>“And fifty’s mine,” said Mr Dillet.</p> - -<p>The point of agreement was, of course, -somewhere between the two, it does not -matter exactly where—I think sixty guineas. -But half-an-hour later the object was being -packed, and within an hour Mr Dillet had -called for it in his car and driven away. -Mr Chittenden, holding the cheque in his -hand, saw him off from the door with smiles, -and returned, still smiling, into the parlour -where his wife was making the tea. He -stopped at the door.</p> - -<p>“It’s gone,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Thank God for that!” said Mrs Chittenden, -putting down the teapot. “Mr Dillet, -was it?”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span>“Yes, it was.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’d sooner it was him than -another.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I don’t know, he ain’t a bad feller, -my dear.”</p> - -<p>“May be not, but in my opinion he’d be -none the worse for a bit of a shake up.”</p> - -<p>“Well, if that’s your opinion, it’s my -opinion he’s put himself into the way of -getting one. Anyhow, we shan’t have no -more of it, and that’s something to be -thankful for.”</p> - -<p>And so Mr and Mrs Chittenden sat down -to tea.</p> - -<p>And what of Mr Dillet and of his new -acquisition? What it was, the title of this -story will have told you. What it was like, -I shall have to indicate as well as I can.</p> - -<p>There was only just room enough for it -in the car, and Mr Dillet had to sit with -the driver: he had also to go slow, for -though the rooms of the Doll’s House had -all been stuffed carefully with soft cotton-wool, -jolting was to be avoided, in view of -the immense number of small objects which<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span> -thronged them; and the ten-mile drive was -an anxious time for him, in spite of all the -precautions he insisted upon. At last his -front door was reached, and Collins, the -butler, came out.</p> - -<p>“Look here, Collins, you must help me -with this thing—it’s a delicate job. We -must get it out upright, see? It’s full of -little things that mustn’t be displaced more -than we can help. Let’s see, where shall -we have it? (After a pause for consideration). -Really, I think I shall have to put -it in my own room, to begin with at any -rate. On the big table—that’s it.”</p> - -<p>It was conveyed—with much talking—to -Mr Dillet’s spacious room on the first -floor, looking out on the drive. The sheeting -was unwound from it, and the front -thrown open, and for the next hour or two -Mr Dillet was fully occupied in extracting -the padding and setting in order the contents -of the rooms.</p> - -<p>When this thoroughly congenial task was -finished, I must say that it would have been -difficult to find a more perfect and attractive<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span> -specimen of a Doll’s House in Strawberry -Hill Gothic than that which now stood on -Mr Dillet’s large kneehole table, lighted up -by the evening sun which came slanting -through three tall sash-windows.</p> - -<p>It was quite six feet long, including the -Chapel or Oratory which flanked the front -on the left as you faced it, and the stable -on the right. The main block of the house -was, as I have said, in the Gothic manner: -that is to say, the windows had pointed -arches and were surmounted by what are -called ogival hoods, with crockets and finials -such as we see on the canopies of tombs -built into church walls. At the angles were -absurd turrets covered with arched panels. -The Chapel had pinnacles and buttresses, -and a bell in the turret and coloured glass in -the windows. When the front of the house -was open you saw four large rooms, bedroom, -dining-room, drawing-room and kitchen, -each with its appropriate furniture in a very -complete state.</p> - -<p>The stable on the right was in two storeys, -with its proper complement of horses,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span> -coaches and grooms, and with its clock and -Gothic cupola for the clock bell.</p> - -<p>Pages, of course, might be written on the -outfit of the mansion—how many frying -pans, how many gilt chairs, what pictures, -carpets, chandeliers, four-posters, table -linen, glass, crockery and plate it possessed; -but all this must be left to the imagination. -I will only say that the base or plinth on -which the house stood (for it was fitted -with one of some depth which allowed of -a flight of steps to the front door and a -terrace, partly balustraded) contained a -shallow drawer or drawers in which were -neatly stored sets of embroidered curtains, -changes of raiment for the inmates, and, -in short, all the materials for an infinite -series of variations and refittings of the -most absorbing and delightful kind.</p> - -<p>“Quintessence of Horace Walpole, that’s -what it is: he must have had something -to do with the making of it.” Such was -Mr Dillet’s murmured reflection as he knelt -before it in a reverent ecstasy. “Simply -wonderful; this is my day and no mistake.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span> -Five hundred pound coming in this morning -for that cabinet which I never cared -about, and now this tumbling into my -hands for a tenth, at the very most, of what -it would fetch in town. Well, well! It -almost makes one afraid something’ll happen -to counter it. Let’s have a look at -the population, anyhow.”</p> - -<p>Accordingly, he set them before him in -a row. Again, here is an opportunity, -which some would snatch at, of making -an inventory of costume: I am incapable -of it.</p> - -<p>There were a gentleman and lady, in -blue satin and brocade respectively. There -were two children, a boy and a girl. There -was a cook, a nurse, a footman, and there -were the stable servants, two postillions, -a coachman, two grooms.</p> - -<p>“Anyone else? Yes, possibly.”</p> - -<p>The curtains of the four-poster in the -bedroom were closely drawn round four -sides of it, and he put his finger in between -them and felt in the bed. He drew the -finger back hastily, for it almost seemed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span> -to him as if something had—not stirred, -perhaps, but yielded—in an odd live way -as he pressed it. Then he put back the -curtains, which ran on rods in the proper -manner, and extracted from the bed a white-haired -old gentleman in a long linen night-dress -and cap, and laid him down by the -rest. The tale was complete.</p> - -<p>Dinner time was now near, so Mr Dillet -spent but five minutes in putting the lady -and children into the drawing-room, the -gentleman into the dining-room, the servants -into the kitchen and stables, and the -old man back into his bed. He retired -into his dressing room next door, and we -see and hear no more of him until something -like eleven o’clock at night.</p> - -<p>His whim was to sleep surrounded by -some of the gems of his collection. The -big room in which we have seen him contained -his bed: bath, wardrobe, and all the -appliances of dressing were in a commodious -room adjoining: but his four-poster, which -itself was a valued treasure, stood in the -large room where he sometimes wrote, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span> -often sat, and even received visitors. To-night -he repaired to it in a highly complacent -frame of mind.</p> - -<p>There was no striking clock within earshot—none -on the staircase, none in the -stable, none in the distant Church tower. -Yet it is indubitable that Mr Dillet was -startled out of a very pleasant slumber by -a bell tolling One.</p> - -<p>He was so much startled that he did -not merely lie breathless with wide-open -eyes, but actually sat up in his bed.</p> - -<p>He never asked himself, till the morning -hours, how it was that, though there was -no light at all in the room, the Doll’s -House on the kneehole table stood out with -complete clearness. But it was so. The -effect was that of a bright harvest moon -shining full on the front of a big white -stone mansion—a quarter of a mile away -it might be, and yet every detail was photographically -sharp. There were trees about -it, too—trees rising behind the chapel and -the house. He seemed to be conscious of -the scent of a cool still September night.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span> -He thought he could hear an occasional -stamp and clink from the stables, as of -horses stirring. And with another shock he -realized that, above the house, he was looking, -not at the wall of his room with its -pictures, but into the profound blue of a -night sky.</p> - -<p>There were lights, more than one, in the -windows, and he quickly saw that this was -no four-roomed house with a movable front, -but one of many rooms, and staircases—a -real house, but seen as if through the wrong -end of a telescope. “You mean to show -me something,” he muttered to himself, and -he gazed earnestly on the lighted windows. -They would in real life have been shuttered -or curtained, no doubt, he thought; but, as -it was, there was nothing to intercept his -view of what was being transacted inside -the rooms.</p> - -<p>Two rooms were lighted—one on the -ground floor to the right of the door, one -upstairs, on the left—the first brightly -enough, the other rather dimly. The lower -room was the dining-room: a table was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span> -laid, but the meal was over, and only wine -and glasses were left on the table. The -man of the blue satin and the woman of -the brocade were alone in the room, and -they were talking very earnestly, seated -close together at the table, their elbows on -it: every now and again stopping to listen, -as it seemed. Once <i>he</i> rose, came to the -window and opened it and put his head -out and his hand to his ear. There was -a lighted taper in a silver candlestick on a -sideboard. When the man left the window -he seemed to leave the room also; and the -lady, taper in hand, remained standing and -listening. The expression on her face was -that of one striving her utmost to keep -down a fear that threatened to master -her—and succeeding. It was a hateful face, -too; broad, flat and sly. Now the man -came back and she took some small thing -from him and hurried out of the room. -He, too, disappeared, but only for a moment -or two. The front door slowly opened and -he stepped out and stood on the top of the -<i>perron</i>, looking this way and that; then<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span> -turned towards the upper window that was -lighted, and shook his fist.</p> - -<p>It was time to look at that upper window. -Through it was seen a four-post bed: a -nurse or other servant in an armchair, -evidently sound asleep; in the bed an old -man lying: awake, and, one would say, -anxious, from the way in which he shifted -about and moved his fingers, beating tunes -on the coverlet. Beyond the bed a door -opened. Light was seen on the ceiling, -and the lady came in: she set down her -candle on a table, came to the fireside and -roused the nurse. In her hand she had an -old-fashioned wine bottle, ready uncorked. -The nurse took it, poured some of the contents -into a little silver sauce-pan, added -some spice and sugar from casters on the -table, and set it to warm on the fire. -Meanwhile the old man in the bed beckoned -feebly to the lady, who came to him, smiling, -took his wrist as if to feel his pulse, -and bit her lip as if in consternation. He -looked at her anxiously, and then pointed -to the window, and spoke. She nodded,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span> -and did as the man below had done; opened -the casement and listened—perhaps rather -ostentatiously: then drew in her head and -shook it, looking at the old man, who -seemed to sigh.</p> - -<p>By this time the posset on the fire was -steaming, and the nurse poured it into a -small two-handled silver bowl and brought -it to the bedside. The old man seemed -disinclined for it and was waving it away, -but the lady and the nurse together bent -over him and evidently pressed it upon him. -He must have yielded, for they supported -him into a sitting position, and put it to -his lips. He drank most of it, in several -draughts, and they laid him down. The -lady left the room, smiling good-night to -him, and took the bowl, the bottle and the -silver sauce-pan with her. The nurse returned -to the chair, and there was an -interval of complete quiet.</p> - -<p>Suddenly the old man started up in his -bed—and he must have uttered some cry, -for the nurse started out of her chair and -made but one step of it to the bedside.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span> -He was a sad and terrible sight—flushed -in the face, almost to blackness, the eyes -glaring whitely, both hands clutching at -his heart, foam at his lips.</p> - -<p>For a moment the nurse left him, ran -to the door, flung it wide open, and, one -supposes, screamed aloud for help, then -darted back to the bed and seemed to try -feverishly to soothe him—to lay him down—anything. -But as the lady, her husband, -and several servants, rushed into the room -with horrified faces, the old man collapsed -under the nurse’s hands and lay back, and -the features, contorted with agony and rage, -relaxed slowly into calm.</p> - -<p>A few moments later, lights showed out -to the left of the house, and a coach with -flambeaux drove up to the door. A white-wigged -man in black got nimbly out and -ran up the steps, carrying a small leather -trunk-shaped box. He was met in the -doorway by the man and his wife, she -with her handkerchief clutched between her -hands, he with a tragic face, but retaining -his self-control. They led the newcomer<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span> -into the dining-room, where he set his box -of papers on the table, and, turning to them, -listened with a face of consternation at what -they had to tell. He nodded his head again -and again, threw out his hands slightly, -declined, it seemed, offers of refreshment -and lodging for the night, and within a -few minutes came slowly down the steps -entering the coach and driving off the way -he had come. As the man in blue watched -him from the top of the steps, a smile not -pleasant to see stole slowly over his fat -white face. Darkness fell over the whole -scene as the lights of the coach disappeared.</p> - -<p>But Mr Dillet remained sitting up in -the bed: he had rightly guessed that there -would be a sequel. The house front glimmered -out again before long. But now -there was a difference. The lights were -in other windows, one at the top of the -house, the other illuminating the range of -coloured windows of the chapel. How he -saw through these is not quite obvious, but -he did. The interior was as carefully furnished -as the rest of the establishment,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span> -with its minute red cushions on the desks, -its Gothic stall-canopies, and its western -gallery and pinnacled organ with gold pipes. -On the centre of the black and white pavement -was a bier: four tall candles burned -at the corners. On the bier was a coffin -covered with a pall of black velvet.</p> - -<p>As he looked the folds of the pall stirred. -It seemed to rise at one end: it slid downwards: -it fell away, exposing the black -coffin with its silver handles and name-plate. -One of the tall candlesticks swayed and -toppled over. Ask no more, but turn, as -Mr Dillet hastily did, and look in at the -lighted window at the top of the house, -where a boy and girl lay in two truckle-beds, -and a four-poster for the nurse rose -above them. The nurse was not visible for -the moment; but the father and mother -were there, dressed now in mourning, but -with very little sign of mourning in their -demeanour. Indeed, they were laughing -and talking with a good deal of animation, -sometimes to each other, and sometimes -throwing a remark to one or other of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span> -children, and again laughing at the answers. -Then the father was seen to go on tiptoe -out of the room, taking with him as he -went a white garment that hung on a peg -near the door. He shut the door after him. -A minute or two later it was slowly opened -again, and a muffled head poked round it. -A bent form of sinister shape stepped across -to the truckle-beds, and suddenly stopped, -threw up its arms and revealed, of course, -the father, laughing. The children were -in agonies of terror, the boy with the bed -clothes over his head, the girl throwing -herself out of bed into her mother’s arms. -Attempts at consolation followed—the -parents took the children on their laps, -patted them, picked up the white gown -and showed there was no harm in it, and -so forth; and at last putting the children -back into bed, left the room with encouraging -waves of the hand. As they left it, -the nurse came in, and soon the light died -down.</p> - -<p>Still Mr Dillet watched immovable.</p> - -<p>A new sort of light—not of lamp or candle—a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span> -pale ugly light, began to dawn around -the door-case at the back of the room. The -door was opening again. The seer does not -like to dwell upon what he saw entering -the room: he says it might be described -as a frog—the size of a man—but it had -scanty white hair about its head. It was -busy about the truckle-beds, but not for -long. The sound of cries—faint, as if -coming out of a vast distance—but, even -so, infinitely appalling, reached the ear.</p> - -<p>There were signs of a hideous commotion -all over the house: lights passed along and -up, and doors opened and shut, and running -figures passed within the windows. The -clock in the stable turret tolled one, and -darkness fell again.</p> - -<p>It was only dispelled once more, to show -the house front. At the bottom of the -steps dark figures were drawn up in two -lines, holding flaming torches. More dark -figures came down the steps, bearing, first -one, then another small coffin. And the lines -of torch-bearers with the coffins between -them moved silently onward to the left.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span>The hours of night passed on—never so -slowly, Mr Dillet thought. Gradually he -sank down from sitting to lying in his bed—but -he did not close an eye: and early -next morning he sent for the doctor.</p> - -<p>The doctor found him in a disquieting -state of nerves, and recommended sea-air. -To a quiet place on the East Coast he -accordingly repaired by easy stages in his -car.</p> - -<p>One of the first people he met on the -sea-front was Mr Chittenden, who, it -appeared, had likewise been advised to -take his wife away for a bit of a change.</p> - -<p>Mr Chittenden looked somewhat askance -upon him when they met: and not without -cause.</p> - -<p>“Well, I don’t wonder at you being -a bit upset, Mr Dillet. What? yes, well, -I might say ’orrible upset, to be sure, -seeing what me and my poor wife went -through ourselves. But I put it to you, -Mr Dillet, one of two things: was I going -to scrap a lovely piece like that on the one -’and, or was I going to tell customers: ‘I’m<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span> -selling you a regular picture-palace-dramar -in reel life of the olden time, billed to perform -regular at one o’clock a.m.’? Why, -what would you ’ave said yourself? And -next thing you know, two Justices of the -Peace in the back parlour, and pore Mr -and Mrs Chittenden off in a spring cart -to the County Asylum and everyone in -the street saying, ‘Ah, I thought it ’ud -come to that. Look at the way the man -drank!’—and me next door, or next door -but one, to a total abstainer, as you know. -Well, there was my position. What? Me -’ave it back in the shop? Well, what do -<i>you</i> think? No, but I’ll tell you what I -will do. You shall have your money back, -bar the ten pound I paid for it, and you -make what you can.”</p> - -<p>Later in the day, in what is offensively -called the “smoke-room” of the hotel, a -murmured conversation between the two -went on for some time.</p> - -<p>“How much do you really know about -that thing, and where it came from?”</p> - -<p>“Honest, Mr Dillet, I don’t know the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span> -’ouse. Of course, it came out of the lumber -room of a country ’ouse—that anyone could -guess. But I’ll go as far as say this, that I -believe it’s not a hundred miles from this -place. Which direction and how far I’ve -no notion. I’m only judging by guess-work. -The man as I actually paid the cheque to -ain’t one of my regular men, and I’ve lost -sight of him; but I ’ave the idea that this -part of the country was his beat, and that’s -every word I can tell you. But now, Mr -Dillet, there’s one thing that rather physicks -me—that old chap,—I suppose you saw him -drive up to the door—I thought so: now, -would he have been the medical man, do -you take it? My wife would have it so, -but I stuck to it that was the lawyer, because -he had papers with him, and one he took -out was folded up.”</p> - -<p>“I agree,” said Mr Dillet. “Thinking it -over, I came to the conclusion that was -the old man’s will, ready to be signed.”</p> - -<p>“Just what I thought,” said Mr Chittenden, -“and I took it that will would have -cut out the young people, eh? Well, well!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span> -It’s been a lesson to me, I know that. I -shan’t buy no more dolls’ houses, nor waste -no more money on the pictures—and as to -this business of poisonin’ grandpa, well, if I -know myself, I never ’ad much of a turn -for that. Live and let live: that’s bin my -motto throughout life, and I ain’t found it -a bad one.”</p> - -<p>Filled with these elevated sentiments, Mr -Chittenden retired to his lodgings. Mr -Dillet next day repaired to the local Institute, -where he hoped to find some clue to -the riddle that absorbed him. He gazed in -despair at a long file of the Canterbury and -York Society’s publications of the Parish -Registers of the district. No print resembling -the house of his nightmare was -among those that hung on the staircase and -in the passages. Disconsolate, he found -himself at last in a derelict room, staring at -a dusty model of a church in a dusty glass -case: <i>Model of St Stephen’s Church, Coxham. -Presented by J. Merewether, Esq., of Ilbridge -House, 1877. The work of his ancestor -James Merewether, d. 1786.</i> There was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span> -something in the fashion of it that reminded -him dimly of his horror. He -retraced his steps to a wall map he had -noticed, and made out that Ilbridge House -was in Coxham Parish. Coxham was, as it -happened, one of the parishes of which he -had retained the name when he glanced over -the file of printed registers, and it was not -long before he found in them the record of -the burial of Roger Milford, aged 76, on -the 11th of September, 1757, and of Roger -and Elizabeth Merewether, aged 9 and 7, -on the 19th of the same month. It seemed -worth while to follow up this clue, frail as -it was; and in the afternoon he drove out -to Coxham. The east end of the north aisle -of the church is a Milford chapel, and on -its north wall are tablets to the same -persons; Roger, the elder, it seems, was -distinguished by all the qualities which -adorn “the Father, the Magistrate, and the -Man”: the memorial was erected by his -attached daughter Elizabeth, “who did not -long survive the loss of a parent ever solicitous -for her welfare, and of two amiable<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span> -children.” The last sentence was plainly -an addition to the original inscription.</p> - -<p>A yet later slab told of James Merewether, -husband of Elizabeth, “who in the dawn of -life practised, not without success, those arts -which, had he continued their exercise, might -in the opinion of the most competent judges -have earned for him the name of the British -Vitruvius: but who, overwhelmed by the -visitation which deprived him of an affectionate -partner and a blooming offspring, -passed his Prime and Age in a secluded yet -elegant Retirement: his grateful Nephew -and Heir indulges a pious sorrow by this -too brief recital of his excellences.”</p> - -<p>The children were more simply commemorated. -Both died on the night of the -12th of September.</p> - -<p>Mr Dillet felt sure that in Ilbridge House -he had found the scene of his drama. In -some old sketch-book, possibly in some old -print, he may yet find convincing evidence -that he is right. But the Ilbridge House -of to-day is not that which he sought; it is -an Elizabethan erection of the forties, in red<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span> -brick with stone quoins and dressings. A -quarter of a mile from it, in a low part of -the park, backed by ancient, stag-horned, -ivy-strangled trees and thick undergrowth, -are marks of a terraced platform overgrown -with rough grass. A few stone balusters lie -here and there, and a heap or two, covered -with nettles and ivy, of wrought stones with -badly carved crockets. This, someone told -Mr Dillet, was the site of an older house.</p> - -<p>As he drove out of the village, the hall -clock struck four, and Mr Dillet started up -and clapped his hands to his ears. It was -not the first time he had heard that bell.</p> - -<p>Awaiting an offer from the other side of -the Atlantic, the doll’s house still reposes, -carefully sheeted, in a loft over Mr Dillet’s -stables, whither Collins conveyed it on the -day when Mr Dillet started for the sea coast.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>[It will be said, perhaps, and not unjustly, -that this is no more than a variation on a -former story of mine called <i>The Mezzotint</i>. -I can only hope that there is enough of -variation in the setting to make the repetition -of the <i>motif</i> tolerable].</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">THE UNCOMMON PRAYER-BOOK</h2> -</div> - - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p class="drop-cap">MR DAVIDSON was spending the -first week in January alone in a -country town. A combination of circumstances -had driven him to that drastic -course: his nearest relations were enjoying -winter sports abroad, and the friends who -had been kindly anxious to replace them -had an infectious complaint in the house. -Doubtless he might have found someone -else to take pity on him. “But,” he reflected, -“most of them have made up their -parties, and, after all, it is only for three -or four days at most that I have to fend -for myself, and it will be just as well if I -can get a move on with my introduction -to the Leventhorp Papers. I might use -the time by going down as near as I can -to Gaulsford and making acquaintance with<span class="pagenum2" id="Page_36">[36]</span> -the neighbourhood. I ought to see the -remains of Leventhorp House, and the -tombs in the church.”</p> - -<p>The first day after his arrival at the -Swan Hotel at Longbridge was so stormy -that he got no farther than the tobacconist’s. -The next, comparatively bright, he used -for his visit to Gaulsford, which interested -him more than a little, but had no ulterior -consequences. The third, which was really -a pearl of a day for early January, was too -fine to be spent indoors. He gathered from -the landlord that a favourite practice of -visitors in the summer was to take a morning -train to a couple of stations westward, -and walk back down the valley of the Tent, -through Stanford St Thomas and Stanford -Magdalene, both of which were accounted -highly picturesque villages. He closed with -this plan, and we now find him seated in -a third-class carriage at 9.45 <span class="allsmcap">A.M.</span>, on his -way to Kingsbourne Junction, and studying -the map of the district.</p> - -<p>One old man was his only fellow-traveller, -a piping old man, who seemed inclined for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span> -conversation. So Mr Davidson, after going -through the necessary versicles and responses -about the weather, inquired whether -he was going far.</p> - -<p>“No, sir, not far, not this morning, sir,” -said the old man. “I ain’t only goin’ so -far as what they call Kingsbourne Junction. -There isn’t but two stations betwixt here -and there. Yes, they calls it Kingsbourne -Junction.”</p> - -<p>“I’m going there, too,” said Mr Davidson.</p> - -<p>“Oh, indeed, sir; do you know that part?”</p> - -<p>“No, I’m only going for the sake of -taking a walk back to Longbridge, and -seeing a bit of the country.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, indeed, sir! Well, ’tis a beautiful -day for a gentleman as enjoys a bit of a -walk.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, to be sure. Have you got far -to go when you get to Kingsbourne?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir, I ain’t got far to go, once I -get to Kingsbourne Junction. I’m agoin’ -to see my daughter, sir. She live at -Brockstone. That’s about two mile across -the fields from what they call Kingsbourne<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span> -Junction, that is. You’ve got that marked -down on your map, I expect, sir.”</p> - -<p>“I expect I have. Let me see, Brockstone, -did you say? Here’s Kingsbourne, -yes; and which way is Brockstone—toward -the Stanfords? Ah, I see it: Brockstone -Court, in a park. I don’t see the village, -though.”</p> - -<p>“No, sir, you wouldn’t see no village of -Brockstone. There ain’t only the Court -and the Chapel at Brockstone.”</p> - -<p>“Chapel? Oh, yes, that’s marked here, -too. The Chapel; close by the Court, it -seems to be. Does it belong to the Court?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir, that’s close up to the Court, -only a step. Yes, that belong to the -Court. My daughter, you see, sir, she’s -the keeper’s wife now, and she live at the -Court and look after things now the -family’s away.”</p> - -<p>“No one living there now, then?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir, not for a number of years. -The old gentleman, he lived there when I -was a lad; and the lady, she lived on after -him to very near upon ninety years of age.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span> -And then she died, and them that have -it now, they’ve got this other place, in -Warwickshire I believe it is, and they -don’t do nothin’ about lettin’ the Court -out; but Colonel Wildman, he have the -shooting, and young Mr Clark, he’s the -agent, he come over once in so many weeks -to see to things, and my daughter’s husband, -he’s the keeper.”</p> - -<p>“And who uses the Chapel? just the -people round about, I suppose.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no, no one don’t use the Chapel. -Why, there ain’t no one to go. All the -people about, they go to Stanford St -Thomas Church; but my son-in-law, he -go to Kingsbourne Church now, because -the gentleman at Stanford, he have this -Gregory singin’, and my son-in-law, he -don’t like that; he say he can hear the -old donkey brayin’ any day of the week, -and he like something a little cheerful on -the Sunday.” The old man drew his hand -across his mouth and laughed. “That’s -what my son-in-law say; he say he can -hear the old donkey,” etc., <i>da capo</i>.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span>Mr Davidson also laughed as honestly as -he could, thinking meanwhile that Brockstone -Court and Chapel would probably -be worth including in his walk; for the -map showed that from Brockstone he could -strike the Tent Valley quite as easily -as by following the main Kingsbourne-Longbridge -road. So, when the mirth -excited by the remembrance of the son-in-law’s -<i>bon mot</i> had died down, he returned -to the charge, and ascertained that both -the Court and the Chapel were of the class -known as “old-fashioned places,” and that -the old man would be very willing to -take him thither, and his daughter would -be happy to show him whatever she -could.</p> - -<p>“But that ain’t a lot, sir, not as if the -family was livin’ there; all the lookin’-glasses -is covered up, and the paintin’s, -and the curtains and carpets folded away; -not but what I dare say she could show -you a pair just to look at, because she go -over them to see as the morth shouldn’t -get into ’em.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span>“I shan’t mind about that, thank you; -if she can show me the inside of the Chapel, -that’s what I’d like best to see.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, she can show you that right enough, -sir. She have the key of the door, you see, -and most weeks she go in and dust about. -That’s a nice Chapel, that is. My son-in-law, -he say he’ll be bound they didn’t have -none of this Gregory singin’ there. Dear! -I can’t help but smile when I think of him -sayin’ that about th’ old donkey. ‘I can hear -him bray,’ he say, ‘any day of the week’; -and so he can, sir; that’s true, anyway.”</p> - -<p>The walk across the fields from Kingsbourne -to Brockstone was very pleasant. -It lay for the most part on the top of the -country, and commanded wide views over -a succession of ridges, plough and pasture, -or covered with dark-blue woods—all ending, -more or less abruptly, on the right, in -headlands that overlooked the wide valley -of a great western river. The last field -they crossed was bounded by a close copse, -and no sooner were they in it than the -path turned downward very sharply, and it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span> -became evident that Brockstone was neatly -fitted into a sudden and very narrow valley. -It was not long before they had glimpses of -groups of smokeless stone chimneys, and -stone-tiled roofs, close beneath their feet; -and, not many minutes after that, they -were wiping their shoes at the back door -of Brockstone Court, while the keeper’s dogs -barked very loudly in unseen places, and -Mrs Porter, in quick succession, screamed -at them to be quiet, greeted her father, and -begged both her visitors to step in.</p> - - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>It was not to be expected that Mr -Davidson should escape being taken through -the principal rooms of the Court, in spite -of the fact that the house was entirely out -of commission. Pictures, carpets, curtains, -furniture, were all covered up or put away, -as old Mr Avery had said; and the admiration -which our friend was very ready to -bestow had to be lavished on the proportions<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span> -of the rooms, and on the one -painted ceiling, upon which an artist who -had fled from London in the plague-year -had depicted the Triumph of Loyalty and -Defeat of Sedition. In this Mr Davidson -could show an unfeigned interest. The -portraits of Cromwell, Ireton, Bradshaw, -Peters, and the rest, writhing in carefully -devised torments, were evidently the part -of the design to which most pains had been -devoted.</p> - -<p>“That were the old Lady Sadleir had -that paintin’ done, same as the one what -put up the Chapel. They say she were the -first that went up to London to dance on -Oliver Cromwell’s grave.” So said Mr -Avery, and continued musingly, “Well, I -suppose she got some satisfaction to her -mind, but I don’t know as I should want -to pay the fare to London and back just -for that; and my son-in-law, he say the -same; he say he don’t know as he should -have cared to pay all that money only for -that. I was tellin’ the gentleman as we -came along in the train, Mary, what your<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span> -’Arry says about this Gregory singin’ down -at Stanford here. We ’ad a bit of a laugh -over that, sir, didn’t us?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, to be sure we did; ha! ha!” Once -again Mr Davidson strove to do justice to -the pleasantry of the keeper. “But,” he -said, “if Mrs Porter can show me the -Chapel, I think it should be now, for the -days aren’t long, and I want to get back to -Longbridge before it falls quite dark.”</p> - -<p>Even if Brockstone Court has not been -illustrated in <i>Rural Life</i> (and I think it -has not), I do not propose to point out its -excellences here; but of the Chapel a word -must be said. It stands about a hundred -yards from the house, and has its own little -graveyard and trees about it. It is a stone -building about seventy feet long, and in the -Gothic style, as that style was understood -in the middle of the seventeenth century. -On the whole it resembles some of the -Oxford college chapels as much as anything, -save that it has a distinct chancel, like a -parish church, and a fanciful domed bell-turret -at the south-west angle.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span>When the west door was thrown open, -Mr Davidson could not repress an exclamation -of pleased surprise at the completeness -and richness of the interior. Screen-work, -pulpit, seating, and glass—all were of the -same period; and as he advanced into the -nave and sighted the organ-case with its -gold-embossed pipes in the western gallery, -his cup of satisfaction was filled. The glass -in the nave windows was chiefly armorial; -and in the chancel were figure-subjects, of -the kind that may be seen at Abbey Dore, -of Lord Scudamore’s work.</p> - -<p>But this is not an archæological review.</p> - -<p>While Mr Davidson was still busy examining -the remains of the organ (attributed -to one of the Dallams, I believe), old Mr -Avery had stumped up into the chancel -and was lifting the dust-cloths from the -blue-velvet cushions of the stall-desks. Evidently -it was here that the family sat.</p> - -<p>Mr Davidson heard him say in a rather -hushed tone of surprise, “Why, Mary, here’s -all the books open agin!”</p> - -<p>The reply was in a voice that sounded<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span> -peevish rather than surprised. “Tt-tt-tt, -well, there, I never!”</p> - -<p>Mrs Porter went over to where her father -was standing, and they continued talking in -a lower key. Mr Davidson saw plainly that -something not quite in the common run -was under discussion; so he came down -the gallery stairs and joined them. There -was no sign of disorder in the chancel any -more than in the rest of the Chapel, which -was beautifully clean; but the eight folio -Prayer-Books on the cushions of the stall-desks -were indubitably open.</p> - -<p>Mrs Porter was inclined to be fretful over -it. “Whoever can it be as does it?” she -said: “for there’s no key but mine, nor yet -door but the one we came in by, and the -winders is barred, every one of ’em; I don’t -like it, father, that I don’t.”</p> - -<p>“What is it, Mrs Porter? Anything -wrong?” said Mr Davidson.</p> - -<p>“No, sir, nothing reely wrong, only these -books. Every time, pretty near, that I -come in to do up the place, I shuts ’em and -spreads the cloths over ’em to keep off the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span> -dust, ever since Mr Clark spoke about it, -when I first come; and yet there they are -again, and always the same page—and as I -says, whoever it can be as does it with the -door and winders shut; and as I says, it -makes anyone feel queer comin’ in here -alone, as I ’ave to do, not as I’m given -that way myself, not to be frightened easy, -I mean to say; and there’s not a rat in the -place—not as no rat wouldn’t trouble to do -a thing like that, do you think, sir?”</p> - -<p>“Hardly, I should say; but it sounds -very queer. Are they always open at the -same place, did you say?”</p> - -<p>“Always the same place, sir, one of the -psalms it is, and I didn’t particular notice it -the first time or two, till I see a little red -line of printing, and it’s always caught my -eye since.”</p> - -<p>Mr Davidson walked along the stalls and -looked at the open books. Sure enough, -they all stood at the same page; Psalm -cix., and at the head of it, just between -the number and the <i>Deus laudum</i>, was a -rubric, “For the 25th day of April.” Without<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span> -pretending to minute knowledge of the -history of the Book of Common Prayer, he -knew enough to be sure that this was a very -odd and wholly unauthorized addition to its -text; and though he remembered that April -25 is St Mark’s Day, he could not imagine -what appropriateness this very savage psalm -could have to that festival. With slight -misgivings he ventured to turn over the -leaves to examine the title-page, and knowing -the need for particular accuracy in these -matters, he devoted some ten minutes to -making a line-for-line transcript of it. The -date was 1653; the printer called himself -Anthony Cadman. He turned to the list of -proper psalms for certain days; yes, added -to it was that same inexplicable entry: -<i>For the 25th day of April: the 109th Psalm</i>. -An expert would no doubt have thought of -many other points to inquire into, but this -antiquary, as I have said, was no expert. -He took stock, however, of the binding—a -handsome one of tooled blue leather, bearing -the arms that figured in several of the nave -windows in various combinations.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span>“How often,” he said at last to Mrs -Porter, “have you found these books lying -open like this?”</p> - -<p>“Reely I couldn’t say, sir, but it’s a great -many times now. Do you recollect, father, -me telling you about it the first time I -noticed it?”</p> - -<p>“That I do, my dear; you was in a rare -taking, and I don’t so much wonder at it; -that was five year ago I was paying you a -visit at Michaelmas time, and you come in -at tea-time, and says you, ‘Father, there’s -the books laying open under the cloths -agin;’ and I didn’t know what my daughter -was speakin’ about, you see, sir, and I says, -‘Books?’ just like that, I says; and then it -all came out. But as Harry says,—that’s -my son-in-law, sir,—‘whoever it can be,’ he -says, ‘as does it, because there ain’t only the -one door, and we keeps the key locked up,’ -he says, ‘and the winders is barred, every -one on ’em. Well,’ he says, ‘I lay once I -could catch ’em at it, they wouldn’t do it a -second time,’ he says. And no more they -wouldn’t, I don’t believe, sir. Well, that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span> -was five year ago, and it’s been happenin’ -constant ever since by your account, my -dear. Young Mr Clark, he don’t seem to -think much to it; but then he don’t live -here, you see, and ’tisn’t his business to -come and clean up here of a dark afternoon, -is it?”</p> - -<p>“I suppose you never notice anything -else odd when you are at work here, Mrs -Porter?” said Mr Davidson.</p> - -<p>“No, sir, I do not,” said Mrs Porter, -“and it’s a funny thing to me I don’t, with -the feeling I have as there’s someone settin’ -here—no, it’s the other side, just within the -screen—and lookin’ at me all the time I’m -dustin’ in the gallery and pews. But I never -yet see nothin’ worse than myself, as the -sayin’ goes, and I kindly hope I never may.”</p> - - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>In the conversation that followed (there -was not much of it), nothing was added to -the statement of the case. Having parted<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span> -on good terms with Mr Avery and his -daughter, Mr Davidson addressed himself -to his eight-mile walk. The little valley of -Brockstone soon led him down into the -broader one of the Tent, and on to Stanford -St Thomas, where he found refreshment.</p> - -<p>We need not accompany him all the way -to Longbridge. But as he was changing -his socks before dinner, he suddenly paused -and said half-aloud, “By Jove, that is a rum -thing!” It had not occurred to him before -how strange it was that any edition of the -Prayer-Book should have been issued in -1653, seven years before the Restoration, -five years before Cromwell’s death, and -when the use of the book, let alone the -printing of it, was penal. He must have -been a bold man who put his name and a -date on that title-page. Only, Mr Davidson -reflected, it probably was not his name at all, -for the ways of printers in difficult times -were devious.</p> - -<p>As he was in the front hall of the Swan -that evening, making some investigations -about trains, a small motor stopped in front<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span> -of the door, and out of it came a small man -in a fur coat, who stood on the steps and -gave directions in a rather yapping foreign -accent to his chauffeur. When he came -into the hotel, he was seen to be black-haired -and pale-faced, with a little pointed beard, -and gold <i>pince-nez</i>; altogether, very neatly -turned out.</p> - -<p>He went to his room, and Mr Davidson saw -no more of him till dinner-time. As they -were the only two dining that night, it was -not difficult for the newcomer to find an -excuse for falling into talk; he was evidently -wishing to make out what brought -Mr Davidson into that neighbourhood at -that season.</p> - -<p>“Can you tell me how far it is from here -to Arlingworth?” was one of his early -questions; and it was one which threw -some light on his own plans; for Mr Davidson -recollected having seen at the station -an advertisement of a sale at Arlingworth -Hall, comprising old furniture, pictures, -and books. This, then, was a London -dealer.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span>“No,” he said, “I’ve never been there. -I believe it lies out by Kingsbourne—it -can’t be less than twelve miles. I see -there’s a sale there shortly.”</p> - -<p>The other looked at him inquisitively, -and he laughed. “No,” he said, as if -answering a question, “you needn’t be -afraid of my competing; I’m leaving this -place to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>This cleared the air, and the dealer, -whose name was Homberger, admitted that -he was interested in books, and thought -there might be in these old country-house -libraries something to repay a journey. -“For,” said he, “we English have always -this marvellous talent for accumulating -rarities in the most unexpected places, -ain’t it?”</p> - -<p>And in the course of the evening he was -most interesting on the subject of finds -made by himself and others. “I shall take -the occasion after this sale to look round -the district a bit; perhaps you could inform -me of some likely spots, Mr Davidson?”</p> - -<p>But Mr Davidson, though he had seen<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span> -some very tempting locked-up book-cases -at Brockstone Court, kept his counsel. He -did not really like Mr Homberger.</p> - -<p>Next day, as he sat in the train, a little -ray of light came to illuminate one of yesterday’s -puzzles. He happened to take out -an almanac-diary that he had bought for -the new year, and it occurred to him to -look at the remarkable events for April 25. -There it was: “St Mark. Oliver Cromwell -born, 1599.”</p> - -<p>That, coupled with the painted ceiling, -seemed to explain a good deal. The figure -of old Lady Sadleir became more substantial -to his imagination, as of one in whom -love for Church and King had gradually -given place to intense hate of the power -that had silenced the one and slaughtered -the other. What curious evil service was -that which she and a few like her had been -wont to celebrate year by year in that -remote valley? And how in the world had -she managed to elude authority? And -again, did not this persistent opening of -the books agree oddly with the other traits<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span> -of her portrait known to him? It would -be interesting for anyone who chanced to -be near Brockstone on the twenty-fifth of -April to look in at the Chapel and see if -anything exceptional happened. When he -came to think of it, there seemed to be no -reason why he should not be that person -himself; he, and if possible, some congenial -friend. He resolved that so it should be.</p> - -<p>Knowing that he knew really nothing -about the printing of Prayer-Books, he -realized that he must make it his business -to get the best light on the matter without -divulging his reasons. I may say at once -that his search was entirely fruitless. One -writer of the early part of the nineteenth -century, a writer of rather windy and -rhapsodical chat about books, professed to -have heard of a special anti-Cromwellian -issue of the Prayer-Book in the very midst -of the Commonwealth period. But he did -not claim to have seen a copy, and no one -had believed him. Looking into this matter, -Mr Davidson found that the statement was -based on letters from a correspondent who<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span> -had lived near Longbridge; so he was -inclined to think that the Brockstone -Prayer-Books were at the bottom of it, -and had excited a momentary interest.</p> - -<p>Months went on, and St Mark’s Day -came near. Nothing interfered with Mr -Davidson’s plans of visiting Brockstone, or -with those of the friend whom he had persuaded -to go with him, and to whom alone -he had confided the puzzle. The same -9.45 train which had taken him in January -took them now to Kingsbourne; the same -field-path led them to Brockstone. But -to-day they stopped more than once to -pick a cowslip; the distant woods and -ploughed uplands were of another colour, -and in the copse there was, as Mrs Porter -said, “a regular charm of birds; why you -couldn’t hardly collect your mind sometimes -with it.”</p> - -<p>She recognized Mr Davidson at once, -and was very ready to do the honours of -the Chapel. The new visitor, Mr Witham, -was as much struck by the completeness -of it as Mr Davidson had been. “There<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span> -can’t be such another in England,” he -said.</p> - -<p>“Books open again, Mrs Porter?” said -Davidson, as they walked up to the chancel.</p> - -<p>“Dear, yes, I expect so, sir,” said Mrs -Porter, as she drew off the cloths. “Well, -there!” she exclaimed the next moment, -“if they ain’t shut! That’s the first time -ever I’ve found ’em so. But it’s not for -want of care on my part, I do assure you, -gentlemen, if they wasn’t, for I felt the -cloths the last thing before I shut up last -week, when the gentleman had done photografting -the heast winder, and every one -was shut, and where there was ribbons left, -I tied ’em. Now I think of it, I don’t -remember ever to ’ave done that before, -and per’aps, whoever it is, it just made -the difference to ’em. Well, it only shows, -don’t it? If at first you don’t succeed, try, -try, try again.”</p> - -<p>Meanwhile the two men had been examining -the books, and now Davidson -spoke.</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry to say I’m afraid there’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span> -something wrong here, Mrs Porter. These -are not the same books.”</p> - -<p>It would make too long a business to -detail all Mrs Porter’s outcries, and the -questionings that followed. The upshot -was this. Early in January the gentleman -had come to see over the Chapel, and -thought a great deal of it, and said he must -come back in the spring weather and take -some photografts. And only a week ago -he had drove up in his motoring car, and -a very ’eavy box with the slides in it, and -she had locked him in because he said something -about a long explosion, and she was -afraid of some damage happening; and he -says, no, not explosion, but it appeared the -lantern what they take the slides with -worked very slow; and so he was in there -the best part of an hour and she come and -let him out, and he drove off with his box -and all and gave her his visiting-card, and -oh, dear, dear, to think of such a thing! -he must have changed the books and took -the old ones away with him in his box.</p> - -<p>“What sort of man was he?”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span>“Oh, dear, he was a small-made gentleman, -if you can call him so after the way -he’ve behaved, with black hair, that is if -it was hair, and gold eye-glasses, if they -was gold; reely, one don’t know what to -believe. Sometimes I doubt he weren’t a -reel Englishman at all, and yet he seemed -to know the language, and had the name on -his visiting-card like anybody else might.”</p> - -<p>“Just so; might we see the card? Yes; -T. W. Henderson, and an address somewhere -near Bristol. Well, Mrs Porter, it’s -quite plain this Mr Henderson, as he calls -himself, has walked off with your eight -Prayer-Books and put eight others about -the same size in place of them. Now listen -to me. I suppose you must tell your husband -about this, but neither you nor he -must say one word about it to anyone else. -If you’ll give me the address of the agent,—Mr -Clark, isn’t it?—I will write to him -and tell him exactly what has happened, -and that it really is no fault of yours. But, -you understand, we must keep it very quiet; -and why? Because this man who has<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span> -stolen the books will of course try to sell -them one at a time—for I may tell you -they are worth a good deal of money—and -the only way we can bring it home to him -is by keeping a sharp lookout and saying -nothing.”</p> - -<p>By dint of repeating the same advice in -various forms, they succeeded in impressing -Mrs Porter with the real need for silence, -and were forced to make a concession only -in the case of Mr Avery, who was expected -on a visit shortly. “But you may be safe -with father, sir,” said Mrs Porter. “Father -ain’t a talkin’ man.”</p> - -<p>It was not quite Mr Davidson’s experience -of him; still, there were no neighbours -at Brockstone, and even Mr Avery -must be aware that gossip with anybody on -such a subject would be likely to end in -the Porters’ having to look out for another -situation.</p> - -<p>A last question was whether Mr Henderson, -so-called, had anyone with him.</p> - -<p>“No, sir, not when he come he hadn’t; -he was working his own motoring car himself,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span> -and what luggage he had, let me see: -there was his lantern and this box of slides -inside the carriage, which I helped him into -the Chapel and out of it myself with it, if -only I’d knowed! And as he drove away -under the big yew tree by the monument, -I see the long white bundle laying on the -top of the coach, what I didn’t notice when -he drove up. But he set in front, sir, and -only the boxes inside behind him. And do -you reely think, sir, as his name weren’t -Henderson at all? Oh, dear me, what a -dreadful thing! Why, fancy what trouble -it might bring to a innocent person that -might never have set foot in the place but -for that!”</p> - -<p>They left Mrs Porter in tears. On the -way home there was much discussion as to -the best means of keeping watch upon -possible sales. What Henderson-Homberger -(for there could be no real doubt -of the identity) had done was, obviously, -to bring down the requisite number of folio -Prayer-Books—disused copies from college -chapels and the like, bought ostensibly for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span> -the sake of the bindings, which were superficially -like enough to the old ones—and -to substitute them at his leisure for the -genuine articles. A week had now passed -without any public notice being taken of -the theft. He would take a little time -himself to find out about the rarity of the -books, and would ultimately, no doubt, -“place” them cautiously. Between them, -Davidson and Witham were in a position to -know a good deal of what was passing in -the book-world, and they could map out -the ground pretty completely. A weak -point with them at the moment was that -neither of them knew under what other -name or names Henderson-Homberger -carried on business. But there are ways of -solving these problems.</p> - -<p>And yet all this planning proved unnecessary.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span></p> - - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>We are transported to a London office on -this same 25th of April. We find there, -within closed doors, late in the day, two -police inspectors, a commissionaire, and a -youthful clerk. The two latter, both rather -pale and shaky in appearance, are sitting on -chairs and being questioned.</p> - -<p>“How long do you say you’ve been in -this Mr Poschwitz’s employment? Six -months? And what was his business? -Attended sales in various parts and brought -home parcels of books. Did he keep a shop -anywhere? No? Disposed of ’em here -and there, and sometimes to private collectors. -Right. Now then, when did he -go out last? Rather better than a week -ago? Tell you where he was going? No? -Said he was going to start next day from -his private residence, and shouldn’t be at -the office—that’s here, eh?—before two days; -you was to attend as usual. Where is his -private residence? Oh, that’s the address,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span> -Norwood way; I see. Any family? Not -in this country? Now, then, what account -do you give of what’s happened since he -came back? Came back on the Tuesday, -did he? and this is the Saturday. Bring -any books? One package; where is it? In -the safe? You got the key? No, to be -sure, it’s open, of course. How did he seem -when he got back—cheerful? Well, but -how do you mean—curious? Thought he -might be in for an illness: he said that, did -he? Odd smell got in his nose, couldn’t -get rid of it; told you to let him know who -wanted to see him before you let ’em in? -That wasn’t usual with him? Much the -same all Wednesday, Thursday, Friday. -Out a good deal; said he was going to the -British Museum. Often went there to make -inquiries in the way of his business. Walked -up and down a lot in the office when he was -in. Anyone call in on those days? Mostly -when he was out. Anyone find him in? -Oh, Mr Collinson? Who’s Mr Collinson? -An old customer; know his address? All -right, give it us afterwards. Well, now,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span> -what about this morning? You left Mr -Poschwitz’s here at twelve and went home. -Anybody see you? Commissionaire, you -did? Remained at home till summoned -here. Very well.</p> - -<p>“Now, commissionaire; we have your -name—Watkins, eh? Very well, make your -statement; don’t go too quick, so as we can -get it down.”</p> - -<p>“I was on duty ’ere later than usual, Mr -Potwitch ’aving asked me to remain on, and -ordered his lunching to be sent in, which -came as ordered. I was in the lobby from -eleven-thirty on, and see Mr Bligh [the -clerk] leave at about twelve. After that no -one come in at all except Mr Potwitch’s -lunching come at one o’clock and the man -left in five minutes’ time. Towards the -afternoon I became tired of waitin’ and I -come upstairs to this first floor. The outer -door what lead to the orfice stood open, and -I come up to the plate-glass door here. Mr -Potwitch he was standing behind the table -smoking a cigar, and he laid it down on the -mantelpiece and felt in his trouser pockets<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span> -and took out a key and went across to the -safe. And I knocked on the glass, thinkin’ -to see if he wanted me to come and take -away his tray; but he didn’t take no notice, -bein’ engaged with the safe door. Then he -got it open and stooped down and seemed -to be lifting up a package off of the floor of -the safe. And then, sir, I see what looked -to be like a great roll of old shabby white -flannel, about four to five feet high, fall -for’ards out of the inside of the safe right -against Mr Potwitch’s shoulder as he was -stooping over; and Mr Potwitch, he raised -himself up as it were, resting his hands on -the package, and gave a exclamation. And -I can’t hardly expect you should take what -I says, but as true as I stand here I see this -roll had a kind of a face in the upper end of -it, sir. You can’t be more surprised than -what I was, I can assure you, and I’ve seen -a lot in me time. Yes, I can describe it if -you wish it, sir; it was very much the same -as this wall here in colour [the wall had an -earth-coloured distemper] and it had a bit -of a band tied round underneath. And the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span> -eyes, well they was dry-like, and much as -if there was two big spiders’ bodies in the -holes. Hair? no, I don’t know as there -was much hair to be seen; the flannel-stuff -was over the top of the ’ead. I’m very sure -it warn’t what it should have been. No, I -only see it in a flash, but I took it in like a -photograft—wish I hadn’t. Yes, sir, it fell -right over on to Mr Potwitch’s shoulder, and -this face hid in his neck,—yes, sir, about -where the injury was,—more like a ferret -going for a rabbit than anythink else; and -he rolled over, and of course I tried to get -in at the door; but as you know, sir, it were -locked on the inside, and all I could do, I -rung up everyone, and the surgeon come, -and the police and you gentlemen, and you -know as much as what I do. If you won’t -be requirin’ me any more to-day I’d be glad -to be getting off home; it’s shook me up -more than I thought for.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said one of the inspectors, when -they were left alone; and “Well?” said the -other inspector; and, after a pause, “What’s -the surgeon’s report again? You’ve got it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span> -there. Yes. Effect on the blood like the -worst kind of snake-bite; death almost -instantaneous. I’m glad of that, for his -sake; he was a nasty sight. No case for -detaining this man Watkins, anyway; we -know all about him. And what about this -safe, now? We’d better go over it again; -and, by the way, we haven’t opened that -package he was busy with when he died.”</p> - -<p>“Well, handle it careful,” said the other; -“there might be this snake in it, for what -you know. Get a light into the corners of -the place, too. Well, there’s room for a -shortish person to stand up in; but what -about ventilation?”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps,” said the other slowly, as he -explored the safe with an electric torch, -“perhaps they didn’t require much of that. -My word! it strikes warm coming out of -that place! like a vault, it is. But here, -what’s this bank-like of dust all spread out -into the room? That must have come there -since the door was opened; it would sweep -it all away if you moved it—see? Now -what do you make of that?”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span>“Make of it? About as much as I make -of anything else in this case. One of -London’s mysteries this is going to be, by -what I can see. And I don’t believe a -photographer’s box full of large-size old-fashioned -Prayer-Books is going to take -us much further. For that’s just what -your package is.”</p> - -<p>It was a natural but hasty utterance. -The preceding narrative shows that there -was in fact plenty of material for constructing -a case; and when once Messrs Davidson -and Witham had brought their end to -Scotland Yard, the join-up was soon made, -and the circle completed.</p> - -<p>To the relief of Mrs Porter, the owners -of Brockstone decided not to replace the -books in the Chapel; they repose, I believe, -in a safe-deposit in town. The police have -their own methods of keeping certain matters -out of the newspapers; otherwise, it can -hardly be supposed that Watkins’s evidence -about Mr Poschwitz’s death could have -failed to furnish a good many head-lines -of a startling character to the press.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">A NEIGHBOUR’S LANDMARK</h2> -</div> - - -<p class="drop-cap">THOSE who spend the greater part of -their time in reading or writing books -are, of course, apt to take rather particular -notice of accumulations of books when they -come across them. They will not pass a -stall, a shop, or even a bedroom-shelf without -reading some title, and if they find -themselves in an unfamiliar library, no host -need trouble himself further about their -entertainment. The putting of dispersed -sets of volumes together, or the turning -right way up of those which the dusting -housemaid has left in an apoplectic condition, -appeals to them as one of the -lesser Works of Mercy. Happy in these -employments, and in occasionally opening -an eighteenth-century octavo, to see “what -it is all about,” and to conclude after five<span class="pagenum2" id="Page_71">[71]</span> -minutes that it deserves the seclusion it now -enjoys, I had reached the middle of a wet -August afternoon at Betton Court——</p> - -<p>“You begin in a deeply Victorian manner,” -I said; “is this to continue?”</p> - -<p>“Remember, if you please,” said my -friend, looking at me over his spectacles, -“that I am a Victorian by birth and education, -and that the Victorian tree may not -unreasonably be expected to bear Victorian -fruit. Further, remember that an immense -quantity of clever and thoughtful Rubbish -is now being written about the Victorian -age. Now,” he went on, laying his papers -on his knee, “that article, ‘The Stricken -Years,’ in the <i>Times</i> Literary Supplement -the other day,—able? of course it is able; -but, oh! my soul and body, do just hand -it over here, will you? it’s on the table -by you.”</p> - -<p>“I thought you were to read me something -you had written,” I said, without -moving, “but, of course——”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I know,” he said. “Very well, -then, I’ll do that first. But I <i>should</i> like<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span> -to show you afterwards what I mean. -However——” And he lifted the sheets -of paper and adjusted his spectacles.</p> - -<p>——at Betton Court, where, generations -back, two country-house libraries had been -fused together, and no descendant of either -stock had ever faced the task of picking -them over or getting rid of duplicates. -Now I am not setting out to tell of rarities -I may have discovered, of Shakespeare -quartos bound up in volumes of political -tracts, or anything of that kind, but of an -experience which befell me in the course of -my search—an experience which I cannot -either explain away or fit into the scheme -of my ordinary life.</p> - -<p>It was, I said, a wet August afternoon, -rather windy, rather warm. Outside the -window great trees were stirring and weeping. -Between them were stretches of green -and yellow country (for the Court stands -high on a hillside), and blue hills far off, -veiled with rain. Up above was a very -restless and hopeless movement of low -clouds travelling north-west. I had suspended<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span> -my work—if you call it work—for -some minutes to stand at the window -and look at these things, and at the greenhouse -roof on the right with the water -sliding off it, and the Church tower that -rose behind that. It was all in favour of -my going steadily on; no likelihood of a -clearing up for hours to come. I, therefore, -returned to the shelves, lifted out a set of -eight or nine volumes, lettered “Tracts,” -and conveyed them to the table for closer -examination.</p> - -<p>They were for the most part of the reign -of Anne. There was a good deal of <i>The -Late Peace</i>, <i>The Late War</i>, <i>The Conduct -of the Allies</i>: there were also <i>Letters to a -Convocation Man</i>; <i>Sermons preached at St -Michael’s, Queenhithe</i>; <i>Enquiries into a late -Charge of the Rt. Rev. the Lord Bishop of -Winchester</i> (or more probably Winton) <i>to -his Clergy</i>: things all very lively once, and -indeed still keeping so much of their old -sting that I was tempted to betake myself -into an armchair in the window, and give -them more time than I had intended. Besides,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span> -I was somewhat tired by the day. -The Church clock struck four, and it really -was four, for in 1889 there was no saving of -daylight.</p> - -<p>So I settled myself. And first I glanced -over some of the War pamphlets, and pleased -myself by trying to pick out Swift by his -style from among the undistinguished. But -the War pamphlets needed more knowledge -of the geography of the Low Countries than -I had. I turned to the Church, and read -several pages of what the Dean of Canterbury -said to the Society for Promoting Christian -Knowledge on the occasion of their anniversary -meeting in 1711. When I turned over -to a Letter from a Beneficed Clergyman in -the Country to the Bishop of C....r, I -was becoming languid, and I gazed for some -moments at the following sentence without -surprise:</p> - -<p>“This Abuse (for I think myself justified -in calling it by that name) is one which I -am persuaded Your Lordship would (if -’twere known to you) exert your utmost -efforts to do away. But I am also persuaded<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span> -that you know no more of its existence than -(in the words of the Country Song)</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">‘That which walks in Betton Wood</div> -<div class="indent">Knows why it walks or why it cries.’”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>Then indeed I did sit up in my chair, and -run my finger along the lines to make sure -that I had read them right. There was no -mistake. Nothing more was to be gathered -from the rest of the pamphlet. The next -paragraph definitely changed the subject: -“But I have said enough upon this <i>Topick</i>” -were its opening words. So discreet, too, was -the namelessness of the Beneficed Clergyman -that he refrained even from initials, -and had his letter printed in London.</p> - -<p>The riddle was of a kind that might -faintly interest anyone: to me, who have -dabbled a good deal in works of folklore, it -was really exciting. I was set upon solving -it—on finding out, I mean, what story lay -behind it; and, at least, I felt myself lucky -in one point, that, whereas I might have -come on the paragraph in some College -Library far away, here I was at Betton, on -the very scene of action.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span>The Church clock struck five, and a -single stroke on a gong followed. This, -I knew, meant tea. I heaved myself out of -the deep chair, and obeyed the summons.</p> - -<p>My host and I were alone at the Court. -He came in soon, wet from a round of landlord’s -errands, and with pieces of local news -which had to be passed on before I could -make an opportunity of asking whether -there was a particular place in the Parish -that was still known as Betton Wood.</p> - -<p>“Betton Wood,” he said, “was a short -mile away, just on the crest of Betton Hill, -and my father stubbed up the last bit of it -when it paid better to grow corn than scrub -oaks. Why do you want to know about -Betton Wood?”</p> - -<p>“Because,” I said, “in an old pamphlet I -was reading just now, there are two lines of -a country song which mention it, and they -sound as if there was a story belonging to -them. Someone says that someone else -knows no more of whatever it may be—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">‘Than that which walks in Betton Wood</div> -<div class="indent">Knows why it walks or why it cries.’”</div> -</div></div> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span>“Goodness,” said Philipson, “I wonder -whether that was why.... I must ask old -Mitchell.” He muttered something else to -himself, and took some more tea, thoughtfully.</p> - -<p>“Whether that was why——?” I said.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I was going to say, whether that -was why my father had the Wood stubbed -up. I said just now it was to get more -plough-land, but I don’t really know if it -was. I don’t believe he ever broke it up: -it’s rough pasture at this moment. But -there’s one old chap at least who’d remember -something of it—old Mitchell.” He looked -at his watch. “Blest if I don’t go down -there and ask him. I don’t think I’ll take -you,” he went on, “he’s not so likely to tell -anything he thinks is odd if there’s a -stranger by.”</p> - -<p>“Well, mind you remember every single -thing he does tell. As for me, if it clears -up, I shall go out, and if it doesn’t, I shall -go on with the books.”</p> - -<p>It did clear up, sufficiently at least to -make me think it worth while to walk up<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span> -the nearest hill and look over the country. -I did not know the lie of the land; it was -the first visit I had paid to Philipson, and -this was the first day of it. So I went -down the garden and through the wet shrubberies -with a very open mind, and offered -no resistance to the indistinct impulse—was -it, however, so very indistinct?—which kept -urging me to bear to the left whenever -there was a forking of the path. The -result was that after ten minutes or more of -dark going between dripping rows of box -and laurel and privet, I was confronted by a -stone arch in the Gothic style set in the -stone wall which encircled the whole -demesne. The door was fastened by a -spring-lock, and I took the precaution of -leaving this on the jar as I passed out into -the road. That road I crossed, and entered -a narrow lane between hedges which led -upward; and that lane I pursued at a -leisurely pace for as much as half-a-mile, -and went on to the field to which it led. I -was now on a good point of vantage for -taking in the situation of the Court, the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span> -village, and the environment; and I leant -upon a gate and gazed westward and downward.</p> - -<p>I think we must all know the landscapes—are -they by Birket Foster, or somewhat -earlier?—which, in the form of wood-cuts, -decorate the volumes of poetry that lay on -the drawing-room tables of our fathers and -grandfathers—volumes in “Art Cloth, embossed -bindings”; that strikes me as being -the right phrase. I confess myself an -admirer of them, and especially of those -which show the peasant leaning over a gate -in a hedge and surveying, at the bottom of -a downward slope, the village church spire—embosomed -amid venerable trees, and a -fertile plain intersected by hedgerows, and -bounded by distant hills, behind which the -orb of day is sinking (or it may be rising) -amid level clouds illumined by his dying -(or nascent) ray. The expressions employed -here are those which seem appropriate to -the pictures I have in mind; and were there -opportunity, I would try to work in the -Vale, the Grove, the Cot, and the Flood.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span> -Anyhow, they are beautiful to me, these -landscapes, and it was just such a one that -I was now surveying. It might have come -straight out of “Gems of Sacred Song, -selected by a Lady” and given as a birthday -present to Eleanor Philipson in 1852 by her -attached friend Millicent Graves. All at -once I turned as if I had been stung. -There thrilled into my right ear and pierced -my head a note of incredible sharpness, like -the shriek of a bat, only ten times intensified—the -kind of thing that makes one wonder -if something has not given way in one’s -brain. I held my breath, and covered my -ear, and shivered. Something in the circulation: -another minute or two, I thought, -and I return home. But I must fix the -view a little more firmly in my mind. -Only, when I turned to it again, the taste -was gone out of it. The sun was down -behind the hill, and the light was off the -fields, and when the clock bell in the -Church tower struck seven, I thought no -longer of kind mellow evening hours of rest, -and scents of flowers and woods on evening<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span> -air; and of how someone on a farm a mile or -two off would be saying “How clear Betton -bell sounds to-night after the rain!”; but -instead images came to me of dusty beams -and creeping spiders and savage owls up in -the tower, and forgotten graves and their -ugly contents below, and of flying Time and -all it had taken out of my life. And just -then into my left ear—close as if lips had -been put within an inch of my head, the -frightful scream came thrilling again.</p> - -<p>There was no mistake possible now. It -<i>was</i> from outside. “With no language but -a cry” was the thought that flashed into my -mind. Hideous it was beyond anything I -had heard or have heard since, but I could -read no emotion in it, and doubted if I could -read any intelligence. All its effect was to -take away every vestige, every possibility, -of enjoyment, and make this no place to -stay in one moment more. Of course there -was nothing to be seen: but I was convinced -that, if I waited, the thing would pass me -again on its aimless, endless beat, and I could -not bear the notion of a third repetition. I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span> -hurried back to the lane and down the hill. -But when I came to the arch in the wall I -stopped. Could I be sure of my way among -those dank alleys, which would be danker -and darker now? No, I confessed to myself -that I was afraid: so jarred were all my -nerves with the cry on the hill that I really -felt I could not afford to be startled even by -a little bird in a bush, or a rabbit. I followed -the road which followed the wall, and I was -not sorry when I came to the gate and the -lodge, and descried Philipson coming up towards -it from the direction of the village.</p> - -<p>“And where have you been?” said he.</p> - -<p>“I took that lane that goes up the hill -opposite the stone arch in the wall.”</p> - -<p>“Oh! did you? Then you’ve been very -near where Betton Wood used to be: at -least, if you followed it up to the top, -and out into the field.”</p> - -<p>And if the reader will believe it, that -was the first time that I put two and two -together. Did I at once tell Philipson -what had happened to me? I did not. I -have not had other experiences of the kind<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span> -which are called super-natural, or -normal, -or -physical, but, though I knew very well -I must speak of this one before long, I was -not at all anxious to do so; and I think -I have read that this is a common case.</p> - -<p>So all I said was: “Did you see the old -man you meant to?”</p> - -<p>“Old Mitchell? Yes, I did; and got -something of a story out of him. I’ll keep -it till after dinner. It really is rather -odd.”</p> - -<p>So when we were settled after dinner he -began to report, faithfully, as he said, the -dialogue that had taken place. Mitchell, -not far off eighty years old, was in his -elbow-chair. The married daughter with -whom he lived was in and out preparing -for tea.</p> - -<p>After the usual salutations: “Mitchell, -I want you to tell me something about -the Wood.”</p> - -<p>“What Wood’s that, Master Reginald?”</p> - -<p>“Betton Wood. Do you remember it?”</p> - -<p>Mitchell slowly raised his hand and -pointed an accusing forefinger. “It were<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span> -your father done away with Betton Wood, -Master Reginald, I can tell you that much.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I know it was, Mitchell. You -needn’t look at me as if it were my fault.”</p> - -<p>“Your fault? No, I says it were your -father done it, before your time.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, and I dare say if the truth was -known, it was your father that advised -him to do it, and I want to know why.”</p> - -<p>Mitchell seemed a little amused. “Well,” -he said, “my father were woodman to your -father and your grandfather before him, and -if he didn’t know what belonged to his -business, he’d oughter done. And if he did -give advice that way, I suppose he might -have had his reasons, mightn’t he now?”</p> - -<p>“Of course he might, and I want you to -tell me what they were.”</p> - -<p>“Well now, Master Reginald, whatever -makes you think as I know what his -reasons might ’a been I don’t know how -many year ago?”</p> - -<p>“Well, to be sure, it is a long time, and -you might easily have forgotten, if ever -you knew. I suppose the only thing is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span> -for me to go and ask old Ellis what he -can recollect about it.”</p> - -<p>That had the effect I hoped for.</p> - -<p>“Old Ellis!” he growled. “First time -ever I hear anyone say old Ellis were any -use for any purpose. I should ’a thought you -know’d better than that yourself, Master -Reginald. What do you suppose old Ellis -can tell you better’n what I can about -Betton Wood, and what call have he got -to be put afore me, I should like to know. -His father warn’t woodman on the place: -he were ploughman—that’s what he was, -and so anyone could tell you what knows; -anyone could tell you that, I says.”</p> - -<p>“Just so, Mitchell, but if you know all -about Betton Wood and won’t tell me, -why, I must do the next best I can, and -try and get it out of somebody else; and -old Ellis has been on the place very nearly -as long as you have.”</p> - -<p>“That he ain’t, not by eighteen months! -Who says I wouldn’t tell you nothing about -the Wood? I ain’t no objection; only it’s -a funny kind of a tale, and ’taint right to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span> -my thinkin’ it should be all about the -Parish. You, Lizzie, do you keep in your -kitchen a bit. Me and Master Reginald -wants to have a word or two private. But -one thing I’d like to know, Master Reginald, -what come to put you upon asking about -it to-day?”</p> - -<p>“Oh! well, I happened to hear of an -old saying about something that walks in -Betton Wood. And I wondered if that -had anything to do with its being cleared -away: that’s all.”</p> - -<p>“Well, you was in the right, Master -Reginald, however you come to hear of it, -and I believe I can tell you the rights of -it better than anyone in this Parish, let -alone old Ellis. You see it came about -this way: that the shortest road to Allen’s -Farm laid through the Wood, and when -we was little my poor mother she used to -go so many times in the week to the farm -to fetch a quart of milk, because Mr Allen -what had the farm then under your father, -he was a good man, and anyone that had -a young family to bring up, he was willing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span> -to allow ’em so much in the week. But -never you mind about that now. And my -poor mother she never liked to go through -the Wood, because there was a lot of talk -in the place, and sayings like what you -spoke about just now. But every now and -again, when she happened to be late with -her work, she’d have to take the short -road through the Wood, and as sure as -ever she did, she’d come home in a rare -state. I remember her and my father talking -about it, and he’d say, ‘Well, but it -can’t do you no harm, Emma,’ and she’d -say, ‘Oh! but you haven’t an idear of it, -George. Why, it went right through my -head,’ she says, ‘and I came over all bewildered-like, -and as if I didn’t know where -I was. You see, George,’ she says, ‘it ain’t -as if you was about there in the dusk. You -always goes there in the daytime, now -don’t you?’ and he says: ‘Why, to be sure -I do, do you take me for a fool?’ And -so they’d go on. And time passed by, -and I think it wore her out, because, you -understand, it warn’t no use to go for the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span> -milk not till the afternoon, and she wouldn’t -never send none of us children instead, -for fear we should get a fright. Nor she -wouldn’t tell us about it herself. ‘No,’ she -says, ‘it’s bad enough for me. I don’t want -no one else to go through it, nor yet hear -talk about it.’ But one time I recollect -she says, ‘Well, first it’s a rustling-like all -along in the bushes, coming very quick, -either towards me or after me according -to the time, and then there comes this -scream as appears to pierce right through -from the one ear to the other, and the later -I am coming through, the more like I am -to hear it twice over; but thanks be, I -never yet heard it the three times.’ And -then I asked her, and I says: ‘Why, that -seems like someone walking to and fro all -the time, don’t it?’ and she says, ‘Yes, it -do, and whatever it is she wants, I can’t -think’: and I says, ‘Is it a woman, -mother?’ and she says, ‘Yes, I’ve heard -it is a woman.’</p> - -<p>“Anyway, the end of it was my father -he spoke to your father, and told him the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span> -Wood was a bad wood. ‘There’s never a -bit of game in it, and there’s never a bird’s -nest there,’ he says, ‘and it ain’t no manner -of use to you.’ And after a lot of talk, -your father he come and see my mother -about it, and he see she warn’t one of these -silly women as gets nervish about nothink -at all, and he made up his mind there was -somethink in it, and after that he asked -about in the neighbourhood, and I believe -he made out somethink, and wrote it down -in a paper what very like you’ve got up at -the Court, Master Reginald. And then he -gave the order, and the Wood was stubbed -up. They done all the work in the daytime, -I recollect, and was never there after -three o’clock.”</p> - -<p>“Didn’t they find anything to explain it, -Mitchell? No bones or anything of that -kind?”</p> - -<p>“Nothink at all, Master Reginald, only -the mark of a hedge and ditch along the -middle, much about where the quickset -hedge run now, and with all the work they -done, if there had been anyone put away<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span> -there, they was bound to find ’em. But -I don’t know whether it done much good, -after all. People here don’t seem to like -the place no better than they did afore.”</p> - -<p>“That’s about what I got out of Mitchell,” -said Philipson, “and as far as any explanation -goes, it leaves us very much where -we were. I must see if I can’t find that -paper.”</p> - -<p>“Why didn’t your father ever tell you -about the business?” I said.</p> - -<p>“He died before I went to school, you -know, and I imagine he didn’t want to -frighten us children by any such story. I -can remember being shaken and slapped by -my nurse for running up that lane towards -the Wood when we were coming back -rather late one winter afternoon: but in -the daytime no one interfered with our -going into the Wood if we wanted to—only -we never did want.”</p> - -<p>“Hm!” I said, and then, “Do you think -you’ll be able to find that paper that your -father wrote?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said, “I do. I expect it’s no<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span> -further away than that cupboard behind you. -There’s a bundle or two of things specially -put aside, most of which I’ve looked through -at various times, and I know there’s one -envelope labelled Betton Wood: but as -there was no Betton Wood any more, I -never thought it would be worth while to -open it, and I never have. We’ll do it now, -though.”</p> - -<p>“Before you do,” I said (I was still reluctant, -but I thought this was perhaps the -moment for my disclosure), “I’d better tell -you I think Mitchell was right when he -doubted if clearing away the Wood had put -things straight.” And I gave the account -you have heard already: I need not say -Philipson was interested. “Still there?” he -said. “It’s amazing. Look here, will you -come out there with me now, and see what -happens?”</p> - -<p>“I will do no such thing,” I said, “and -if you knew the feeling, you’d be glad to -walk ten miles in the opposite direction. -Don’t talk of it. Open your envelope, and -let’s hear what your father made out.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span>He did so, and read me the three or four -pages of jottings which it contained. At -the top was written a motto from Scott’s -<i>Glenfinlas</i>, which seemed to me well-chosen:</p> - -<p class="center">“Where walks, they say, the shrieking ghost.”</p> - -<p>Then there were notes of his talk with -Mitchell’s mother, from which I extract -only this much. “I asked her if she never -thought she saw anything to account for the -sounds she heard. She told me, no more -than once, on the darkest evening she ever -came through the Wood; and then she -seemed forced to look behind her as the -rustling came in the bushes, and she thought -she saw something all in tatters with the -two arms held out in front of it coming on -very fast, and at that she ran for the stile, -and tore her gown all to flinders getting -over it.”</p> - -<p>Then he had gone to two other people -whom he found very shy of talking. They -seemed to think, among other things, that it -reflected discredit on the parish. However, -one, Mrs Emma Frost, was prevailed upon<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span> -to repeat what her mother had told her. -“They say it was a lady of title that married -twice over, and her first husband went by -the name of Brown, or it might have been -Bryan (“Yes, there were Bryans at the Court -before it came into our family,” Philipson -put in), and she removed her neighbour’s -landmark: leastways she took in a fair piece -of the best pasture in Betton Parish what -belonged by rights to two children as hadn’t -no one to speak for them, and they say years -after she went from bad to worse, and made -out false papers to gain thousands of pounds -up in London, and at last they was proved -in law to be false, and she would have been -tried and put to death very like, only she -escaped away for the time. But no one can’t -avoid the curse that’s laid on them that removes -the landmark, and so we take it she -can’t leave Betton before someone take and -put it right again.”</p> - -<p>At the end of the paper there was a note -to this effect. “I regret that I cannot find -any clue to previous owners of the fields -adjoining the Wood. I do not hesitate to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span> -say that if I could discover their representatives, -I should do my best to indemnify them -for the wrong done to them in years now -long past: for it is undeniable that the Wood -is very curiously disturbed in the manner -described by the people of the place. In -my present ignorance alike of the extent of -the land wrongly appropriated, and of the -rightful owners, I am reduced to keeping a -separate note of the profits derived from this -part of the estate, and my custom has been -to apply the sum that would represent the -annual yield of about five acres to the -common benefit of the Parish and to charitable -uses: and I hope that those who -succeed me may see fit to continue this -practice.”</p> - -<p>So much for the elder Mr Philipson’s paper. -To those who, like myself, are readers of the -State Trials it will have gone far to illuminate -the situation. They will remember how -between the years 1678 and 1684 the Lady -Ivy, formerly Theodosia Bryan, was alternately -Plaintiff and Defendant in a series of -trials in which she was trying to establish a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span> -claim against the Dean and Chapter of St -Paul’s for a considerable and very valuable -tract of land in Shadwell: how in the last -of those trials, presided over by L.C.J. -Jeffreys, it was proved up to the hilt that -the deeds upon which she based her claim -were forgeries executed under her orders: -and how, after an information for perjury -and forgery was issued against her, she disappeared -completely—so completely, indeed, -that no expert has ever been able to tell me -what became of her.</p> - -<p>Does not the story I have told suggest -that she may still be heard of on the scene -of one of her earlier and more successful -exploits?</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>“That,” said my friend, as he folded -up his papers, “is a very faithful record of -my one extraordinary experience. And -now——”</p> - -<p>But I had so many questions to ask him, -as for instance, whether his friend had found -the proper owner of the land, whether he -had done anything about the hedge, whether<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span> -the sounds were ever heard now, what was -the exact title and date of his pamphlet, etc., -etc., that bed-time came and passed, without -his having an opportunity to revert to the -Literary Supplement of the <i>Times</i>.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">A VIEW FROM A HILL</h2> -</div> - - -<p class="drop-cap">HOW pleasant it can be, alone in a -first-class railway carriage, on the -first day of a holiday that is to be fairly -long, to dawdle through a bit of English -country that is unfamiliar, stopping at every -station. You have a map open on your -knee, and you pick out the villages that -lie to right and left by their church towers. -You marvel at the complete stillness that -attends your stoppage at the stations, -broken only by a footstep crunching the -gravel. Yet perhaps that is best experienced -after sundown, and the traveller I -have in mind was making his leisurely progress -on a sunny afternoon in the latter -half of June.</p> - -<p>He was in the depths of the country. -I need not particularise further than to say -that if you divided the map of England<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span> -into four quarters, he would have been -found in the south-western of them.</p> - -<p>He was a man of academic pursuits, and -his term was just over. He was on his way -to meet a new friend, older than himself. -The two of them had met first on an official -enquiry in town, had found that they had -many tastes and habits in common, liked -each other, and the result was an invitation -from Squire Richards to Mr Fanshawe which -was now taking effect.</p> - -<p>The journey ended about five o’clock. -Fanshawe was told by a cheerful country -porter that the car from the Hall had been -up to the station and left a message that -something had to be fetched from half-a-mile -farther on, and would the gentleman -please to wait a few minutes till it came -back? “But I see,” continued the porter, -“as you’ve got your bysticle, and very like -you’d find it pleasanter to ride up to the -’All yourself. Straight up the road ’ere, -and then first turn to the left—it ain’t -above two mile—and I’ll see as your things -is put in the car for you. You’ll excuse me<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span> -mentioning it, only I thought it were a nice -evening for a ride. Yes, sir, very seasonable -weather for the haymakers: let me -see, I have your bike ticket. Thank you, -sir; much obliged: you can’t miss your -road, etc., etc.”</p> - -<p>The two miles to the Hall were just what -was needed, after the day in the train, to -dispel somnolence and impart a wish for -tea. The Hall, when sighted, also promised -just what was needed in the way of a quiet -resting-place after days of sitting on -committees and college-meetings. It was -neither excitingly old nor depressingly new. -Plastered walls, sash-windows, old trees, -smooth lawns, were the features which -Fanshawe noticed as he came up the drive. -Squire Richards, a burly man of sixty odd, -was awaiting him in the porch with evident -pleasure.</p> - -<p>“Tea first,” he said, “or would you like a -longer drink? No? All right, tea’s ready in -the garden. Come along, they’ll put your -machine away. I always have tea under the -lime-tree by the stream on a day like this.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span>Nor could you ask for a better place. -Midsummer afternoon, shade and scent of -a vast lime-tree, cool, swirling water within -five yards. It was long before either of -them suggested a move. But about six, -Mr Richards sat up, knocked out his pipe, -and said: “Look here, it’s cool enough -now to think of a stroll, if you’re inclined? -All right: then what I suggest is that we -walk up the park and get on to the hillside, -where we can look over the country. -We’ll have a map, and I’ll show you where -things are; and you can go off on your -machine, or we can take the car, according -as you want exercise or not. If you’re -ready, we can start now and be back well -before eight, taking it very easy.”</p> - -<p>“I’m ready. I should like my stick, -though, and have you got any field-glasses? -I lent mine to a man a week ago, and he’s -gone off Lord knows where and taken them -with him.”</p> - -<p>Mr Richards pondered. “Yes,” he said, -“I have, but they’re not things I use -myself, and I don’t know whether the ones<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span> -I have will suit you. They’re old-fashioned, -and about twice as heavy as they make ’em -now. You’re welcome to have them, but -<i>I</i> won’t carry them. By the way, what do -you want to drink after dinner?”</p> - -<p>Protestations that anything would do -were overruled, and a satisfactory settlement -was reached on the way to the front -hall, where Mr Fanshawe found his stick, -and Mr Richards, after thoughtful pinching -of his lower lip, resorted to a drawer in the -hall-table, extracted a key, crossed to a -cupboard in the panelling, opened it, took -a box from the shelf, and put it on the -table. “The glasses are in there,” he said, -“and there’s some dodge of opening it, but -I’ve forgotten what it is. You try.” Mr -Fanshawe accordingly tried. There was no -keyhole, and the box was solid, heavy and -smooth: it seemed obvious that some part -of it would have to be pressed before -anything could happen. “The corners,” -said he to himself, “are the likely places; -and infernally sharp corners they are -too,” he added, as he put his thumb in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span> -his mouth after exerting force on a lower -corner.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter?” said the Squire.</p> - -<p>“Why, your disgusting Borgia box has -scratched me, drat it,” said Fanshawe. The -Squire chuckled unfeelingly. “Well, you’ve -got it open, anyway,” he said.</p> - -<p>“So I have! Well, I don’t begrudge a -drop of blood in a good cause, and here are -the glasses. They <i>are</i> pretty heavy, as you -said, but I think I’m equal to carrying them.”</p> - -<p>“Ready?” said the Squire. “Come on -then; we go out by the garden.”</p> - -<p>So they did, and passed out into the park, -which sloped decidedly upwards to the hill -which, as Fanshawe had seen from the train, -dominated the country. It was a spur of a -larger range that lay behind. On the way, -the Squire, who was great on earthworks, -pointed out various spots where he detected -or imagined traces of war-ditches and the -like. “And here,” he said, stopping on a -more or less level plot with a ring of large -trees, “is Baxter’s Roman villa.” “Baxter?” -said Mr Fanshawe.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span>“I forgot; you don’t know about him. -He was the old chap I got those glasses -from. I believe he made them. He was -an old watch-maker down in the village, a -great antiquary. My father gave him leave -to grub about where he liked; and when he -made a find he used to lend him a man or -two to help him with the digging. He -got a surprising lot of things together, and -when he died—I dare say it’s ten or fifteen -years ago—I bought the whole lot and -gave them to the town museum. We’ll -run in one of these days, and look over -them. The glasses came to me with the -rest, but of course I kept them. If you -look at them, you’ll see they’re more or less -amateur work—the body of them; naturally -the lenses weren’t his making.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I see they are just the sort of -thing that a clever workman in a different -line of business might turn out. But I -don’t see why he made them so heavy. -And did Baxter actually find a Roman -villa here?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, there’s a pavement turfed over,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span> -where we’re standing: it was too rough and -plain to be worth taking up, but of course -there are drawings of it: and the small -things and pottery that turned up were -quite good of their kind. An ingenious -chap, old Baxter: he seemed to have a -quite out-of-the-way instinct for these -things. He was invaluable to our archæologists. -He used to shut up his shop for -days at a time, and wander off over the -district, marking down places, where he -scented anything, on the ordnance map; -and he kept a book with fuller notes of -the places. Since his death, a good many -of them have been sampled, and there’s -always been something to justify him.”</p> - -<p>“What a good man!” said Mr Fanshawe.</p> - -<p>“Good?” said the Squire, pulling up -brusquely.</p> - -<p>“I meant useful to have about the place,” -said Mr Fanshawe. “But was he a villain?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know about that either,” said -the Squire; “but all I can say is, if he was -good, he wasn’t lucky. And he wasn’t liked: -I didn’t like him,” he added, after a moment.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span>“Oh?” said Fanshawe, interrogatively.</p> - -<p>“No, I didn’t; but that’s enough about -Baxter: besides, this is the stiffest bit, and -I don’t want to talk and walk as well.”</p> - -<p>Indeed it was hot, climbing a slippery -grass slope that evening. “I told you I -should take you the short way,” panted the -Squire, “and I wish I hadn’t. However, -a bath won’t do us any harm when we get -back. Here we are, and there’s the seat.”</p> - -<p>A small clump of old Scotch firs crowned -the top of the hill; and, at the edge of it, -commanding the cream of the view, was a -wide and solid seat, on which the two disposed -themselves, and wiped their brows, -and regained breath.</p> - -<p>“Now, then,” said the Squire, as soon as -he was in a condition to talk connectedly, -“this is where your glasses come in. But -you’d better take a general look round first. -My word! I’ve never seen the view look -better.”</p> - -<p>Writing as I am now with a winter wind -flapping against dark windows and a rushing, -tumbling sea within a hundred yards,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span> -I find it hard to summon up the feelings -and words which will put my reader in -possession of the June evening and the -lovely English landscape of which the Squire -was speaking.</p> - -<p>Across a broad level plain they looked -upon ranges of great hills, whose uplands—some -green, some furred with woods—caught -the light of a sun, westering but -not yet low. And all the plain was fertile, -though the river which traversed it was -nowhere seen. There were copses, green -wheat, hedges and pasture-land: the little -compact white moving cloud marked the -evening train. Then the eye picked out -red farms and grey houses, and nearer -home scattered cottages, and then the -Hall, nestled under the hill. The smoke -of chimneys was very blue and straight. -There was a smell of hay in the air: there -were wild roses on bushes hard by. It was -the acme of summer.</p> - -<p>After some minutes of silent contemplation, -the Squire began to point out the -leading features, the hills and valleys, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span> -told where the towns and villages lay. -“Now,” he said, “with the glasses you’ll be -able to pick out Fulnaker Abbey. Take -a line across that big green field, then over -the wood beyond it, then over the farm on -the knoll.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes,” said Fanshawe. “I’ve got -it. What a fine tower!”</p> - -<p>“You must have got the wrong direction,” -said the Squire; “there’s not much -of a tower about there that I remember, -unless it’s Oldbourne Church that you’ve -got hold of. And if you call that a fine -tower, you’re easily pleased.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I do call it a fine tower,” said -Fanshawe, the glasses still at his eyes, -“whether it’s Oldbourne or any other. And -it must belong to a largish church—it -looks to me like a central tower; four big -pinnacles at the corners, and four smaller -ones between. I must certainly go over -there. How far is it?”</p> - -<p>“Oldbourne’s about nine miles, or less,” -said the Squire. “It’s a long time since -I’ve been there, but I don’t remember<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span> -thinking much of it. Now I’ll show you -another thing.”</p> - -<p>Fanshawe had lowered the glasses, and -was still gazing in the Oldbourne direction. -“No,” he said, “I can’t make out anything -with the naked eye. What was it you were -going to show me?”</p> - -<p>“A good deal more to the left—it -oughtn’t to be difficult to find. Do you -see a rather sudden knob of a hill with a -thick wood on top of it? It’s in a dead -line with that single tree on the top of the -big ridge.”</p> - -<p>“I do,” said Fanshawe, “and I believe -I could tell you without much difficulty -what it’s called.”</p> - -<p>“Could you now?” said the Squire. -“Say on.”</p> - -<p>“Why, Gallows Hill,” was the answer.</p> - -<p>“How did you guess that?”</p> - -<p>“Well, if you don’t want it guessed, you -shouldn’t put up a dummy gibbet and a -man hanging on it.”</p> - -<p>“What’s that?” said the Squire abruptly. -“There’s nothing on that hill but wood.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span>“On the contrary,” said Fanshawe, “there’s -a largish expanse of grass on the top and your -dummy gibbet in the middle; and I thought -there was something on it when I looked -first. But I see there’s nothing—or is there? -I can’t be sure.”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense, nonsense, Fanshawe, there’s -no such thing as a dummy gibbet, or any -other sort, on that hill. And it’s thick wood—a -fairly young plantation. I was in it -myself not a year ago. Hand me the glasses, -though I don’t suppose I can see anything.” -After a pause: “No, I thought not: they -won’t show a thing.”</p> - -<p>Meanwhile Fanshawe was scanning the -hill—it might be only two or three miles -away. “Well, it’s very odd,” he said, “it -does look exactly like a wood without the -glass.” He took it again. “That <i>is</i> one of -the oddest effects. The gibbet is perfectly -plain, and the grass field, and there even seem -to be people on it, and carts, or <i>a</i> cart, with -men in it. And yet when I take the glass -away, there’s nothing. It must be something -in the way this afternoon light falls: I shall<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span> -come up earlier in the day when the sun’s -full on it.”</p> - -<p>“Did you say you saw people and a cart -on that hill?” said the Squire incredulously. -“What should they be doing there at this -time of day, even if the trees have been -felled? Do talk sense—look again.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I certainly thought I saw them. -Yes, I should say there were a few, just -clearing off. And now—by Jove, it does -look like something hanging on the gibbet. -But these glasses are so beastly heavy I -can’t hold them steady for long. Anyhow, -you can take it from me there’s no wood. -And if you’ll show me the road on the map, -I’ll go there to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>The Squire remained brooding for some -little time. At last he rose and said, “Well, -I suppose that will be the best way to settle -it. And now we’d better be getting back. -Bath and dinner is my idea.” And on the -way back he was not very communicative.</p> - -<p>They returned through the garden, and -went into the great hall to leave sticks, etc., -in their due place. And here they found<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span> -the aged butler Patten evidently in a state -of some anxiety. “Beg pardon, Master -Henry,” he began at once, “but someone’s -been up to mischief here, I’m much afraid.” -He pointed to the open box which had contained -the glasses.</p> - -<p>“Nothing worse than that, Patten?” said -the Squire. “Mayn’t I take out my own -glasses and lend them to a friend? Bought -with my own money, you recollect? At -old Baxter’s sale, eh?”</p> - -<p>Patten bowed, unconvinced. “O, very -well, Master Henry, as long as you know -who it was. Only I thought proper to name -it, for I didn’t think that box’d been off its -shelf since you first put it there; and, if -you’ll excuse me, after what happened....” -The voice was lowered, and the rest was not -audible to Fanshawe. The Squire replied -with a few words and a gruff laugh, and -called on Fanshawe to come and be shown -his room. And I do not think that anything -else happened that night which bears -on my story.</p> - -<p>Except, perhaps, the sensation which invaded<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span> -Fanshawe in the small hours that -something had been let out which ought -not to have been let out. It came into his -dreams. He was walking in a garden which -he seemed half to know, and stopped in front -of a rockery made of old wrought stones, -pieces of window tracery from a church, and -even bits of figures. One of these moved -his curiosity: it seemed to be a sculptured -capital with scenes carved on it. He felt -he must pull it out, and worked away, and, -with an ease that surprised him, moved the -stones that obscured it aside, and pulled out -the block. As he did so, a tin label fell -down by his feet with a little clatter. He -picked it up and read on it: “On no account -move this stone. Yours sincerely, J. Patten.” -As often happens in dreams, he felt that this -injunction was of extreme importance; and -with an anxiety that amounted to anguish -he looked to see if the stone had really been -shifted. Indeed it had; in fact he could not -see it anywhere. The removal had disclosed -the mouth of a burrow, and he bent down -to look into it. Something stirred in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span> -blackness, and then, to his intense horror, a -hand emerged—a clean right hand in a neat -cuff and coat-sleeve, just in the attitude of -a hand that means to shake yours. He -wondered whether it would not be rude to let -it alone. But, as he looked at it, it began -to grow hairy and dirty and thin, and also -to change its pose and stretch out as if to -take hold of his leg. At that he dropped -all thought of politeness, decided to run, -screamed and woke himself up.</p> - -<p>This was the dream he remembered; but it -seemed to him (as, again, it often does) that -there had been others of the same import -before, but not so insistent. He lay awake -for some little time, fixing the details of the -last dream in his mind, and wondering in -particular what the figures had been which -he had seen or half seen on the carved capital. -Something quite incongruous, he felt sure; -but that was the most he could recall.</p> - -<p>Whether because of the dream, or because -it was the first day of his holiday, he did not -get up very early; nor did he at once plunge -into the exploration of the country. He<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span> -spent a morning, half lazy, half instructive, -in looking over the volumes of the County -Archæological Society’s transactions, in which -were many contributions from Mr Baxter on -finds of flint implements, Roman sites, ruins -of monastic establishments; in fact, most -departments of archæology. They were -written in an odd, pompous, only half-educated -style. If the man had had more early -schooling, thought Fanshawe, he would have -been a very distinguished antiquary; or he -might have been (he thus qualified his opinion -a little later), but for a certain love of opposition -and controversy, and, yes, a patronising -tone as of one possessing superior knowledge, -which left an unpleasant taste. He might -have been a very respectable artist. There -was an imaginary restoration and elevation -of a priory church which was very well conceived. -A fine pinnacled central tower was -a conspicuous feature of this; it reminded -Fanshawe of that which he had seen from -the hill, and which the Squire had told him -must be Oldbourne. But it was not Oldbourne; -it was Fulnaker Priory. “Oh,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span> -well,” he said to himself, “I suppose Oldbourne -Church may have been built by -Fulnaker monks, and Baxter has copied -Oldbourne tower. Anything about it in -the letterpress? Ah, I see it was published -after his death,—found among his papers.”</p> - -<p>After lunch the Squire asked Fanshawe -what he meant to do.</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Fanshawe, “I think I shall -go out on my bike about four as far as -Oldbourne and back by Gallows Hill. That -ought to be a round of about fifteen miles, -oughtn’t it?”</p> - -<p>“About that,” said the Squire, “and -you’ll pass Lambsfield and Wanstone, both -of which are worth looking at. There’s a -little glass at Lambsfield and the stone at -Wanstone.”</p> - -<p>“Good,” said Fanshawe, “I’ll get tea -somewhere, and may I take the glasses? -I’ll strap them on my bike, on the carrier.”</p> - -<p>“Of course, if you like,” said the Squire. -“I really ought to have some better ones. -If I go into the town to-day, I’ll see if I -can pick up some.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[116]</span>“Why should you trouble to do that, -if you can’t use them yourself?” said -Fanshawe.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I don’t know; one ought to have -a decent pair; and—well, old Patten doesn’t -think those are fit to use.”</p> - -<p>“Is he a judge?”</p> - -<p>“He’s got some tale: I don’t know: -something about old Baxter. I’ve promised -to let him tell me about it. It seems very -much on his mind since last night.”</p> - -<p>“Why that? Did he have a nightmare -like me?”</p> - -<p>“He had something: he was looking an -old man this morning, and he said he hadn’t -closed an eye.”</p> - -<p>“Well, let him save up his tale till I -come back.”</p> - -<p>“Very well, I will if I can. Look here, -are you going to be late? If you get a -puncture eight miles off and have to walk -home, what then? I don’t trust these -bicycles: I shall tell them to give us cold -things to eat.”</p> - -<p>“I shan’t mind that, whether I’m late<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span> -or early. But I’ve got things to mend -punctures with. And now I’m off.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It was just as well that the Squire had -made that arrangement about a cold supper, -Fanshawe thought, and not for the first -time, as he wheeled his bicycle up the drive -about nine o’clock. So also the Squire -thought and said, several times, as he met -him in the hall, rather pleased at the confirmation -of his want of faith in bicycles -than sympathetic with his hot, weary, -thirsty, and indeed haggard, friend. In -fact, the kindest thing he found to say -was: “You’ll want a long drink to-night? -Cider-cup do? All right. Hear that, Patten? -Cider-cup, iced, lots of it.” Then to Fanshawe, -“Don’t be all night over your bath.”</p> - -<p>By half-past nine they were at dinner, -and Fanshawe was reporting progress, if -progress it might be called.</p> - -<p>“I got to Lambsfield very smoothly, and -saw the glass. It is very interesting stuff, -but there’s a lot of lettering I couldn’t -read.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span>“Not with glasses?” said the Squire.</p> - -<p>“Those glasses of yours are no manner -of use inside a church—or inside anywhere, -I suppose, for that matter. But the only -places I took ’em into were churches.”</p> - -<p>“H’m! Well, go on,” said the Squire.</p> - -<p>“However, I took some sort of a photograph -of the window, and I dare say an -enlargement would show what I want. -Then Wanstone; I should think that stone -was a very out-of-the-way thing, only I -don’t know about that class of antiquities. -Has anybody opened the mound it stands -on?”</p> - -<p>“Baxter wanted to, but the farmer -wouldn’t let him.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, well, I should think it would be -worth doing. Anyhow, the next thing was -Fulnaker and Oldbourne. You know, it’s -very odd about that tower I saw from the -hill. Oldbourne Church is nothing like it, -and of course there’s nothing over thirty -feet high at Fulnaker, though you can see -it had a central tower. I didn’t tell you, -did I? that Baxter’s fancy drawing of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span> -Fulnaker shows a tower exactly like the -one I saw.”</p> - -<p>“So you thought, I dare say,” put in the -Squire.</p> - -<p>“No, it wasn’t a case of thinking. The -picture actually <i>reminded</i> me of what I’d -seen, and I made sure it was Oldbourne, -well before I looked at the title.”</p> - -<p>“Well, Baxter had a very fair idea of -architecture. I dare say what’s left made -it easy for him to draw the right sort of -tower.”</p> - -<p>“That may be it, of course, but I’m -doubtful if even a professional could have -got it so exactly right. There’s absolutely -nothing left at Fulnaker but the bases of -the piers which supported it. However, -that isn’t the oddest thing.”</p> - -<p>“What about Gallows Hill?” said the -Squire. “Here, Patten, listen to this. I -told you what Mr Fanshawe said he saw -from the hill.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Master Henry, you did; and I can’t -say I was so much surprised, considering.”</p> - -<p>“All right, all right. You keep that till<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span> -afterwards. We want to hear what Mr -Fanshawe saw to-day. Go on, Fanshawe. -You turned to come back by Ackford and -Thorfield, I suppose?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, and I looked into both the churches. -Then I got to the turning which goes to -the top of Gallows Hill; I saw that if I -wheeled my machine over the field at the -top of the hill I could join the home road -on this side. It was about half-past six -when I got to the top of the hill, and there -was a gate on my right, where it ought to -be, leading into the belt of plantation.”</p> - -<p>“You hear that, Patten? A belt, he -says.”</p> - -<p>“So I thought it was—a belt. But it -wasn’t. You were quite right, and I was -hopelessly wrong. I <i>cannot</i> understand it. -The whole top is planted quite thick. -Well, I went on into this wood, wheeling -and dragging my bike, expecting every -minute to come to a clearing, and then my -misfortunes began. Thorns, I suppose; first -I realised that the front tyre was slack, then -the back. I couldn’t stop to do more than<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span> -try to find the punctures and mark them; -but even that was hopeless. So I ploughed -on, and the farther I went, the less I liked -the place.”</p> - -<p>“Not much poaching in that cover, eh, -Patten?” said the Squire.</p> - -<p>“No, indeed, Master Henry: there’s very -few cares to go——”</p> - -<p>“No, I know: never mind that now. -Go on, Fanshawe.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t blame anybody for not caring -to go there. I know I had all the fancies -one least likes: steps crackling over twigs -behind me, indistinct people stepping behind -trees in front of me, yes, and even a hand -laid on my shoulder. I pulled up very -sharp at that and looked round, but there -really was no branch or bush that could -have done it. Then, when I was just about -at the middle of the plot, I was convinced -that there was someone looking down on -me from above—and not with any pleasant -intent. I stopped again, or at least slackened -my pace, to look up. And as I did, down -I came, and barked my shins abominably<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span> -on, what do you think? a block of stone -with a big square hole in the top of it. -And within a few paces there were two -others just like it. The three were set in -a triangle. Now, do you make out what -they were put there for?”</p> - -<p>“I think I can,” said the Squire, who -was now very grave and absorbed in the -story. “Sit down, Patten.”</p> - -<p>It was time, for the old man was supporting -himself by one hand, and leaning heavily -on it. He dropped into a chair, and said -in a very tremulous voice, “You didn’t go -between them stones, did you, sir?”</p> - -<p>“I did <i>not</i>,” said Fanshawe, emphatically. -“I dare say I was an ass, but as soon -as it dawned on me where I was, I just -shouldered my machine and did my best -to run. It seemed to me as if I was in -an unholy evil sort of graveyard, and I was -most profoundly thankful that it was one -of the longest days and still sunlight. Well, -I had a horrid run, even if it was only a -few hundred yards. Everything caught on -everything: handles and spokes and carrier<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span> -and pedals—caught in them viciously, or I -fancied so. I fell over at least five times. -At last I saw the hedge, and I couldn’t -trouble to hunt for the gate.”</p> - -<p>“There <i>is</i> no gate on my side,” the Squire -interpolated.</p> - -<p>“Just as well I didn’t waste time, then. -I dropped the machine over somehow and -went into the road pretty near head-first; -some branch or something got my ankle -at the last moment. Anyhow, there I was -out of the wood, and seldom more thankful -or more generally sore. Then came the job -of mending my punctures. I had a good -outfit and I’m not at all bad at the business; -but this was an absolutely hopeless -case. It was seven when I got out of the -wood, and I spent fifty minutes over one -tyre. As fast as I found a hole and put -on a patch, and blew it up, it went flat -again. So I made up my mind to walk. -That hill isn’t three miles away, is it?”</p> - -<p>“Not more across country, but nearer -six by road.”</p> - -<p>“I thought it must be. I thought I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span> -couldn’t have taken well over the hour over -less than five miles, even leading a bike. -Well, there’s my story: where’s yours and -Patten’s?”</p> - -<p>“Mine? I’ve no story,” said the Squire. -“But you weren’t very far out when you -thought you were in a graveyard. There -must be a good few of them up there, -Patten, don’t you think? They left ’em -there when they fell to bits, I fancy.”</p> - -<p>Patten nodded, too much interested to -speak. “Don’t,” said Fanshawe.</p> - -<p>“Now then, Patten,” said the Squire, -“you’ve heard what sort of a time Mr -Fanshawe’s been having. What do you -make of it? Anything to do with Mr -Baxter? Fill yourself a glass of port, -and tell us.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, that done me good, Master Henry,” -said Patten, after absorbing what was before -him. “If you really wish to know what -were in my thoughts, my answer would be -clear in the affirmative. Yes,” he went on, -warming to his work, “I should say as Mr -Fanshawe’s experience of to-day were very<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span> -largely doo to the person you named. And -I think, Master Henry, as I have some title -to speak, in view of me ’aving been many -years on speaking terms with him, and -swore in to be jury on the Coroner’s inquest -near this time ten years ago, you being -then, if you carry your mind back, Master -Henry, travelling abroad, and no one ’ere -to represent the family.”</p> - -<p>“Inquest?” said Fanshawe. “An inquest -on Mr Baxter, was there?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir, on—on that very person. The -facts as led up to that occurrence was -these. The deceased was, as you may -have gathered, a very peculiar individual in -’is ’abits—in my idear, at least, but all -must speak as they find. He lived very -much to himself, without neither chick nor -child, as the saying is. And how he passed -away his time was what very few could -orfer a guess at.”</p> - -<p>“He lived unknown, and few could know -when Baxter ceased to be,” said the Squire -to his pipe.</p> - -<p>“I beg pardon, Master Henry, I was just<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span> -coming to that. But when I say how he -passed away his time—to be sure we know -’ow intent he was in rummaging and ransacking -out all the ’istry of the neighbourhood -and the number of things he’d managed -to collect together—well, it was spoke of -for miles round as Baxter’s Museum, and -many a time when he might be in the -mood, and I might have an hour to spare, -have he showed me his pieces of pots and -what not, going back by his account to the -times of the ancient Romans. However, -you know more about that than what I do, -Master Henry: only what I was a-going to -say was this, as know what he might and -interesting as he might be in his talk, -there was something about the man—well, -for one thing, no one ever remember to see -him in church nor yet chapel at service-time. -And that made talk. Our rector -he never come in the house but once. -‘Never ask me what the man said’: that -was all anybody could ever get out of <i>him</i>. -Then how did he spend his nights, particularly -about this season of the year?<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span> -Time and again the labouring men’d meet -him coming back as they went out to their -work, and he’d pass ’em by without a word, -looking, they says, like someone straight out -of the asylum. They see the whites of his -eyes all round. He’d have a fish-basket -with him, that they noticed, and he always -come the same road. And the talk got to -be that he’d made himself some business, -and that not the best kind—well, not so -far from where you was at seven o’clock -this evening, sir.</p> - -<p>“Well, now, after such a night as that, -Mr Baxter he’d shut up the shop, and the -old lady that did for him had orders not to -come in; and knowing what she did about -his language, she took care to obey them -orders. But one day it so happened, about -three o’clock in the afternoon, the house -being shut up as I said, there come a most -fearful to-do inside, and smoke out of the -windows, and Baxter crying out seemingly -in an agony. So the man as lived next door -he run round to the back premises and burst -the door in, and several others come too.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span> -Well, he tell me he never in all his life -smelt such a fearful—well, odour, as what -there was in that kitchen-place. It seem -as if Baxter had been boiling something in -a pot and overset it on his leg. There he -laid on the floor, trying to keep back the -cries, but it was more than he could manage, -and when he seen the people come in—oh, -he was in a nice condition: if his tongue -warn’t blistered worse than his leg it warn’t -his fault. Well, they picked him up, and -got him into a chair, and run for the medical -man, and one of ’em was going to pick up -the pot, and Baxter, he screams out to let -it alone. So he did, but he couldn’t see as -there was anything in the pot but a few -old brown bones. Then they says ‘Dr -Lawrence’ll be here in a minute, Mr -Baxter; he’ll soon put you to rights.’ And -then he was off again. He must be got up -to his room, he couldn’t have the doctor -come in there and see all that mess—they -must throw a cloth over it—anything—the -table-cloth out of the parlour; well, so they -did. But that must have been poisonous<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span> -stuff in that pot, for it was pretty near on -two months afore Baxter were about agin. -Beg pardon, Master Henry, was you going -to say something?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I was,” said the Squire. “I wonder -you haven’t told me all this before. However, -I was going to say I remember old -Lawrence telling me he’d attended Baxter. -He was a queer card, he said. Lawrence -was up in the bedroom one day, and picked -up a little mask covered with black velvet, -and put it on in fun and went to look at -himself in the glass. He hadn’t time for -a proper look, for old Baxter shouted out -to him from the bed: ‘Put it down, you -fool! Do you want to look through a -dead man’s eyes?’ and it startled him so -that he did put it down, and then he asked -Baxter what he meant. And Baxter insisted -on him handing it over, and said the -man he bought it from was dead, or some -such nonsense. But Lawrence felt it as he -handed it over, and he declared he was sure -it was made out of the front of a skull. He -bought a distilling apparatus at Baxter’s sale,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span> -he told me, but he could never use it: it -seemed to taint everything, however much -he cleaned it. But go on, Patten.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Master Henry, I’m nearly done -now, and time, too, for I don’t know what -they’ll think about me in the servants’ ’all. -Well, this business of the scalding was some -few years before Mr Baxter was took, and -he got about again, and went on just as he’d -used. And one of the last jobs he done -was finishing up them actual glasses what -you took out last night. You see he’d made -the body of them some long time, and got -the pieces of glass for them, but there was -somethink wanted to finish ’em, whatever -it was, I don’t know, but I picked up the -frame one day, and I says: ‘Mr Baxter, -why don’t you make a job of this?’ And -he says, ‘Ah, when I’ve done that, you’ll -hear news, you will: there’s going to be no -such pair of glasses as mine when they’re -filled and sealed,’ and there he stopped, and -I says: ‘Why, Mr Baxter, you talk as if -they was wine bottles: filled and sealed—why, -where’s the necessity for that?’ ‘Did<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[131]</span> -I say filled and sealed?’ he says, ‘O, well, -I was suiting my conversation to my company.’ -Well, then come round this time -of year, and one fine evening, I was passing -his shop on my way home, and he was -standing on the step, very pleased with -hisself, and he says: ‘All right and tight -now: my best bit of work’s finished, and -I’ll be out with ’em to-morrow.’ ‘What, -finished them glasses?’ I says, ‘might I -have a look at them?’ ‘No, no,’ he says, -‘I’ve put ’em to bed for to-night, and when -I do show ’em you, you’ll have to pay for -peepin’, so I tell you.’ And that, gentlemen, -were the last words I heard that man say.</p> - -<p>“That were the 17th of June, and just a -week after, there was a funny thing happened, -and it was doo to that as we brought -in ‘unsound mind’ at the inquest, for barring -that, no one as knew Baxter in business -could anyways have laid that against him. -But George Williams, as lived in the next -house, and do now, he was woke up that -same night with a stumbling and tumbling -about in Mr Baxter’s premises, and he got<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span> -out o’ bed, and went to the front window -on the street to see if there was any rough -customers about. And it being a very light -night, he could make sure as there was not. -Then he stood and listened, and he hear -Mr Baxter coming down his front stair one -step after another very slow, and he got the -idear as it was like someone bein’ pushed -or pulled down and holdin’ on to everythin’ -he could. Next thing he hear the street -door come open, and out come Mr Baxter -into the street in his day-clothes, ’at and all, -with his arms straight down by his sides, -and talking to hisself, and shakin’ his head -from one side to the other, and walking in -that peculiar way that he appeared to be -going as it were against his own will. -George Williams put up the window, and -hear him say: ‘O mercy, gentlemen!’ and -then he shut up sudden as if, he said, someone -clapped his hand over his mouth, and -Mr Baxter threw his head back, and his hat -fell off. And Williams see his face looking -something pitiful, so as he couldn’t keep from -calling out to him: ‘Why, Mr Baxter, ain’t<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span> -you well?’ and he was goin’ to offer to fetch -Dr Lawrence to him, only he heard the -answer: ‘’Tis best you mind your own -business. Put in your head.’ But whether -it were Mr Baxter said it so hoarse-like and -faint, he never could be sure. Still there -weren’t no one but him in the street, and -yet Williams was that upset by the way he -spoke that he shrank back from the window -and went and sat on the bed. And he -heard Mr Baxter’s step go on and up the -road, and after a minute or more he couldn’t -help but look out once more and he see him -going along the same curious way as before. -And one thing he recollected was that Mr -Baxter never stopped to pick up his ’at -when it fell off, and yet there it was on his -head. Well, Master Henry, that was the -last anybody see of Mr Baxter, leastways -for a week or more. There was a lot of -people said he was called off on business, or -made off because he’d got into some scrape, -but he was well-known for miles round, and -none of the railway-people nor the public-house -people hadn’t seen him; and then<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span> -ponds was looked into and nothink found; -and at last one evening Fakes the keeper -come down from over the hill to the village, -and he says he seen the Gallows Hill -planting black with birds, and that were a -funny thing, because he never see no sign -of a creature there in his time. So they -looked at each other a bit, and first one -says: ‘I’m game to go up,’ and another -says: ‘So am I, if you are,’ and half a dozen -of ’em set out in the evening time, and took -Dr Lawrence with them, and you know, -Master Henry, there he was between them -three stones with his neck broke.”</p> - -<p>Useless to imagine the talk which this -story set going. It is not remembered. -But before Patten left them, he said to -Fanshawe: “Excuse me, sir, but did I -understand as you took out them glasses with -you to-day? I thought you did; and might -I ask, did you make use of them at all?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. Only to look at something in a -church.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, indeed, you took ’em into the -church, did you, sir?”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span>“Yes, I did; it was Lambsfield church. -By the way, I left them strapped on to my -bicycle, I’m afraid, in the stable-yard.”</p> - -<p>“No matter for that, sir. I can bring -them in the first thing to-morrow and perhaps -you’ll be so good as to look at ’em -then.”</p> - -<p>Accordingly, before breakfast, after a tranquil -and well-earned sleep, Fanshawe took -the glasses into the garden and directed -them to a distant hill. He lowered them -instantly, and looked at top and bottom, -worked the screws, tried them again and -yet again, shrugged his shoulders and replaced -them on the hall-table.</p> - -<p>“Patten,” he said, “they’re absolutely -useless. I can’t see a thing: it’s as if -someone had stuck a black wafer over the -lens.”</p> - -<p>“Spoilt my glasses, have you?” said the -Squire. “Thank you: the only ones I’ve -got.”</p> - -<p>“You try them yourself,” said Fanshawe, -“I’ve done nothing to them.”</p> - -<p>So after breakfast the Squire took them<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[136]</span> -out to the terrace and stood on the steps. -After a few ineffectual attempts, “Lord, how -heavy they are!” he said impatiently, and -in the same instant dropped them on to the -stones, and the lens splintered and the barrel -cracked: a little pool of liquid formed on -the stone slab. It was inky black, and the -odour that rose from it is not to be described.</p> - -<p>“Filled and sealed, eh?” said the Squire. -“If I could bring myself to touch it, I dare -say we should find the seal. So that’s what -came of his boiling and distilling, is it? Old -Ghoul!”</p> - -<p>“What in the world do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you see, my good man? Remember -what he said to the doctor about -looking through dead men’s eyes? Well, -this was another way of it. But they didn’t -like having their bones boiled, I take it, -and the end of it was they carried him off -whither he would not. Well, I’ll get a -spade, and we’ll bury this thing decently.”</p> - -<p>As they smoothed the turf over it, the -Squire, handing the spade to Patten, who -had been a reverential spectator, remarked<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span> -to Fanshawe: “It’s almost a pity you took -that thing into the church: you might have -seen more than you did. Baxter only had -them for a week, I make out, but I don’t -see that he did much in the time.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not sure,” said Fanshawe, “there is -that picture of Fulnaker Priory Church.”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">A WARNING TO THE CURIOUS</h2> -</div> - - -<p class="drop-cap">THE place on the east coast which the -reader is asked to consider is Seaburgh. -It is not very different now from -what I remember it to have been when I -was a child. Marshes intersected by dykes -to the south, recalling the early chapters of -<i>Great Expectations</i>; flat fields to the north, -merging into heath; heath, fir woods, and, -above all, gorse, inland. A long sea-front -and a street: behind that a spacious church -of flint, with a broad, solid western tower -and a peal of six bells. How well I remember -their sound on a hot Sunday in -August, as our party went slowly up the -white, dusty slope of road towards them, -for the church stands at the top of a short, -steep incline. They rang with a flat clacking -sort of sound on those hot days, but when<span class="pagenum2" id="Page_139">[139]</span> -the air was softer they were mellower too. -The railway ran down to its little terminus -farther along the same road. There was a -gay white windmill just before you came to -the station, and another down near the -shingle at the south end of the town, and -others on higher ground to the north. -There were cottages of bright red brick -with slate roofs ... but why do I encumber -you with these commonplace -details? The fact is that they come crowding -to the point of the pencil when it begins -to write of Seaburgh. I should like to be -sure that I had allowed the right ones to -get on to the paper. But I forgot. I have -not quite done with the word-painting -business yet.</p> - -<p>Walk away from the sea and the town, -pass the station, and turn up the road on -the right. It is a sandy road, parallel with -the railway, and if you follow it, it climbs -to somewhat higher ground. On your left -(you are now going northward) is heath, on -your right (the side towards the sea) is a -belt of old firs, wind-beaten, thick at the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[140]</span> -top, with the slope that old seaside trees -have; seen on the skyline from the train -they would tell you in an instant, if you did -not know it, that you were approaching a -windy coast. Well, at the top of my little -hill, a line of these firs strikes out and runs -towards the sea, for there is a ridge that -goes that way; and the ridge ends in a -rather well-defined mound commanding the -level fields of rough grass, and a little knot -of fir trees crowns it. And here you may -sit on a hot spring day, very well content -to look at blue sea, white windmills, red -cottages, bright green grass, church tower, -and distant martello tower on the south.</p> - -<p>As I have said, I began to know Seaburgh -as a child; but a gap of a good many -years separates my early knowledge from -that which is more recent. Still it keeps its -place in my affections, and any tales of it -that I pick up have an interest for me. -One such tale is this: it came to me in a -place very remote from Seaburgh, and quite -accidentally, from a man whom I had been -able to oblige—enough in his opinion to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span> -justify his making me his confidant to this -extent.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I know all that country more or less, (he -said). I used to go to Seaburgh pretty -regularly for golf in the spring. I generally -put up at the “Bear,” with a friend—Henry -Long it was, you knew him perhaps—(“Slightly,” -I said) and we used to take a sitting-room -and be very happy there. Since he -died I haven’t cared to go there. And I don’t -know that I should anyhow after the particular -thing that happened on our last visit.</p> - -<p>It was in April, 19—, we were there, and -by some chance we were almost the only -people in the hotel. So the ordinary public -rooms were practically empty, and we were -the more surprised when, after dinner, our -sitting-room door opened, and a young man -put his head in. We were aware of this -young man. He was rather a rabbity -anæmic subject—light hair and light eyes—but -not unpleasing. So when he said: “I -beg your pardon, is this a private room?” -we did not growl and say: “Yes, it is,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[142]</span> -but Long said, or I did—no matter which: -“Please come in.” “Oh, may I?” he said, -and seemed relieved. Of course it was -obvious that he wanted company; and as -he was a reasonable kind of person—not -the sort to bestow his whole family history -on you—we urged him to make himself at -home. “I dare say you find the other rooms -rather bleak,” I said. Yes, he did: but it -was really too good of us, and so on. That -being got over, he made some pretence -of reading a book. Long was playing -Patience, I was writing. It became plain -to me after a few minutes that this visitor -of ours was in rather a state of fidgets or -nerves, which communicated itself to me, -and so I put away my writing and turned -to at engaging him in talk.</p> - -<p>After some remarks, which I forget, he -became rather confidential. “You’ll think -it very odd of me,” (this was the sort of -way he began), “but the fact is I’ve had -something of a shock.” Well, I recommended -a drink of some cheering kind, and -we had it. The waiter coming in made an<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[143]</span> -interruption (and I thought our young man -seemed very jumpy when the door opened), -but after a while he got back to his woes -again. There was nobody he knew in the -place, and he did happen to know who we -both were (it turned out there was some -common acquaintance in town), and really -he did want a word of advice, if we didn’t -mind. Of course we both said: “By all -means,” or “Not at all,” and Long put away -his cards. And we settled down to hear -what his difficulty was.</p> - -<p>“It began,” he said, “more than a week -ago, when I bicycled over to Froston, only -about five or six miles, to see the church—I’m -very much interested in architecture, -and it’s got one of those pretty porches -with niches and shields. I took a photograph -of it, and then an old man who was -tidying up in the churchyard came and -asked if I’d care to look into the church. -I said yes, and he produced a key and let -me in. There wasn’t much inside, but I -told him it was a nice little church, and he -kept it very clean, ‘but,’ I said, ‘the porch<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[144]</span> -is the best part of it.’ We were just outside -the porch then, and he said, ‘Ah, yes, that -is a nice porch; and do you know, sir, what’s -the meanin’ of that coat of arms there?’</p> - -<p>“It was the one with the three crowns, -and though I’m not much of a herald, I -was able to say yes, I thought it was the -old arms of the kingdom of East Anglia.</p> - -<p>“‘That’s right, sir,’ he said, ‘and do you -know the meanin’ of them three crowns -that’s on it?’</p> - -<p>“I said I’d no doubt it was known, but -I couldn’t recollect to have heard it myself.</p> - -<p>“‘Well, then,’ he said, ‘for all you’re a -scholard, I can tell you something you don’t -know. Them’s the three ’oly crowns what -was buried in the ground near by the coast -to keep the Germans from landing—ah, I -can see you don’t believe that. But I tell -you, if it hadn’t have been for one of them -’oly crowns bein’ there still, them Germans -would a landed here time and again, they -would. Landed with their ships, and killed -man, woman and child in their beds. Now -then, that’s the truth what I’m telling you,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span> -that is; and if you don’t believe me, you -ast the rector. There he comes: you ast -him, I says.’</p> - -<p>“I looked round, and there was the -rector, a nice-looking old man, coming up -the path; and before I could begin assuring -my old man, who was getting quite excited, -that I didn’t disbelieve him, the rector -struck in, and said: ‘What’s all this about, -John? Good-day to you, sir. Have you -been looking at our little church?’</p> - -<p>“So then there was a little talk which -allowed the old man to calm down, and -then the rector asked him again what was -the matter.</p> - -<p>“‘Oh,’ he said, ‘it warn’t nothink, only I -was telling this gentleman he’d ought to -ast you about them ’oly crowns.’</p> - -<p>“‘Ah, yes, to be sure,’ said the rector, -‘that’s a very curious matter, isn’t it? But -I don’t know whether the gentleman is -interested in our old stories, eh?’</p> - -<p>“‘Oh, he’ll be interested fast enough,’ -says the old man, ‘he’ll put his confidence -in what you tells him, sir; why, you known<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[146]</span> -William Ager yourself, father and son too.’</p> - -<p>“Then I put in a word to say how much -I should like to hear all about it, and before -many minutes I was walking up the village -street with the rector who had one or two -words to say to parishioners, and then to -the rectory, where he took me into his -study. He had made out, on the way, that -I really was capable of taking an intelligent -interest in a piece of folklore and not quite -the ordinary tripper. So he was very willing -to talk, and it is rather surprising to me that -the particular legend he told me has not -made its way into print before. His account -of it was this: ‘There has always been a -belief in these parts in the three holy crowns. -The old people say they were buried in -different places near the coast to keep off -the Danes or the French or the Germans. -And they say that one of the three was dug -up a long time ago, and another has disappeared -by the encroaching of the sea, and -one’s still left doing its work, keeping off -invaders. Well, now, if you have read the -ordinary guides and histories of this county,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</span> -you will remember perhaps that in 1687 a -crown, which was said to be the crown of -Redwald, King of the East Angles, was -dug up at Rendlesham, and alas! alas! -melted down before it was even properly -described or drawn. Well, Rendlesham -isn’t on the coast, but it isn’t so very far -inland, and it’s on a very important line of -access. And I believe that is the crown -which the people mean when they say that -one has been dug up. Then on the south -you don’t want me to tell you where there -was a Saxon royal palace which is now -under the sea, eh? Well, there was the -second crown, I take it. And between -these two, they say, lies the third.’</p> - -<p>“‘Do they say where it is?’ of course I -asked.</p> - -<p>“He said, ‘Yes, indeed, they do, but -they don’t tell,’ and his manner did not -encourage me to put the obvious question. -Instead of that I waited a moment, and -said: ‘What did the old man mean when -he said you knew William Ager, as if that -had something to do with the crowns?’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span>“‘To be sure,’ he said, ‘now that’s -another curious story. These Agers—it’s a -very old name in these parts, but I can’t -find that they were ever people of quality -or big owners—these Agers say, or said, -that their branch of the family were the -guardians of the last crown. A certain old -Nathaniel Ager was the first one I knew—I -was born and brought up quite near here—and -he, I believe, camped out at the -place during the whole of the war of 1870. -William, his son, did the same, I know, -during the South African War. And young -William, <i>his</i> son, who has only died fairly -recently, took lodgings at the cottage -nearest the spot, and I’ve no doubt hastened -his end, for he was a consumptive, by exposure -and night watching. And he was -the last of that branch. It was a dreadful -grief to him to think that he was the last, -but he could do nothing, the only relations -at all near to him were in the colonies. -I wrote letters for him to them imploring -them to come over on business very important -to the family, but there has been no<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</span> -answer. So the last of the holy crowns, if -it’s there, has no guardian now.’</p> - -<p>“That was what the rector told me, and -you can fancy how interesting I found it. -The only thing I could think of when I left -him was how to hit upon the spot where -the crown was supposed to be. I wish I’d -left it alone.</p> - -<p>“But there was a sort of fate in it, for as -I bicycled back past the churchyard wall -my eye caught a fairly new gravestone, and -on it was the name of William Ager. Of -course I got off and read it. It said ‘of -this parish, died at Seaburgh, 19—, aged 28.’ -There it was, you see. A little judicious -questioning in the right place, and I should -at least find the cottage nearest the spot. -Only I didn’t quite know what was the -right spot to begin my questioning at. -Again there was fate: it took me to the -curiosity-shop down that way—you know—and -I turned over some old books, and, if -you please, one was a prayer-book of 1740 -odd, in a rather handsome binding—I’ll just -go and get it, it’s in my room.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</span>He left us in a state of some surprise, but -we had hardly time to exchange any -remarks when he was back, panting, and -handed us the book opened at the fly-leaf, -on which was, in a straggly hand:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“Nathaniel Ager is my name and England is my nation,</div> -<div class="verse">Seaburgh is my dwelling-place and Christ is my Salvation,</div> -<div class="verse">When I am dead and in my Grave, and all my bones are rotton,</div> -<div class="verse">I hope the Lord will think on me when I am quite forgotton.”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>This poem was dated 1754, and there -were many more entries of Agers, Nathaniel, -Frederick, William, and so on, ending with -William, 19—.</p> - -<p>“You see,” he said, “anybody would call -it the greatest bit of luck. <i>I</i> did, but I -don’t now. Of course I asked the shopman -about William Ager, and of course he -happened to remember that he lodged in a -cottage in the North Field and died there. -This was just chalking the road for me. I -knew which the cottage must be: there is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span> -only one sizable one about there. The -next thing was to scrape some sort of -acquaintance with the people, and I took -a walk that way at once. A dog did the -business for me: he made at me so fiercely -that they had to run out and beat him off, -and then naturally begged my pardon, and -we got into talk. I had only to bring up -Ager’s name, and pretend I knew, or -thought I knew something of him, and -then the woman said how sad it was him -dying so young, and she was sure it came -of him spending the night out of doors in -the cold weather. Then I had to say: ‘Did -he go out on the sea at night?’ and she -said: ‘Oh, no, it was on the hillock yonder -with the trees on it.’ And there I was.</p> - -<p>“I know something about digging in these -barrows: I’ve opened many of them in the -down country. But that was with owner’s -leave, and in broad daylight and with men -to help. I had to prospect very carefully -here before I put a spade in: I couldn’t -trench across the mound, and with those -old firs growing there I knew there would<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span> -be awkward tree roots. Still the soil was -very light and sandy and easy, and there -was a rabbit hole or so that might be developed -into a sort of tunnel. The going -out and coming back at odd hours to the -hotel was going to be the awkward part. -When I made up my mind about the way -to excavate I told the people that I was -called away for a night, and I spent it out -there. I made my tunnel: I won’t bore -you with the details of how I supported it -and filled it in when I’d done, but the main -thing is that I got the crown.”</p> - -<p>Naturally we both broke out into exclamations -of surprise and interest. I for -one had long known about the finding of -the crown at Rendlesham and had often -lamented its fate. No one has ever seen an -Anglo-Saxon crown—at least no one had. -But our man gazed at us with a rueful eye. -“Yes,” he said, “and the worst of it is I -don’t know how to put it back.”</p> - -<p>“Put it back?” we cried out. “Why, -my dear sir, you’ve made one of the most -exciting finds ever heard of in this country.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</span> -Of course it ought to go to the Jewel -House at the Tower. What’s your difficulty? -If you’re thinking about the -owner of the land, and treasure-trove, and -all that, we can certainly help you through. -Nobody’s going to make a fuss about -technicalities in a case of this kind.”</p> - -<p>Probably more was said, but all he did -was to put his face in his hands, and mutter: -“I don’t know how to put it back.”</p> - -<p>At last Long said: “You’ll forgive me, -I hope, if I seem impertinent, but are you -<i>quite</i> sure you’ve got it?” I was wanting -to ask much the same question myself, for -of course the story did seem a lunatic’s -dream when one thought over it. But I -hadn’t quite dared to say what might hurt -the poor young man’s feelings. However -he took it quite calmly—really, with the -calm of despair, you might say. He sat up -and said: “Oh yes, there’s no doubt of -that: I have it here, in my room, locked up -in my bag. You can come and look at it if -you like: I won’t offer to bring it here.”</p> - -<p>We were not likely to let the chance slip.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span> -We went with him; his room was only a -few doors off. The boots was just collecting -shoes in the passage: or so we thought: -afterwards we were not sure. Our visitor—his -name was Paxton—was in a worse state -of shivers than before, and went hurriedly -into the room, and beckoned us after him, -turned on the light, and shut the door carefully. -Then he unlocked his kit-bag, and -produced a bundle of clean pocket-handkerchiefs -in which something was wrapped, laid -it on the bed, and undid it. I can now say -I <i>have</i> seen an actual Anglo-Saxon crown. -It was of silver—as the Rendlesham one is -always said to have been—it was set with -some gems, mostly antique intaglios and -cameos, and was of rather plain, almost -rough workmanship. In fact, it was like -those you see on the coins and in the manuscripts. -I found no reason to think it was -later than the ninth century. I was intensely -interested, of course, and I wanted -to turn it over in my hands, but Paxton -prevented me. “Don’t <i>you</i> touch it,” he -said, “I’ll do that.” And with a sigh that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[155]</span> -was, I declare to you, dreadful to hear, he -took it up and turned it about so that we -could see every part of it. “Seen enough?” -he said at last, and we nodded. He wrapped -it up and locked it in his bag, and stood -looking at us dumbly. “Come back to our -room,” Long said, “and tell us what the -trouble is.” He thanked us, and said: -“Will you go first and see if—if the coast -is clear?” That wasn’t very intelligible, -for our proceedings hadn’t been, after all, -very suspicious, and the hotel, as I said, -was practically empty. However, we were -beginning to have inklings of—we didn’t -know what, and anyhow nerves are infectious. -So we did go, first peering out as -we opened the door, and fancying (I found -we both had the fancy) that a shadow, or -more than a shadow—but it made no sound—passed -from before us to one side as we -came out into the passage. “It’s all right,” -we whispered to Paxton—whispering seemed -the proper tone—and we went, with him -between us, back to our sitting-room. I -was preparing, when we got there, to be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[156]</span> -ecstatic about the unique interest of what -we had seen, but when I looked at Paxton -I saw that would be terribly out of place, -and I left it to him to begin.</p> - -<p>“What <i>is</i> to be done?” was his opening. -Long thought it right (as he explained to -me afterwards) to be obtuse, and said: -“Why not find out who the owner of the -land is, and inform——” “Oh, no, no!” -Paxton broke in impatiently, “I beg your -pardon: you’ve been very kind, but don’t -you see it’s <i>got</i> to go back, and I daren’t be -there at night, and daytime’s impossible. -Perhaps, though, you don’t see: well, then, -the truth is that I’ve never been alone since -I touched it.” I was beginning some fairly -stupid comment, but Long caught my eye, -and I stopped. Long said: “I think I -do see, perhaps: but wouldn’t it be—a relief—to -tell us a little more clearly what the -situation is?”</p> - -<p>Then it all came out: Paxton looked over -his shoulder and beckoned to us to come -nearer to him, and began speaking in a low -voice: we listened most intently, of course,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[157]</span> -and compared notes afterwards, and I wrote -down our version, so I am confident I have -what he told us almost word for word. He -said: “It began when I was first prospecting, -and put me off again and again. There -was always somebody—a man—standing by -one of the firs. This was in daylight, you -know. He was never in front of me. I -always saw him with the tail of my eye on -the left or the right, and he was never there -when I looked straight for him. I would -lie down for quite a long time and take -careful observations, and make sure there -was no one, and then when I got up and -began prospecting again, there he was. And -he began to give me hints, besides; for -wherever I put that prayer-book—short of -locking it up, which I did at last—when I -came back to my room it was always out -on my table open at the fly-leaf where the -names are, and one of my razors across it to -keep it open. I’m sure he just can’t open -my bag, or something more would have -happened. You see, he’s light and weak, -but all the same I daren’t face him. Well,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span> -then, when I was making the tunnel, of -course it was worse, and if I hadn’t been so -keen I should have dropped the whole thing -and run. It was like someone scraping at -my back all the time: I thought for a long -time it was only soil dropping on me, but -as I got nearer the—the crown, it was unmistakable. -And when I actually laid it -bare and got my fingers into the ring of -it and pulled it out, there came a sort of -cry behind me—Oh, I can’t tell you how -desolate it was! And horribly threatening -too. It spoilt all my pleasure in my find—cut -it off that moment. And if I hadn’t -been the wretched fool I am, I should have -put the thing back and left it. But I didn’t. -The rest of the time was just awful. I had -hours to get through before I could decently -come back to the hotel. First I spent time -filling up my tunnel and covering my tracks, -and all the while he was there trying to -thwart me. Sometimes, you know, you see -him, and sometimes you don’t, just as he -pleases, I think: he’s there, but he has some -power over your eyes. Well, I wasn’t off<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span> -the spot very long before sunrise, and then -I had to get to the junction for Seaburgh, -and take a train back. And though it was -daylight fairly soon, I don’t know if that -made it much better. There were always -hedges, or gorse-bushes, or park fences along -the road—some sort of cover, I mean—and -I was never easy for a second. And then -when I began to meet people going to -work, they always looked behind me very -strangely: it might have been that they -were surprised at seeing anyone so early; -but I didn’t think it was only that, and I -don’t now: they didn’t look exactly at <i>me</i>. -And the porter at the train was like that -too. And the guard held open the door -after I’d got into the carriage—just as he -would if there was somebody else coming, -you know. Oh, you may be very sure it -isn’t my fancy,” he said with a dull sort of -laugh. Then he went on: “And even if -I do get it put back, he won’t forgive me: -I can tell that. And I was so happy a -fortnight ago.” He dropped into a chair, -and I believe he began to cry.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[160]</span>We didn’t know what to say, but we -felt we must come to the rescue somehow, -and so—it really seemed the only thing,—we -said if he was so set on putting the crown -back in its place, we would help him. And -I must say that after what we had heard -it did seem the right thing. If these horrid -consequences had come on this poor man, -might there not really be something in the -original idea of the crown having some -curious power bound up with it, to guard -the coast? At least, that was my feeling, -and I think it was Long’s too. Our offer -was very welcome to Paxton, anyhow. -When could we do it? It was nearing -half-past ten. Could we contrive to make -a late walk plausible to the hotel people -that very night? We looked out of the -window: there was a brilliant full moon—the -Paschal moon. Long undertook to -tackle the boots and propitiate him. He -was to say that we should not be much over -the hour, and if we did find it so pleasant -that we stopped out a bit longer we would -see that he didn’t lose by sitting up. Well,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[161]</span> -we were pretty regular customers of the -hotel, and did not give much trouble, and -were considered by the servants to be not -under the mark in the way of tips; and so -the boots <i>was</i> propitiated, and let us out on -to the sea-front, and remained, as we heard -later, looking after us. Paxton had a large -coat over his arm, under which was the -wrapped-up crown.</p> - -<p>So we were off on this strange errand -before we had time to think how very much -out of the way it was. I have told this -part quite shortly on purpose, for it really -does represent the haste with which we -settled our plan and took action. “The -shortest way is up the hill and through the -churchyard,” Paxton said, as we stood a -moment before the hotel looking up and -down the front. There was nobody about—nobody -at all. Seaburgh out of the season -is an early, quiet place. “We can’t go -along the dyke by the cottage, because of -the dog,” Paxton also said, when I pointed -to what I thought a shorter way along the -front and across two fields. The reason he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[162]</span> -gave was good enough. We went up the -road to the church, and turned in at the -churchyard gate. I confess to having -thought that there might be some lying -there who might be conscious of our -business: but if it was so, they were also -conscious that one who was on their side, so -to say, had us under surveillance, and we -saw no sign of them. But under observation -we felt we were, as I have never felt it -at another time. Specially was it so when -we passed out of the churchyard into a -narrow path with close high hedges, through -which we hurried as Christian did through -that Valley; and so got out into open fields. -Then along hedges, though I would sooner -have been in the open, where I could see if -anyone was visible behind me; over a gate or -two, and then a swerve to the left, taking -us up on to the ridge which ended in that -mound.</p> - -<p>As we neared it, Henry Long felt, and I -felt too, that there were what I can only -call dim presences waiting for us, as well -as a far more actual one attending us. Of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[163]</span> -Paxton’s agitation all this time I can give -you no adequate picture: he breathed like a -hunted beast, and we could not either of us -look at his face. How he would manage -when we got to the very place we had not -troubled to think: he had seemed so sure -that that would not be difficult. Nor was -it. I never saw anything like the dash with -which he flung himself at a particular spot -in the side of the mound, and tore at it, so -that in a very few minutes the greater part -of his body was out of sight. We stood -holding the coat and that bundle of handkerchiefs, -and looking, very fearfully, I must -admit, about us. There was nothing to be -seen: a line of dark firs behind us made -one skyline, more trees and the church -tower half-a-mile off on the right, cottages -and a windmill on the horizon on the left, -calm sea dead in front, faint barking of -a dog at a cottage on a gleaming dyke -between us and it: full moon making that -path we know across the sea: the eternal -whisper of the Scotch firs just above us and -of the sea in front. Yet, in all this quiet, an<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[164]</span> -acute, an acrid consciousness of a restrained -hostility very near us, like a dog on a leash -that might be let go at any moment.</p> - -<p>Paxton pulled himself out of the hole, -and stretched a hand back to us. “Give it -to me,” he whispered, “unwrapped.” We -pulled off the handkerchiefs, and he took the -crown. The moonlight just fell on it as he -snatched it. We had not ourselves touched -that bit of metal, and I have thought since -that it was just as well. In another moment -Paxton was out of the hole again and busy -shovelling back the soil with hands that -were already bleeding. He would have -none of our help, though. It was much the -longest part of the job to get the place to look -undisturbed: yet—I don’t know how—he -made a wonderful success of it. At last he -was satisfied, and we turned back.</p> - -<p>We were a couple of hundred yards from -the hill when Long suddenly said to him: -“I say, you’ve left your coat there. That -won’t do. See?” And I certainly did see -it—the long dark overcoat lying where the -tunnel had been. Paxton had not stopped,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[165]</span> -however: he only shook his head, and held -up the coat on his arm. And when we -joined him, he said, without any excitement, -but as if nothing mattered any more: -“That wasn’t my coat.” And, indeed, when -we looked back again, that dark thing was -not to be seen.</p> - -<p>Well, we got out on to the road, and -came rapidly back that way. It was well -before twelve when we got in, trying to put -a good face on it, and saying—Long and I—what -a lovely night it was for a walk. -The boots was on the lookout for us, and -we made remarks like that for his edification -as we entered the hotel. He gave another -look up and down the sea-front before he -locked the front door, and said: “You -didn’t meet many people about, I s’pose, -sir?” “No, indeed, not a soul,” I said; at -which I remember Paxton looked oddly at -me. “Only I thought I see someone turn -up the station road after you gentlemen,” -said the boots. “Still, you was three together, -and I don’t suppose he meant -mischief.” I didn’t know what to say;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span> -Long merely said “Good-night,” and we -went off upstairs, promising to turn out all -lights, and to go to bed in a few minutes.</p> - -<p>Back in our room, we did our very best -to make Paxton take a cheerful view. -“There’s the crown safe back,” we said, -“very likely you’d have done better not -to touch it” (and he heavily assented to -that), “but no real harm has been done, -and we shall never give this away to anyone -who would be so mad as to go near it. -Besides, don’t you feel better yourself? I -don’t mind confessing,” I said, “that on the -way there I was very much inclined to take -your view about—well, about being followed; -but going back, it wasn’t at all the -same thing, was it?” No, it wouldn’t do: -“<i>You’ve</i> nothing to trouble yourselves -about,” he said, “but I’m not forgiven. I’ve -got to pay for that miserable sacrilege still. -I know what you are going to say. The -Church might help. Yes, but it’s the body -that has to suffer. It’s true I’m not feeling -that he’s waiting outside for me just now. -But——” then he stopped. Then he turned<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[167]</span> -to thanking us, and we put him off as soon -as we could. And naturally we pressed -him to use our sitting-room next day, and -said we should be glad to go out with him. -Or did he play golf, perhaps? Yes, he did, -but he didn’t think he should care about -that to-morrow. Well, we recommended -him to get up late and sit in our room in -the morning while we were playing, and we -would have a walk later in the day. He -was very submissive and <i>piano</i> about it all: -ready to do just what we thought best, but -clearly quite certain in his own mind that -what was coming could not be averted or -palliated. You’ll wonder why we didn’t -insist on accompanying him to his home -and seeing him safe into the care of brothers -or someone. The fact was he had nobody. -He had had a flat in town, but lately he -had made up his mind to settle for a time in -Sweden, and he had dismantled his flat and -shipped off his belongings, and was whiling -away a fortnight or three weeks before he -made a start. Anyhow we didn’t see what -we could do better than sleep on it—or not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[168]</span> -sleep very much, as was my case—and see -what we felt like to-morrow morning.</p> - -<p>We felt very different, Long and I, on as -beautiful an April morning as you could -desire; and Paxton also looked very different -when we saw him at breakfast. -“The first approach to a decent night I -seem ever to have had,” was what he said. -But he was going to do as we had settled: -stay in probably all the morning, and come -out with us later. We went to the links; -we met some other men and played with -them in the morning, and had lunch there -rather early, so as not to be late back. All -the same, the snares of death overtook him.</p> - -<p>Whether it could have been prevented, I -don’t know. I think he would have been -got at somehow, do what we might. Anyhow, -this is what happened.</p> - -<p>We went straight up to our room. Paxton -was there, reading quite peaceably. “Ready -to come out shortly?” said Long, “say in -half-an-hour’s time?” “Certainly,” he said: -and I said we would change first, and -perhaps have baths, and call for him in half-an-hour.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span> -I had my bath first, and went -and lay down on my bed, and slept for -about ten minutes. We came out of our -rooms at the same time, and went together -to the sitting-room. Paxton wasn’t there—only -his book. Nor was he in his room, -nor in the downstair rooms. We shouted -for him. A servant came out and said: -“Why, I thought you gentlemen was gone -out already, and so did the other gentleman. -He heard you a-calling from the path there, -and run out in a hurry, and I looked out of -the coffee-room window, but I didn’t see -you. ’Owever, he run off down the beach -that way.”</p> - -<p>Without a word we ran that way too—it -was the opposite direction to that of last -night’s expedition. It wasn’t quite four -o’clock, and the day was fair, though not so -fair as it had been, so there was really no -reason, you’d say, for anxiety: with people -about, surely a man couldn’t come to much -harm.</p> - -<p>But something in our look as we ran out -must have struck the servant, for she came<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[170]</span> -out on the steps, and pointed, and said, -“Yes, that’s the way he went.” We ran on -as far as the top of the shingle bank, and -there pulled up. There was a choice of -ways: past the houses on the sea-front, or -along the sand at the bottom of the beach, -which, the tide being now out, was fairly -broad. Or of course we might keep along -the shingle between these two tracks and -have some view of both of them; only that -was heavy going. We chose the sand, for -that was the loneliest, and someone <i>might</i> -come to harm there without being seen -from the public path.</p> - -<p>Long said he saw Paxton some distance -ahead, running and waving his stick, as if -he wanted to signal to people who were on -ahead of him. I couldn’t be sure: one of -these sea-mists was coming up very quickly -from the south. There was someone, that’s -all I could say. And there were tracks on -the sand as of someone running who wore -shoes; and there were other tracks made -before those—for the shoes sometimes trod -in them and interfered with them—of someone<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span> -not in shoes. Oh, of course, it’s only my -word you’ve got to take for all this: Long’s -dead. We’d no time or means to make -sketches or take casts, and the next tide -washed everything away. All we could do -was to notice these marks as we hurried on. -But there they were over and over again, -and we had no doubt whatever that what -we saw was the track of a bare foot, and -one that showed more bones than flesh.</p> - -<p>The notion of Paxton running after—after -anything like this, and supposing it to -be the friends he was looking for, was very -dreadful to us. You can guess what we -fancied: how the thing he was following -might stop suddenly and turn round on -him, and what sort of face it would show, -half-seen at first in the mist—which all the -while was getting thicker and thicker. And -as I ran on wondering how the poor wretch -could have been lured into mistaking that -other thing for us, I remembered his saying, -“He has some power over your eyes.” And -then I wondered what the end would be, -for I had no hope now that the end could<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span> -be averted, and—well, there is no need to -tell all the dismal and horrid thoughts that -flitted through my head as we ran on into -the mist. It was uncanny, too, that the -sun should still be bright in the sky and we -could see nothing. We could only tell that -we were now past the houses and had -reached that gap there is between them -and the old martello tower. When you -are past the tower, you know, there is -nothing but shingle for a long way—not a -house, not a human creature, just that spit -of land, or rather shingle, with the river on -your right and the sea on your left.</p> - -<p>But just before that, just by the martello -tower, you remember there is the old -battery, close to the sea. I believe there -are only a few blocks of concrete left now: -the rest has all been washed away, but at -this time there was a lot more, though the -place was a ruin. Well, when we got there, -we clambered to the top as quick as we could -to take breath and look over the shingle in -front if by chance the mist would let us see -anything. But a moment’s rest we must<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span> -have. We had run a mile at least. Nothing -whatever was visible ahead of us, and we -were just turning by common consent to -get down and run hopelessly on, when we -heard what I can only call a laugh: and -if you can understand what I mean by a -breathless, a lungless laugh, you have it; -but I don’t suppose you can. It came from -below, and swerved away into the mist. -That was enough. We bent over the wall. -Paxton was there at the bottom.</p> - -<p>You don’t need to be told that he was -dead. His tracks showed that he had run -along the side of the battery, had turned -sharp round the corner of it, and, small -doubt of it, must have dashed straight into -the open arms of someone who was waiting -there. His mouth was full of sand and -stones, and his teeth and jaws were broken -to bits. I only glanced once at his face.</p> - -<p>At the same moment, just as we were -scrambling down from the battery to get to -the body, we heard a shout, and saw a man -running down the bank of the martello -tower. He was the caretaker stationed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[174]</span> -there, and his keen old eyes had managed -to descry through the mist that something -was wrong. He had seen Paxton fall, and -had seen us a moment after, running up—fortunate -this, for otherwise we could hardly -have escaped suspicion of being concerned -in the dreadful business. Had he, we asked, -caught sight of anybody attacking our friend? -He could not be sure.</p> - -<p>We sent him off for help, and stayed by -the dead man till they came with the -stretcher. It was then that we traced out -how he had come, on the narrow fringe of -sand under the battery wall. The rest was -shingle, and it was hopelessly impossible to -tell whither the other had gone.</p> - -<p>What were we to say at the inquest? It -was a duty, we felt, not to give up, there -and then, the secret of the crown, to be -published in every paper. I don’t know -how much you would have told; but what -we did agree upon was this: to say that we -had only made acquaintance with Paxton -the day before, and that he had told us he -was under some apprehension of danger at<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span> -the hands of a man called William Ager. -Also that we had seen some other tracks -besides Paxton’s when we followed him -along the beach. But of course by that -time everything was gone from the sands.</p> - -<p>No one had any knowledge, fortunately, -of any William Ager living in the district. -The evidence of the man at the martello -tower freed us from all suspicion. All that -could be done was to return a verdict of -wilful murder by some person or persons -unknown.</p> - -<p>Paxton was so totally without connections -that all the enquiries that were subsequently -made ended in a No Thoroughfare. And I -have never been at Seaburgh, or even near -it, since.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[176]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">AN EVENING’S ENTERTAINMENT</h2> -</div> - - -<p class="drop-cap">NOTHING is more common form in old-fashioned -books than the description of -the winter fireside, where the aged grandam -narrates to the circle of children that hangs -on her lips story after story of ghosts and -fairies, and inspires her audience with a pleasing -terror. But we are never allowed to -know what the stories were. We hear, -indeed, of sheeted spectres with saucer eyes, -and—still more intriguing—of “Rawhead -and Bloody Bones” (an expression which the -Oxford Dictionary traces back to 1550), but -the context of these striking images eludes us.</p> - -<p>Here, then, is a problem which has long -obsessed me; but I see no means of solving -it finally. The aged grandams are gone, and -the collectors of folklore began their work -in England too late to save most of the -actual stories which the grandams told. Yet<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[177]</span> -such things do not easily die quite out, and -imagination, working on scattered hints, may -be able to devise a picture of an evening’s -entertainment, such an one as Mrs Marcet’s -<i>Evening Conversations</i>, Mr Joyce’s <i>Dialogues -on Chemistry</i>, and somebody else’s <i>Philosophy -in Sport made Science in Earnest</i>, -aimed at extinguishing by substituting for -Error and Superstition the light of Utility -and Truth; in some such terms as these:</p> - -<p><i>Charles</i>: I think, papa, that I now understand -the properties of the lever, which you -so kindly explained to me on Saturday; but -I have been very much puzzled since then -in thinking about the pendulum, and have -wondered why it is that, when you stop it, -the clock does not go on any more.</p> - -<p><i>Papa</i>: (You young sinner, have you been -meddling with the clock in the hall? Come -here to me! <i>No, this must be a gloss that -has somehow crept into the text</i>). Well, my -boy, though I do not wholly approve of -your conducting without my supervision -experiments which may possibly impair the -usefulness of a valuable scientific instrument,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[178]</span> -I will do my best to explain the principles of -the pendulum to you. Fetch me a piece of -stout whipcord from the drawer in my study, -and ask cook to be so good as to lend you -one of the weights which she uses in her -kitchen.</p> - -<p>And so we are off.</p> - -<p>How different the scene in a household -to which the beams of Science have not yet -penetrated! The Squire, exhausted by a -long day after the partridges, and replete -with food and drink, is snoring on one side of -the fireplace. His old mother sits opposite to -him knitting, and the children (Charles and -Lucy, not Harry and Lucy: they would never -have stood it) are gathered about her knee.</p> - -<p><i>Grandmother</i>: Now, my dears, you must -be very good and quiet, or you’ll wake your -father, and you know what’ll happen then.</p> - -<p><i>Charles</i>: Yes, I know: he’ll be woundy -cross-tempered and send us off to bed.</p> - -<p><i>Grandmother</i> (<i>stops knitting and speaks -with severity</i>): What’s that? Fie upon you, -Charles! that’s not a way to speak. Now I -<i>was</i> going to have told you a story, but if you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[179]</span> -use such-like words, I shan’t. (<i>Suppressed -outcry</i>: “Oh, granny!”) Hush! hush! -Now I believe you <i>have</i> woke your father!</p> - -<p><i>Squire</i> (<i>thickly</i>): Look here, mother, if you -can’t keep them brats quiet——</p> - -<p><i>Grandmother</i>: Yes, John, yes! it’s too -bad. I’ve been telling them if it happens -again, off to bed they shall go.</p> - -<p><i>Squire</i> relapses.</p> - -<p><i>Grandmother</i>: There, now, you see, -children, what did I tell you? you <i>must</i> be -good and sit still. And I’ll tell you what: -to-morrow you shall go a-blackberrying, and -if you bring home a nice basketful, I’ll make -you some jam.</p> - -<p><i>Charles</i>: Oh yes, granny, do! and I know -where the best blackberries are: I saw ’em -to-day.</p> - -<p><i>Grandmother</i>: And where’s that, Charles?</p> - -<p><i>Charles</i>: Why, in the little lane that goes -up past Collins’s cottage.</p> - -<p><i>Grandmother</i> (<i>laying down her knitting</i>): -Charles! whatever you do, don’t you dare -to pick one single blackberry in that lane. -Don’t you <i>know</i>—but there, how should you—what<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[180]</span> -was I thinking of? Well, anyway, -you mind what I say——</p> - -<p><i>Charles and Lucy</i>: But why, granny? -Why shouldn’t we pick ’em there?</p> - -<p><i>Grandmother</i>: Hush! hush! Very well -then, I’ll tell you all about it, only you -mustn’t interrupt. Now let me see. When -I was quite a little girl that lane had a bad -name, though it seems people don’t remember -about it now. And one day—dear me, just -as it might be to-night—I told my poor -mother when I came home to my supper—a -summer evening it was—I told her where -I’d been for my walk, and how I’d come -back down that lane, and I asked her how it -was that there were currant and gooseberry -bushes growing in a little patch at the top -of the lane. And oh, dear me, such a taking -as she was in! She shook me and she slapped -me, and says she, “You naughty, naughty -child, haven’t I forbid you twenty times -over to set foot in that lane? and here you -go dawdling down it at night-time,” and -so forth, and when she’d finished I was almost -too much taken aback to say anything:<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[181]</span> -but I did make her believe that was the first -I’d ever heard of it; and that was no more -than the truth. And then, to be sure, she -was sorry she’d been so short with me, and -to make up she told me the whole story -after my supper. And since then I’ve often -heard the same from the old people in the -place, and had my own reasons besides for -thinking there was something in it.</p> - -<p>Now, up at the far end of that lane—let -me see, is it on the right- or the left-hand -side as you go up?—the left-hand side—you’ll -find a little patch of bushes and rough -ground in the field, and something like a -broken old hedge round about, and you’ll -notice there’s some old gooseberry and currant -bushes growing among it—or there used -to be, for it’s years now since I’ve been up that -way. Well, that means there was a cottage -stood there, of course; and in that cottage, -before I was born or thought of, there lived a -man named Davis. I’ve heard that he wasn’t -born in the parish, and it’s true there’s nobody -of that name been living about here since -I’ve known the place. But however that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span> -may be, this Mr Davis lived very much to -himself and very seldom went to the public-house, -and he didn’t work for any of the -farmers, having as it seemed enough money -of his own to get along. But he’d go to -the town on market-days and take up his -letters at the post-house where the mails -called. And one day he came back from -market, and brought a young man with him; -and this young man and he lived together -for some long time, and went about together, -and whether he just did the work of the -house for Mr Davis, or whether Mr Davis -was his teacher in some way, nobody seemed -to know. I’ve heard he was a pale, ugly -young fellow and hadn’t much to say for -himself. Well, now, what did those two men -do with themselves? Of course I can’t tell -you half the foolish things that the people -got into their heads, and we know, don’t we, -that you mustn’t speak evil when you aren’t -sure it’s true, even when people are dead and -gone. But as I said, those two were always -about together, late and early, up on the -downland and below in the woods; and there<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[183]</span> -was one walk in particular that they’d take -regularly once a month, to the place where -you’ve seen that old figure cut out in the -hillside; and it was noticed that in the -summer-time when they took that walk, -they’d camp out all night, either there or -somewhere near by. I remember once my -father—that’s your great-grandfather—told -me he had spoken to Mr Davis about it -(for it’s his land he lived on) and asked him -why he was so fond of going there, but he -only said: “Oh, it’s a wonderful old place, sir, -and I’ve always been fond of the old-fashioned -things, and when him (that was his man he -meant) and me are together there, it seems -to bring back the old times so plain.” And -my father said, “Well,” he said, “it may suit -<i>you</i>, but <i>I</i> shouldn’t like a lonely place like -that in the middle of the night.” And Mr -Davis smiled, and the young man, who’d -been listening, said, “Oh, we don’t want for -company at such times,” and my father said -he couldn’t help thinking Mr Davis made -some kind of sign, and the young man went -on quick, as if to mend his words, and said,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[184]</span> -“That’s to say, Mr Davis and me’s company -enough for each other, ain’t we, master? -and then there’s a beautiful air there of a -summer night, and you can see all the -country round under the moon, and it looks -so different, seemingly, to what it do in the -daytime. Why, all them barrows on the -down——”</p> - -<p>And then Mr Davis cut in, seeming to be -out of temper with the lad, and said, “Ah -yes, they’re old-fashioned places, ain’t they, -sir? Now, what would you think was the -purpose of them?” And my father said -(now, dear me, it seems funny doesn’t it, -that I should recollect all this: but it took -my fancy at the time, and though it’s dull -perhaps for you, I can’t help finishing it out -now), well, he said, “Why, I’ve heard, Mr -Davis, that they’re all graves, and I know, -when I’ve had occasion to plough up one, -there’s always been some old bones and pots -turned up. But whose graves they are, I -don’t know: people say the ancient Romans -were all about this country at one time, but -whether they buried their people like that I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[185]</span> -can’t tell.” And Mr Davis shook his head, -thinking, and said, “Ah, to be sure: well -they look to me to be older-like than the -ancient Romans, and dressed different—that’s -to say, according to the pictures the Romans -was in armour, and you didn’t never find no -armour, did you, sir, by what you said?” -And my father was rather surprised and said, -“I don’t know that I mentioned anything -about armour, but it’s true I don’t remember -to have found any. But you talk as if you’d -seen ’em, Mr Davis,” and they both of them -laughed, Mr Davis and the young man, and -Mr Davis said, “Seen ’em, sir? that would -be a difficult matter after all these years. -Not but what I should like well enough to -know more about them old times and people, -and what they worshipped and all.” And my -father said, “Worshipped? Well, I dare say -they worshipped the old man on the hill.” -“Ah, indeed!” Mr Davis said, “well, I -shouldn’t wonder,” and my father went on -and told them what he’d heard and read -about the heathens and their sacrifices: what -you’ll learn some day for yourself, Charles,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[186]</span> -when you go to school and begin your Latin. -And they seemed to be very much interested, -both of them; but my father said he -couldn’t help thinking the most of what he -was saying was no news to them. That was -the only time he ever had much talk with -Mr Davis, and it stuck in his mind, particularly, -he said, the young man’s word about -<i>not wanting for company</i>: because in those -days there was a lot of talk in the villages -round about—why, but for my father interfering, -the people here would have ducked -an old lady for a witch.</p> - -<p><i>Charles</i>: What does that mean, granny, -ducked an old lady for a witch? Are there -witches here now?</p> - -<p><i>Grandmother</i>: No, no, dear! why, what ever -made me stray off like that? No, no, -that’s quite another affair. What I was -going to say was that the people in other -places round about believed that some sort -of meetings went on at night-time on that -hill where the man is, and that those who -went there were up to no good. But don’t -you interrupt me now, for it’s getting late.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[187]</span> -Well, I suppose it was a matter of three -years that Mr Davis and this young man -went on living together: and then all of a -sudden, a dreadful thing happened. I don’t -know if I ought to tell you. (<i>Outcries of</i> -“Oh yes! yes, granny, you must,” etc.), -Well, then, you must promise not to get -frightened and go screaming out in the -middle of the night. (“No, no, we won’t, -of course not!”) One morning very early -towards the turn of the year, I think it was -in September, one of the woodmen had to -go up to his work at the top of the long -covert just as it was getting light; and just -where there were some few big oaks in a -sort of clearing deep in the wood he saw at -a distance a white thing that looked like a -man through the mist, and he was in two -minds about going on, but go on he did, -and made out as he came near that it <i>was</i> a -man, and more than that, it was Mr Davis’s -young man: dressed in a sort of white gown -he was, and hanging by his neck to the limb -of the biggest oak, quite, quite dead: and -near his feet there lay on the ground a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span> -hatchet all in a gore of blood. Well, what -a terrible sight that was for anyone to come -upon in that lonely place! This poor man -was nearly out of his wits: he dropped -everything he was carrying and ran as hard -as ever he could straight down to the -Parsonage, and woke them up and told what -he’d seen. And old Mr White, who was -the parson then, sent him off to get two or -three of the best men, the blacksmith and -the churchwardens and what not, while he -dressed himself, and all of them went up to -this dreadful place with a horse to lay the -poor body on and take it to the house. -When they got there, everything was just -as the woodman had said: but it was a -terrible shock to them all to see how the -corpse was dressed, specially to old Mr -White, for it seemed to him to be like a -mockery of the church surplice that was on -it, only, he told my father, not the same -in the fashion of it. And when they came -to take down the body from the oak-tree -they found there was a chain of some metal -round the neck and a little ornament like a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[189]</span> -wheel hanging to it on the front, and it was -very old looking, they said. Now in the -meantime they had sent off a boy to run to -Mr Davis’s house and see whether he was -at home; for of course they couldn’t but -have their suspicions. And Mr White said -they must send too to the constable of the -next parish, and get a message to another -magistrate (he was a magistrate himself), -and so there was running hither and thither. -But my father as it happened was away from -home that night, otherwise they would have -fetched him first. So then they laid the -body across the horse, and they say it was -all they could manage to keep the beast -from bolting away from the time they were -in sight of the tree, for it seemed to be -mad with fright. However, they managed -to bind the eyes and lead it down through -the wood and back into the village street; -and there, just by the big tree where the -stocks are, they found a lot of the women -gathered together, and this boy whom they’d -sent to Mr Davis’s house lying in the middle, -as white as paper, and not a word could they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[190]</span> -get out of him, good or bad. So they saw -there was something worse yet to come, and -they made the best of their way up the lane -to Mr Davis’s house. And when they got -near that, the horse they were leading -seemed to go mad again with fear, and -reared up and screamed, and struck out -with its forefeet and the man that was -leading it was as near as possible being -killed, and the dead body fell off its back. -So Mr White bid them get the horse away -as quick as might be, and they carried the -body straight into the living-room, for the -door stood open. And then they saw what -it was that had given the poor boy such a -fright, and they guessed why the horse went -mad, for you know horses can’t bear the -smell of dead blood.</p> - -<p>There was a long table in the room, more -than the length of a man, and on it there -lay the body of Mr Davis. The eyes were -bound over with a linen band and the arms -were tied across the back, and the feet were -bound together with another band. But -the fearful thing was that the breast being<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span> -quite bare, the bone of it was split through -from the top downwards with an axe! Oh, -it was a terrible sight; not one there but -turned faint and ill with it, and had to go -out into the fresh air. Even Mr White, -who was what you might call a hard -nature of a man, was quite overcome and -said a prayer for strength in the garden.</p> - -<p>At last they laid out the other body as best -they could in the room, and searched about -to see if they could find out how such a -frightful thing had come to pass. And in -the cupboards they found a quantity of -herbs and jars with liquors, and it came -out, when people that understood such -matters had looked into it, that some of -these liquors were drinks to put a person -asleep. And they had little doubt that -that wicked young man had put some of -this into Mr Davis’s drink, and then used -him as he did, and, after that, the sense of -his sin had come upon him and he had cast -himself away.</p> - -<p>Well now, you couldn’t understand all -the law business that had to be done by the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[192]</span> -coroner and the magistrates; but there was -a great coming and going of people over it -for the next day or two, and then the people -of the parish got together and agreed that -they couldn’t bear the thought of these two -being buried in the churchyard alongside of -Christian people; for I must tell you there -were papers and writings found in the -drawers and cupboards that Mr White and -some other clergymen looked into; and -they put their names to a paper that said -these men were guilty, by their own allowing, -of the dreadful sin of idolatry; and they -feared there were some in the neighbouring -places that were not free from that wickedness, -and called upon them to repent, lest -the same fearful thing that was come to these -men should befall them also; and then they -burnt those writings. So then, Mr White -was of the same mind as the parishioners, -and late one evening twelve men that were -chosen went with him to that evil house, -and with them they took two biers made -very roughly for the purpose and two pieces -of black cloth, and down at the cross-road,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span> -where you take the turn for Bascombe and -Wilcombe, there were other men waiting -with torches, and a pit dug, and a great -crowd of people gathered together from all -round about. And the men that went to -the cottage went in with their hats on their -heads, and four of them took the two bodies -and laid them on the biers and covered them -over with the black cloths, and no one said -a word, but they bore them down the lane, -and they were cast into the pit and covered -over with stones and earth, and then Mr -White spoke to the people that were -gathered together. My father was there, -for he had come back when he heard the -news, and he said he never should forget -the strangeness of the sight, with the torches -burning and those two black things huddled -together in the pit, and not a sound from -any of the people, except it might be a child -or a woman whimpering with the fright. -And so, when Mr White had finished speaking, -they all turned away and left them -lying there.</p> - -<p>They say horses don’t like the spot even<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[194]</span> -now, and I’ve heard there was something of -a mist or a light hung about for a long time -after, but I don’t know the truth of that. -But this I do know, that next day my -father’s business took him past the opening -of the lane, and he saw three or four little -knots of people standing at different places -along it, seemingly in a state of mind about -something; and he rode up to them, and -asked what was the matter. And they ran -up to him and said, “Oh, Squire, it’s the -blood! Look at the blood!” and kept on -like that. So he got off his horse and -they showed him, and there, in four places, -I think it was, he saw great patches in -the road, of blood: but he could hardly -see it was blood, for almost every spot -of it was covered with great black flies, -that never changed their place or moved. -And that blood was what had fallen out -of Mr Davis’s body as they bore it down -the lane. Well, my father couldn’t bear -to do more than just take in the nasty sight -so as to be sure of it, and then he said -to one of those men that was there, “Do<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span> -you make haste and fetch a basket or a -barrow full of clean earth out of the churchyard -and spread it over these places, and -I’ll wait here till you come back.” And -very soon he came back, and the old man -that was sexton with him, with a shovel -and the earth in a hand-barrow: and they -set it down at the first of the places and made -ready to cast the earth upon it; and as soon -as ever they did that, what do you think? -the flies that were on it rose up in the air in -a kind of a solid cloud and moved off up the -lane towards the house, and the sexton (he -was parish clerk as well) stopped and looked -at them and said to my father, “Lord of -flies, sir,” and no more would he say. And -just the same it was at the other places, -every one of them.</p> - -<p><i>Charles</i>: But what did he mean, granny?</p> - -<p><i>Grandmother</i>: Well, dear, you remember -to ask Mr Lucas when you go to him for -your lesson to-morrow. I can’t stop now -to talk about it: it’s long past bed-time for -you already. The next thing was, my father -made up his mind no one was going to live<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[196]</span> -in that cottage again, or yet use any of the -things that were in it: so, though it was one -of the best in the place, he sent round word -to the people that it was to be done away -with, and anyone that wished could bring -a faggot to the burning of it; and that’s -what was done. They built a pile of wood -in the living-room and loosened the thatch -so as the fire could take good hold, and then -set it alight; and as there was no brick, only -the chimney-stack and the oven, it wasn’t -long before it was all gone. I seem to -remember seeing the chimney when I was -a little girl, but that fell down of itself at -last.</p> - -<p>Now this that I’ve got to is the last bit of -all. You may be sure that for a long time -the people said Mr Davis and that young -man were seen about, the one of them in the -wood and both of them where the house had -been, or passing together down the lane, -particularly in the spring of the year and at -autumn-time. I can’t speak to that, though -if we were sure there are such things as -ghosts, it would seem likely that people like<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[197]</span> -that wouldn’t rest quiet. But I can tell -you this, that one evening in the month of -March, just before your grandfather and I -were married, we’d been taking a long walk -in the woods together and picking flowers -and talking as young people will that are -courting; and so much taken up with each -other that we never took any particular notice -where we were going. And on a sudden I -cried out, and your grandfather asked what -was the matter. The matter was that I’d -felt a sharp prick on the back of my hand, -and I snatched it to me and saw a black -thing on it, and struck it with the other -hand and killed it. And I showed it him, -and he was a man who took notice of all -such things, and he said, “Well, I’ve never -seen ought like that fly before,” and though -to my own eye it didn’t seem very much out -of the common, I’ve no doubt he was right.</p> - -<p>And then we looked about us and lo and -behold if we weren’t in the very lane, just -in front of the place where that house had -stood, and, as they told me after, just where -the men set down the biers a minute when<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[198]</span> -they bore them out of the garden gate. -You may be sure we made haste away from -there; at least, I made your grandfather -come away quick, for I was wholly upset -at finding myself there; but he would have -lingered about out of curiosity if I’d have -let him. Whether there was anything -about there more than we could see I shall -never be sure: perhaps it was partly the -venom of that horrid fly’s bite that was -working in me that made me feel so -strange; for, dear me, how that poor arm -and hand of mine did swell up, to be sure! -I’m afraid to tell you how large it was -round! and the pain of it, too! Nothing -my mother could put on it had any power -over it at all, and it wasn’t till she was persuaded -by our old nurse to get the wise man -over at Bascombe to come and look at it, -that I got any peace at all. But he seemed -to know all about it, and said I wasn’t the -first that had been taken that way. “When -the sun’s gathering his strength,” he said, -“and when he’s in the height of it, and -when he’s beginning to lose his hold, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[199]</span> -when he’s in his weakness, them that haunts -about that lane had best to take heed to -themselves.” But what it was he bound -on my arm and what he said over it, he -wouldn’t tell us. After that I soon got -well again, but since then I’ve heard often -enough of people suffering much the same -as I did; only of late years it doesn’t seem -to happen but very seldom: and maybe -things like that do die out in the course of -time.</p> - -<p>But that’s the reason, Charles, why I say -to you that I won’t have you gathering me -blackberries, no, nor eating them either, in -that lane; and now you know all about -it, I don’t fancy you’ll want to yourself. -There! Off to bed you go this minute. -What’s that, Lucy? A light in your room? -The idea of such a thing! You get yourself -undressed at once and say your prayers, and -perhaps if your father doesn’t want me when -he wakes up, I’ll come and say good-night -to you. And you, Charles, if I hear anything -of you frightening your little sister -on the way up to your bed, I shall tell your<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span> -father that very moment, and you know -what happened to you the last time.</p> - -<p>The door closes, and granny, after listening -intently for a minute or two, resumes her -knitting. The Squire still slumbers.</p> - -<hr class="tiny" /> - -<p class="center">PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY<br /> -THE EDINBURGH PRESS, 9 AND 11 YOUNG STREET, EDINBURGH</p> - - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="transnote"> -<p class="ph1">TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:</p> - -<p>Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.</p> - -<p>Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.</p> -</div></div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A WARNING TO THE CURIOUS AND OTHER GHOST STORIES ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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