 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to find out how you can volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Enchanted Castle by E. Nesbitt. Recorded by Peter Eastman. Chapter 3 Those of my readers who have gone about much with an invisible companion will not need to be told how awkward the whole business is. For one thing, however much you may have been convinced that your companion is invisible, you will, I feel sure, have found yourself every now and then saying, this must be a dream, or I know I shall wake up in half a sec. And this was the case with Gerald, Kathleen and Jimmy, as they sat in the white marble temple of Flora, looking out through his arches at the Sunshiny Park and listening to the voice of the Enchanted Princess, who really was not a princess at all, but just the housekeeper's niece, Mabel Prowse. Though, as Jimmy said, she was enchanted right enough. It's no use talking, she said again and again, and the voice came from an empty-looking space between two pillars. I never believed anything would happen, and now it has. Well, said Gerald kindly, can we do anything for you? Because if not, I think we ought to be going. Yes, said Jimmy, I do want my tea. Said the unseen Mabel scornfully, do you mean to say you'd go off to your teas and leave me after getting me into this mess? Well, of all the unfair princesses I ever met, Gerald began, but Kathleen interrupted. Oh, don't rake her, she said. Think how horrid it must be to be invisible. I don't think, said the hidden Mabel, that my aunt likes me very much as it is. She wouldn't let me go to the fair because I've forgotten to put back some old trumpery shoe that Queen Elizabeth wore. I got it out from the glass case to try it on. Did it fit? asked Kathleen with interest. Not it, much too small, said Mabel. I don't believe it ever fitted anyone. I do want my tea, said Jimmy. I do really think perhaps we ought to go, said Gerald. You see, it isn't as if we could do anything for you. You'll have to tell your aunt, said Kathleen kindly. No, no, no! moaned Mabel invisibly. Take me with you. I'll leave her a note to say I've run away to see. Girls don't run away to see. They might, said the stone floor between the pillars. A stowaways, if nobody wanted a cabin boy, a cabin girl, I mean. I'm sure you oughtn't, said Kathleen firmly. Well, what am I to do? Really, said Gerald, I don't know what the girl can do. Let her come home with us and have tea! Oh yes, said Jimmy, jumping up. And have a good counsel. After tea, said Jimmy. But her aunt'll find she's gone. So she would if I stayed. Oh, come on, said Jimmy. But the aunt'll think something's happened to her. So it has. And she'll tell the police and the look everywhere for me. They'll never find you, said Gerald, talk of impenetrable disguises. I'm sure, said Mabel, aunt would much rather never see me again than see me like this. She'd never get over it. It might kill her. She has spasms as it is. I'll write to her and we'll put it in the big letter box at the gate as we go out. Has anyone got a bit of pencil and a scrap of paper? Gerald had a notebook with leaves of the shiny kind which you have to write on, not with a black lead pencil, but with an ivory thing with a point of real lead. And it won't write on any other paper except the kind that is in the book, and this is often very annoying when you are in a hurry. Then was seen the strange spectacle of a little ivory stick with a lead and point, standing up at an odd, impossible-looking slant and moving along all by itself as ordinary pencils do when you are writing with them. May we look over? asked Kathleen. There was no answer. The pencil went on writing. May and we'd look over, Kathleen said again. Of course you may, said the voice near the paper. I nodded, didn't I? Oh, I forgot. My nodding's invisible too. The pencil was forming round, clear letters on the page torn out of the notebook. This is what it wrote. Dear Aunt, I am afraid you will not see me again for some time. A lady in a motor-car has adopted me, and we are going straight to the coast and then in a ship. It is useless to try to follow me. Farewell, and may you be happy. I hope you enjoyed the fare. Mabel. But that's all lies, said Jimmy bluntly. No, it isn't. It's fancy, said Mabel. If I said I've become invisible, she'd think that was a lie anyhow. Oh, come along, said Jimmy. You can quarrel just as well walking. Gerald folded up the note as a lady in India had taught him to do years before, and Mabel led them by another and very much nearer way out of the park. And the walk home was a great deal shorter too than the walk out had been. The sky had clouded over while they were in the Temple of Flora, and the first spots of rain fell as they got back to the house very late indeed for tea. Mademoiselle was looking out of the window and came herself to open the door. But it is that you are in lateness, in lateness, she cried. You have had a misfortune? No, all goes well. We are very sorry indeed, said Gerald. It took us longer to get home than we expected. I do hope that you haven't been anxious. I have been thinking about you most of the way home. Go then, said the French lady smiling. You shall have them in the same time, the tea and the supper. Which they did. How could you say you were thinking about her all the time? Said a voice just by Gerald's ear when Mademoiselle had left them alone with the bread and butter and milk and baked apples. It was just as much a lie as me being adopted by a motor lady. No, it wasn't, said Gerald through bread and butter. I was thinking about whether she'd be in a wax or not, so there. There were only three plates, but Jimmy let Mabel have his and shared with Kathleen. It was rather horrid to see the bread and butter waving about in the air and bite after bite disappearing from it apparently by no human agency and the spoon rising with apple in it and returning to the plate empty. Even the tip of the spoon disappeared as long as it was in Mabel's unseen mouth so that at times it looked as though its bowl had been broken off. Everyone was very hungry and more bread and butter had to be fetched. Cook grumbled when the plate was filled for the third time. I tell you what, said Jimmy, I did want my tea. I tell you what, said Gerald, it'll be jolly difficult to give Mabel any breakfast. Mademoiselle will be here then. She'd have a fit if she saw bits of fork with bacon on them vanishing and then the fork's coming back out of vanishment and the bacon lost forever. We shall have to buy things to eat and feed our poor captive in secret, said Kathleen. Our money won't last long, said Jimmy in gloom. Have you got any money? He turned to where a mug of milk was suspended in the air without visible means of support. I've not got much money, was the reply from near the milk, but I've got heaps of ideas. We must talk about everything in the morning, said Kathleen. We must just say good night to Mademoiselle, and then you shall sleep in my bed, Mabel. I'll lend you one of my nightgowns. I'll get my own tomorrow, said Mabel cheerfully. You'll go back to get things? Why not? Nobody can see me. I think I begin to see all sorts of amusing things coming along. It's not half bad being invisible. It was extremely odd, Kathleen thought, to see the princess's clothes coming out of nothing. First the gauzy veil appeared, hanging in the air. Then the sparkling coronet suddenly showed on the top of the chest of drawers. Then a sleeve of the pinky gown showed, then another, and then the whole gown lay on the floor in a glistening ring as the unseen legs of Mabel stepped out of it. For each article of clothing became visible as Mabel took it off. The nightgown, lifted from the bed, disappeared a bit at a time. Get into bed, said Kathleen rather nervously. The bed creaked, and a hollow appeared in the pillow. Kathleen put out the gas and got into bed. All this magic had been rather upsetting, and she was just the least bit frightened. But in the dark she found it was not so bad. Mabel's arms went round her neck the moment she got into bed, and the two little girls kissed in the kind darkness where the visible and the invisible could meet on equal terms. Good night, said Mabel. You're a darling, Kathy. You've been most awfully good to me, and I shan't forget it. I didn't like to say so before the boys because I know boys think you're a moth if you're grateful. But I am. Good night. Kathleen lay awake for some time. She was just getting sleepy when she remembered that the maid who would call them in the morning would see those wonderful princess clothes. I'll have to get up and hide them, she said. What a bother! And as she lay thinking what a bother it was she happened to fall asleep, and when she woke again it was bright morning, and Eliza was standing in front of the chair where Mabel's clothes lay, gazing at the pink princess frock that lay on the top of her heap and saying, Law! Oh, don't touch, please! Kathleen leaped out of bed as Eliza was reaching out her hand. Where on earth did you get hold of that? We're going to use it for acting, said Kathleen, on the desperate inspiration of the moment. It's lent me for that. You might show me, miss, suggested Eliza. Oh, please not, said Kathleen, standing in front of the chair in her nightgown. You shall see us act when we are dressed up, there, and you won't tell anyone, will you? Not if you're a good little girl, said Eliza, but you be sure to let me see when you do dress up, but where? Here a bell rang, and Eliza had to go, for it was the postman, and she particularly wanted to see him. And now, said Kathleen, pulling on her first stocking, we shall have to do the acting. Everything seems very difficult. Acting isn't, said Mabel, and an unsupported stocking waved in the air and quickly vanished. I shall love it. You forget, said Kathleen gently. Invisible actresses can't take part in plays unless they're magic ones. Oh, cried a voice from under a petticoat that hung in the air. I've got such an idea. Tell it us after breakfast, said Kathleen, as the water in the basin began to splash about, and to drip from nowhere back into itself. And oh, I do wish you hadn't ridden such whoppers to your aunt. I'm sure we oughtn't to tell lies for anything. What's the use of telling the truth if nobody believes you? came from among the splashes. I don't know, said Kathleen, but I'm sure we ought to tell the truth. You can, if you like, said a voice from the folds of a towel that waved lonely in front of the wash-hand stand. All right, we will then, first thing after breakfast. You're back, I mean. You'll have to wait up here till we can call or something and bring it up to you. Mind you dodge Eliza when she comes to make the bed. The invisible Mabel found this a fairly amusing game. She further enlivened it by twitching out the corners of tucked-up sheets and blankets when Eliza wasn't looking. Trap the clothes, said Eliza, and he wouldn't think that things was bewitched. She looked about for the wonderful princess clothes she had glimpsed earlier in the morning. But Kathleen had hidden them in a perfectly safe place under the mattress which she knew Eliza never turned. Eliza hastily brushed up from the floor those bits of fluff which come from goodness-nose wear in the best regulated houses. Mabel, very hungry and exasperated at the long absence of the others at their breakfast, could not forbear to whisper suddenly in Eliza's ear, Always sweep under the mats! The maid started and turned pale. I must be going silly, she murmured, though it's just what Mother always used to say. Hope I ain't going doddy like Aunt Emily. Wonderful what you can fancy, ain't it? She took up the hearth rug all the same, swept under it and under the fender. So thorough was she and so pale that Kathleen, entering with a chunk of bread raided by Gerald from the pantry window, exclaimed, Not done yet. I say, Eliza, you do look ill. What's the matter? I thought I'd give the room a good turnout, said Eliza, still very pale. Nothing's happened to upset you, Kathleen asked. She had her own private fears. Nothing only my fancy, Miss, said Eliza. I always was fanciful from a child, dreaming of the pearly gates and them little angels with nothing on, only their heads and wings, so cheap to dress I always think compared with children. When she was got rid of, Mabel ate the bread and drank water from the tooth-mug. I'm afraid it tastes of cherry toothpaste, rather, said Kathleen apologetically. It doesn't matter, a voice replied from the tilted mug. It's more interesting than water. I should think red wine in balance was rather like this. You've got leave for the day again, said Kathleen, when the last bit of bread had vanished, and Gerald feels like I do about lies, so we're going to tell your aunt where you really are. She won't believe you. That doesn't matter if we speak the truth, said Kathleen primely. I expect you'll be sorry for it, said Mabel, but come on. And I say do be careful not to shut me in the door as you go out, you nearly did just now. In the blazing sunlight that flooded the high street, four shadows to three children seemed dangerously noticeable. A butcher's boy looked far too earnestly at the extra shadow, and his big, liver-colored lurcher snuffed at the legs of that shadow's mistress, and whined uncomfortably. Get behind me, said Kathleen, then our two shadows will look like one. But Mabel's shadow, very visible, fell on Kathleen's back, and the Osler of the Davenant Arms looked up to see what big bird had cast that big shadow. A woman driving a cart with chickens and ducks in it called out, Hello, Missy! Ain't you black your back, neither? What you been leaning up against? Everyone was glad when they got out of the town. Speaking the truth to Mabel's aunt did not turn out at all as anyone, even Mabel expected. The aunt was discovered reading a pink novelette at the window of the housekeeper's room, which, framed in clematis and green creepers, looked out on a nice little courtyard to which Mabel led the party. Excuse me, said Gerald, but I believe you've lost your niece? Not lost, my boy, said the aunt, who was spare and tall, with a drab fringe and a very gentile voice. We could tell you something about her, said Gerald. Now, replied the aunt in a warning voice, no complaints, please. My niece has gone, and I am sure no one thinks less than I do of her little pranks. If she's played any tricks on you, it's only her light-hearted way. Go away, children, I'm busy. Did you get her note? asked Kathleen. The aunt showed rather more interest than before, but she still kept her finger in the novelette. Oh, she said, so you witnessed her departure. Did she seem glad to go? Quite, said Gerald truthfully. Then I can only be glad that she is provided for, said the aunt. I daresay you were surprised. These romantic adventures do occur in our family. Lord Yalding selected me out of eleven applicants for the post of housekeeper here. I've not the slightest doubt the child was changed at birth, and her rich relatives have claimed her. But aren't you going to do anything? Tell the police, or... Sh, said Mabel. I won't sh, said Jimmy. Your Mabel's invisible. That's all it is. She's just beside me now. I detest untruthfulness, said the aunt severely, in all its forms. Will you kindly take that little boy away? I am quite satisfied about Mabel. Well, said Gerald, you are an aunt, and no mistake. But what will Mabel's father and mother say? Mabel's father and mother are dead, said the aunt calmly, and a little sob sounded close to Gerald's ear. All right, he said. We'll be off, but don't you go saying we didn't tell you the truth. That's all. You have told me nothing, said the aunt. None of you except that little boy who has told me a silly falsehood. We meant well, said Gerald gently. You don't mind her having come through the grounds, do you? We're very careful not to touch anything. No visitors are allowed, said the aunt, glancing down at her novel rather impatiently. Ah, but you wouldn't count us visitors, said Gerald in his best manner. We're friends of Mabel's, our father's Colonel of the Blankth. Indeed, said the aunt, and our aunt's lady Sandling, so you can be sure we wouldn't hurt anything on the estate. I'm sure you wouldn't hurt a fly, said the aunt absently. Goodbye, be good children. And on this they got away quickly. Why, said Gerald, when they were outside the little court, your aunt says mad as a hatter, fancy not caring what becomes of you, and fancy believing that rot about the motor-lady. I knew she'd believe it when I wrote it, said Mabel modestly. She's not mad, only she's always reading novelettes. I read the books in the big library. Oh, it's such a jolly room, such a queer smell like boots, and old leather books sort of powdery at the edges. I'll take you there someday. Now, your consciences are all right about my aunt. I'll tell you my great idea. Let's get down to the Temple of Flora. I'm glad you got aunt's permission for the grounds. It would be so awkward for you to have to be always dodging behind bushes when one of the gardeners came along. Yes, said Gerald modestly, I thought of that. The day was as bright as yesterday had been. And from the white marble temple, the Italian-looking landscape looked more than ever like a steel engraving colored by hand, or an oleographic imitation of one of Turner's pictures. When the three children were comfortably settled on the steps that led up to the white statue, the voice of the fourth child said sadly, I'm not ungrateful, but I'm rather hungry, and you can't be always taking things for me through your larder window. If you like, I'll go back and live in the castle. It's supposed to be haunted. I suppose I could haunt it as well as anyone else. I am sort of a ghost now, you know. I will if you like. Oh, no, said Kathleen kindly, you must stay with us. But about food, I'm not ungrateful really, I'm not, but breakfast is only breakfast, and bread's only bread. If you could get the ring off, you could go back. Yes, said Mabel's voice, but you see, I can't. I tried again last night in bed and again this morning. And it's like stealing, taking things out of your larder, even if it's only bread. Yes, it is, said Gerald, who had carried out this bold enterprise. Well now, what we must do is to earn some money. Jimmy remarked that this was all very well, but Gerald and Kathleen listened attentively. What I mean to say, the voice went on, I'm really sure is all for the best me being invisible. We shall have adventures, you see if we don't. Adventures, said the bold buccaneer, are not always profitable. It was Gerald who murmured this. This one will be anyhow you see, only you mustn't all go. Look here, if Jerry could make himself look common. That ought to be easy, said Jimmy, and Kathleen told him not to be so jolly disagreeable. I'm not, said Jimmy, only— only he has an inside feeling that this Mabel of yours is going to get us into trouble, put in Gerald, like Lebel-Dame Sons-Merci, and he does not want to be found in future ages alone and palely loitering in the middle of sedge and things. I won't get you into trouble, indeed I won't," said the voice. Why, we're a band of brothers for life, after the way you stood by me yesterday. What I mean is, Gerald can go to the fair and do conjuring. He doesn't know any, said Kathleen. I should do it really, said Mabel, but Jerry could look like doing it, move things without touching them and all that. But it wouldn't do for all three of you to go. The more there are of children, the younger they look, I think, and the more people wonder what they're doing all alone by themselves. The accomplished conjurer deemed these the words of wisdom, said Gerald, and answered the dismal, well, what about us, of his brother and sister, by suggesting that they should mingle unsuspected with the crowd. But don't let on that you know me, he said, and try to look as if you belonged to some of the grown-ups at the fair. If you don't, as likely as not, you'll have the kind policemen taking the little lost children by the hand and leading them home to their stricken relations. French governess, I mean. Let's go now, said the voice, that they never could get quite used to hearing, coming out of different parts of the air, as Mabel moved from one place to another. So they went. The fair was held on a waste bit of land, about half a mile from the castle gates. When they got near enough to hear the steam organ of the merry-go-round, Gerald suggested that, as he had nine pence, he should go ahead and get something to eat, the amount spent to be paid back out of any money they might make by conjuring. The others waited in the shadows of a deep banked lane, and he came back quite soon, though long after they had begun to say what a long time he had been gone. He brought some Barcelona nuts, red streaked apples, small sweet yellow pears, pale pasty gingerbread, a whole quarter of a pound of peppermint bullseyes, and two bottles of ginger beer. It's what they call an investment, he said, when Kathleen said something about extravagance. We shall all need special nourishing to keep our strength up, especially the bold conjurer. They ate and drank. It was a very beautiful meal, and the far-off music of the steam organ added the last touch of festivity to the scene. The boys were never tired of seeing Mabel eat, or rather of seeing the strange, magic-looking vanishment of food, which was all that showed of Mabel's eating. They were entranced by the spectacle, and pressed on her more than her just share of the feast, just for the pleasure of seeing it disappear. My aunt, said Gerald again and again, that ought to knock him. It did. Jimmy and Kathleen had the start of the others, and when they got to the fair, they mingled with the crowd, and were as unsuspected as possible. They stood near a large lady who was watching the coconut chies, and presently saw a strange figure with his hands in his pockets strolling across the trampled yellowy grass, among the bits of drifting paper, and the sticks and straws that always litter the ground of an English fair. It was Gerald, but at first they hardly knew him. He had taken off his tie, and round his head, arranged like a turban, was the crimson school scarf that had supported his white flannels. The tie, when supposed, had taken on the duties of the handkerchief, and his face and hands were a bright black, like very nicely polished stoves. Everyone turned to look at him. He's just like a conjurer, whispered Jimmy. I don't suppose it'll ever come off, do you? They followed him at a distance, and when he went close to the door of a small tent, against whose doorpost a long-faced melancholy woman was lounging, they stopped and tried to look as though they belonged to a farmer who strove to send up a number by banging with a big mallet on a wooden block. Gerald went up to the woman. "'Taken much?' he asked, and was told, but not harshly, to go away with his impudence. "'I'm in business myself,' said Gerald. "'I'm a conjurer from India.' "'Not you,' said the woman. "'You ain't no conjurer. Why, the backs of your ears is all white.' "'Are they?' said Gerald. "'How clever of you to see that!' He rubbed them with his hands. "'That better?' "'That's all right. What's your little game?' "'Conduring really and truly,' said Gerald. "'There's smaller boys than me put onto it in India.' "'Look here, I owe you one for telling me about my ears. If you like to run the show for me, I'll go shares. Let me have your tent to perform in, and you do the patter at the door.' "'Lord, I love you. I can't do no patter. And you're getting at me. Let's see you do a bit of conjurings as you're so clever and all.' "'Right you are,' said Gerald firmly. "'You see this apple?' "'Well, I'll make it move slowly through the air. And then, when I say go, it'll vanish.' "'Yes, into your mouth. Get away with your nonsense.' "'You're too clever to be so unbelieving,' said Gerald. "'Look here.' He held out one of the little apples, and the woman saw it move slowly and unsupported along the air. "'Now go,' cried Gerald to the apple, and it went. "'How's that?' he asked in tones of triumph. The woman was glowing with excitement, and her eyes shone. "'The best I ever see,' she whispered. "'I'm onmate if you know any more tricks like that.' "'Heaps,' said Gerald confidently. Hold out your hand.' The woman held it out, and from nowhere, as it seemed, the apple appeared and was laid on her hand. The apple was rather damp.' She looked at it a moment and then whispered, "'Come on. There's to be no one in it but just us two. But not in the tent. You take a pitch here alongside the tent. It's worth twice the money in the open air. But people won't pay if they can see it all for nothing. Not for the first turn, but they will after. "'You see. And you'll have to do the patter.' "'Will you lend me your shawl?' Gerald asked. She unpinned it. It was a red and black plaid. And he spread it on the ground, as he had seen Indian conjurers do, and seated himself cross-legged behind it. "'I mustn't have anyone behind me. That's all,' he said. And the woman hastily screened off a little enclosure for him by hanging old sacks to two of the guy ropes of the tent. "'Now I'm ready,' he said. The woman got a drum from the inside of the tent and beat it. Quite soon a little crowd had collected. "'Ladies and gentlemen,' said Gerald, "'I come from India and I can do a conjuring entertainment the like of which you've never seen. When I see two shillings on the shawl, I'll begin. "'I dare say you will,' said a bystander. And there were several short, disagreeable laughs. "'Of course,' said Gerald, "'if you can't afford two shillings between you.' There were about thirty people in the crowd by now. I say no more.' Two or three pennies fell on the shawl. Then a few more. Then the fall of copper ceased. "'Nine pence,' said Gerald. "'Well, I've got a generous nature. You'll get such a nine-penny worth as you've never had before. I don't wish to deceive you. I have an accomplice. But my accomplice is invisible.' The crowd snorted. "'By the aid of that accomplice,' Gerald went on, I will read any letter that any of you may have in your pocket. If one of you will just step over the rope and stand beside me, my invisible accomplice will read that letter over his shoulder.' A man stepped forward, a ruddy-faced, horsey-looking person. He pulled a letter from his pocket and stood in the plain sight of all, in a place where everyone saw that no one could see over his shoulder. "'Now,' said Gerald. There was a moment's pause. Then, from quite the other side of the enclosure, came a faint, far-away, sing-song voice. It said, "'Sir, yours of the fifteenth do lead to hand. With regard to the mortgage on your land, we regret our inability.' "'Stow it!' cried the man, turning threateningly on Gerald.' He stepped out of the enclosure, explaining that there was nothing of that sort in his letter. But nobody believed him. And a buzz of interested chatter began in the crowd, ceasing abruptly when Gerald began to speak. "'Now,' he said, laying the nine pennies down on the shawl, you keep your eyes on those pennies, and one by one you'll see them disappear. And, of course, they did. Then, one by one, they were laid down again by the invisible hand of Mabel. The crowd clapped loudly. "'Bravo! That's something like... Show us another!' cried the people in the front rank. And those behind pushed forward. "'Now,' said Gerald, you've seen what I can do, but I don't do any more till I see five shillings on this carpet.' And in two minutes, seven and three penns lay there. And Gerald did a little more conjuring. When the people in front didn't want to give any more money, Gerald asked them to stand back and let the others have a look in. I wish I had time to tell you of all the tricks he did. The grass round his enclosure was absolutely trampled off by the feet of the people who thronged to look at him. There is really hardly any limit to the wonders you can do if you have an invisible accomplice. All sorts of things were made to move about, apparently by themselves, and even to vanish into the folds of Mabel's clothing. The woman stood by, looking more and more pleasant as she saw the money come tumbling in and beating her shabby drum every time Gerald stopped conjuring. The news of the conjurer had spread all over the fair. The crowd was frantic with admiration. The man who ran the coconut chies begged Gerald to throw in his lot with him. The owner of the rifle gallery offered him free board and lodging and goat shares. And a brisk broad lady in stiff black silk and a violet bonnet tried to engage him for the forthcoming bizarre-for-reformed bansman. And all this time the others mingled with the crowd, quite unobserved, for who could have eyes for anyone but Gerald? It was getting quite late, long past tea-time, and Gerald, who was getting very tired indeed and was quite satisfied with his share of the money, was racking his brains for a way to get out of it. How are we to hook it, he murmured, as Mabel made his cap disappear from his head by the simple process of taking it off and putting it in her pocket? They'll never let us get away. I didn't think of that before. Let me think, whispered Mabel. And next moment she said, close to his ear, divide the money and give her something for the shawl. Put the money on it and say... She told him what to say. Gerald's pitch was in the shade of the tent. Otherwise, of course, everyone would have seen the shadow of the invisible Mabel, as she moved about making things vanish. Gerald told the woman to divide the money, which she did honestly enough. Now, he said, while the impatient crowd pressed closer and closer, I'll give you five bob for your shawl. Seven and six, said the woman mechanically. Righto, said Gerald, putting his heavy share of the money in his trouser pocket. This shawl will now disappear, he said, picking it up. He handed it to Mabel, who put it on. And, of course, it disappeared. A roar of applause went up from the audience. Now, he said, I come to the last trick of all. I shall take three steps backward and vanish. He took three steps backwards. Mabel wrapped the invisible shawl around him, and he did not vanish. The shawl, being invisible, did not conceal him in the least. Yeah, cried a boy's voice in the crowd. Look at him. He knows he can't do it. I wish I could put you in my pocket, said Mabel. The crowd was crowding closer. At any moment they might touch Mabel, and then anything might happen. Simply anything. Gerald took hold of his hair with both hands, as his way was when he was anxious or discouraged. Mabel, in invisibility, wrung her hands as people are said to do in books. That is, she clasped them and squeezed very tight. Oh, she whispered suddenly, it's loose, I can get it off. Not, yes, the ring. Come on, young master, give us some up for our money. A farm laborer shouted. I will, said Gerald, this time I really will vanish. Slip round into the tent, he whispered to Mabel, push the ring under the canvas, then slip out at the back and join the others. When I see you with them I'll disappear. Go slow and I'll catch you up. It's me, said a pale and obvious Mabel in the ear of Kathleen. He's got the ring. Come on, before the crowd begins to scatter. As they went out of the gate, they heard a roar of surprise and annoyance rise from the crowd, and knew that this time Gerald really had disappeared. They had gone a mile before they heard footsteps on the road, and looked back. No one was to be seen. Next moment Gerald's voice spoke out of clear, empty looking space. Hello, it said gloomily. How horrid, cried Mabel, you did make me jump. Take the ring off, it makes me feel quite creepy, you being nothing but a voice. So did you, us, said Jimmy. Don't take it off yet, said Kathleen, who was really rather thoughtful for her age, because you're still black, I suppose, and you might be recognized and eloped with by gypsies so that you should go on doing conjuring forever and ever. I should take it off, said Jimmy. It's no use going about invisible, and people seeing us with Mabel and saying we've eloped with her. Yes, said Mabel impatiently, that would be simply silly, and besides I want my ring. It's not yours any more than ours anyhow, said Jimmy. Yes, it is, said Mabel. Oh, stow it, said the weary voice of Gerald Besider. What's the use of jawing? I want the ring, said Mabel, rather mullishly. What? The words came out of the still evening air. What must be your master? You can't have the ring. I can't get it off. End of chapter 3. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to find out how you can volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Enchanted Castle by E. Nesbitt. Recorded by Peter Eastman. Chapter 4. The difficulty was not only that Gerald had got the ring on and couldn't get it off and was therefore invisible, but that Mabel, who had been invisible and therefore possible to be smuggled into the house, was now plain to be seen and impossible for smuggling purposes. The children would have not only to account for the apparent absence of one of themselves, but for the obvious presence of a perfect stranger. I can't go back to aunt. I can't and I won't, said Mabel firmly, not if I was visible twenty times over. She'd smell a rat if you did, Gerald owned, about the motor-car, I mean, and the adopting lady, and what where to say to Mademoiselle about you?" He tugged at the ring. Suppose you told the truth, said Mabel, meaningly. She wouldn't believe it, said Kathy, or if she did, she'd go stark, staring, raving mad. No, said Gerald's voice, we dare not tell her, but she's really rather decent. Let's ask her to let you stay the night because it's too late for you to get home. That's all right, said Jimmy, but what about you? I shall go to bed, said Gerald, with a bad headache. Oh, that's not a lie, I've got one right enough. It's the sun, I think. I know Black Lead attracts the concentration of the sun. More likely the pair is in the gingerbread, said Jimmy unkindly. Well, let's get along. I wish it was me who was invisible. I'd do something different from going to bed with a silly headache. I know that. What would you do? Asked the voice of Gerald just behind him. Do keep in one place, you silly cuckoo, said Jimmy. You make me feel all jumpy. He had indeed jumped rather violently. Here, walk between Kathy and me. What would you do? Repeated Gerald, from that apparently unoccupied position. I'd be a burglar, said Jimmy. Kathy and Mabel, in one breath, reminded him how wrong burgling was, and Jimmy replied, Well then, a detective. There's got to be something to detect before you can begin detectiving, said Mabel. Detectives don't always detect things, said Jimmy, very truly. If I couldn't be any other kind, I'd be a baffled detective. You could be one all right and have no end of larks just the same. Why don't you do it? It's exactly what I am going to do, said Gerald. We'll go round by the police station and see what they've got in the way of crimes. They did, and read the notices on the board outside. Two dogs had been lost, a purse and a portfolio of papers, of no value to any but the owner. Also, Houghton Grange had been broken into and a quantity of silver plate stolen. Twenty pounds reward offered for any information that may lead to the recovery of the missing property. That burglar's my lay, said Gerald. I'll detect that. Here comes Johnson, he added. He's going off duty, ask him about it. The fell detective, being invisible, was unable to pump the constable. But the younger brother of our hero made the inquiries in quite a creditable manner. Be creditable, Jimmy. Jimmy hailed the constable. Hello, Johnson, he said. And Johnson replied. Hello, young Shaver. Shaver yourself, said Jimmy, but without malice. What are you doing this time of night? The constable asked jocosely. All the little dickie birds has gone to their little nest as is. We've been to the fair, said Kathleen. There was a conjurer there. I wish you could have seen him. Heard about him, said Johnson. All fake you know. The quickness of the and deceives the high. Such is fame. Gerald, standing in the shadow, jingled the loose money in his pocket to console himself. What's that? The policeman asked quickly. Our money jingling, said Jimmy, with perfect truth. It's well to be some people, Johnson remarked. Wish I got my pockets full to jingle with. Well, why haven't you? Asked Mabel. Why don't you get that twenty pounds reward? I'll tell you why I don't. Because in this year realm of liberty and Britannia ruling the waves, you ain't allowed to arrest a chap on suspicion. Even if you know perfectly well who done the job. What a shame, said Jimmy warmly. And who do you think did it? I don't think. I know. Johnson's voice was ponderous as his boots. It's a man what's known to the police on account of a heap of crimes he's done. But we never can't bring it home to him nor yet get sufficient evidence to convict. Well, said Jimmy, when I've left school I'll come to you and be apprenticed and be a detective. Just now I think we'd better get home and detect our supper. Good night. They watched the policeman's broad form disappear through the swing door of the police station. And as it settled itself into quiet again, the voice of Gerald was heard complaining bitterly. You've no more brains than a half penny bun, he said. No details about how and when the silver was taken. But he told us he knew. Jimmy urged. Yes, that's all you've got out of him. A silly policeman silly idea. Go home and detect your precious supper. That's all you're fit for. What'll you do about supper? Mabel asked. Buns, said Gerald. Half penny buns. Don't make me think of my dear little brother and sister. Perhaps you've got sense to buy buns. I can't go into a shop in this state. Don't you be so disagreeable, said Mabel with spirit. We did our best. If I were Kathy you should whistle for your nasty buns. If you were Kathy the gallant young detective would have left home long ago. Better the cabin of a tramp steamer than the best family mansion that's got a brawling sister in it. Said Gerald. You are a bit of an outsider at present, my gentle maiden. Jimmy and Kathy know well enough when their bold leader is chafing and when he isn't. Not when we can't see your face we don't, said Kathy in tones of relief. I really thought you were in a flaring wax, and so did Jimmy, didn't you? Oh, rot, said Gerald. Come on, this way to the bun shop. They went. And it was while Kathy and Jimmy were in the shop, and the others were gazing through the glass at the jam tarts and Swiss rolls and Victoria sandwiches and bath buns under the spread yellow muslin in the window, that Gerald discoursed in Mabel's ear of the plans and hopes of one entering on a detective career. I shall keep my eyes open tonight, I can tell you, he began. I shall keep my eyes skinned in no jolly air. The invisible detective may not only find out about the purse and the silver, but detect some crime that isn't even done yet, and I shall hang about until I see some suspicious-looking characters leave the town and follow them furtively and catch them red-handed with their hands full of priceless jewels and hand them over. Oh, cried Mabel, so sharply and suddenly the Gerald was roused from his dream to express sympathy. Pain, he said quite kindly, it's the apples, they were rather hard. Oh, it's not that, said Mabel, very earnestly. Oh, how awful, I never thought of that before. Never thought of what, Gerald asked impatiently. The window. What window? The paneled room window, at home you know, at the castle. That settles it, I must go home. We left it open, and the shutters as well, and all the jewels and things there. Auntie'll never go in, she never does. That settles it, I must go home. Now, this minute. Here the others issued from the shop, bun-bearing, and the situation was hastily explained to them. So you see, I must go, Mabel ended. And Kathleen agreed that she must. But Jimmy said he didn't see what good it would do. Because the key's inside the door anyhow. She will be cross, said Mabel sadly. She'll have to get the gardeners to get a ladder and Hooray, said Gerald, here's me. Nobler and more secret than gardeners and ladders was the invisible Jerry. I'll climb in at the window. It's all ivy, I know I could. And shut the window and the shutters all sereno. Put the key back on the nail and slip out unperceived the back way, threading my way through the maze of unconscious retainers. There'll be plenty of time. I don't suppose burglars begin their fell work until the night is far advanced. Won't you be afraid? Mabel asked. Will it be safe? Suppose you were caught. As houses I can't be, Gerald answered, and wondered that the question came from Mabel and not from Kathleen, who was usually inclined to fuss a little annoyingly about the danger and folly of adventures. But all Kathleen said was, Well, good-bye. We'll come and see you tomorrow, Mabel, the floral temple at half past ten. I hope you won't get into an awful row about the motor-car, lady. Let's detect our supper now, said Jimmy. All right, said Gerald a little bitterly. It is hard to enter on an adventure like this and to find the sympathetic interest of years suddenly cut off at the meter as it were. Gerald felt that he ought, at a time like this, to have been the centre of interest. And he wasn't. They could actually talk about supper. Well, let them. He didn't care. He spoke with sharp sternness. Leave the pantry window undone for me to get in by when I've done my detecting. Come on, Mabel. He caught her hand. Bags eye the buns, though, he added by a happy afterthought, and snatching the bag, pressed it on Mabel. And the sound of four boots echoed on the pavement of the high street as the outlines of the running Mabel grew small with distance. Mademoiselle was in the drawing-room. She was sitting by the window in the waning light, reading letters. Ah, v'voici! She said, unintelligibly, you are again late, and my little Gerald, where is he? This was an awful moment. Jimmy's detective scheme had not included any answer to this inevitable question. The silence was unbroken till Jimmy spoke. He said he was going to bed because he had a headache. And this, of course, was true. This poor Gerald, said Mademoiselle, he said that I should mount him some supper. He never eats anything when he's got one of his headaches, Kathleen said, and this also was the truth. Jimmy and Kathleen went to bed, wholly untroubled by anxiety about their brother. And Mademoiselle pulled out the bundle of letters and read them amid the ruins of the simple supper. It is ripping being out late like this, said Gerald through the soft summer dusk. Yes, said Mabel, a solitary-looking figure plodding along the high road. I do hope Auntie won't be very furious. Have another bun, suggested Gerald kindly, and a sociable munching followed. It was the aunt herself who opened to a very pale and trembling Mabel, the door which is appointed to the entrances and exits of the domestic staff at Yalding Towers. She looked over Mabel's head first, as if she expected to see someone taller. Then a very small voice said, Aunt? The aunt started back, then made a step towards Mabel. You naughty, naughty girl! She cried angrily, how could you give me such a fright? I have a good mind to keep you in bed for a week for this, Miss. Oh, Mabel, thank heaven, you're safe. And with that the aunt's arms went round Mabel and Mabel's round the aunt in such a hug as they had never met in before. But you didn't seem to care a bit this morning, said Mabel, when she had realized that her aunt really had been anxious, really was glad to have her safe home again. How do you know? I was there listening. Don't be angry, Auntie. I feel as if I could never be angry with you again. Now I've got you safe," said the aunt surprisingly. But how was it, Mabel asked? My dear, said the aunt impressively, I've been in a sort of trance. I think I must be going to be ill. I've always been fond of you, but I didn't want to spoil you. But yesterday, about half past three, I was thinking about you to Mr. Lewison at the fair, and quite suddenly I felt as if you didn't matter at all. And I felt the same when I got your letter and when those children came. And today, in the middle of tea, I suddenly woke up and realized that you were gone. It was awful. I think I must be going to be ill. Oh, Mabel, why did you do it? It was a joke," said Mabel feebly. And then the two went in, and the door was shut. That's most uncommon odd, said Gerald outside. Looks like more magic to me. I don't feel as if we'd got to the bottom of this yet by any manner of means. There's more about this castle than meets the eye. There certainly was, for this castle happened to be. But it would not be fair to Gerald to tell you more about it than he knew on that night when he went alone and invisible through the shadowy great grounds of it to look for the open window of the paneled room. He knew that night no more than I have told you. But as he went along the dewy lawns and through the groups of shrubs and trees where pools lay like giant looking glasses reflecting the quiet stars and the white limbs of statues gleamed against a background of shadow, he began to feel, well, not excited, not surprised, not anxious, but different. The incident of the invisible princess had surprised, the incident of the conjuring had excited, and the sudden decision to be a detective had brought its own anxieties. But all these happenings, though wonderful and unusual, have seemed to be, after all, inside the circle of possible things. Wonderful as the chemical experiments are where two liquids poured together make fire, surprising as leisure domain, thrilling as a juggler's display, but nothing more. Only now a new feeling came to him as he walked through those gardens. By day those gardens were like dreams, at night they were like visions. He could not see his feet as he walked, but he saw the movement of the dewy grass blades that his feet displaced, and he had that extraordinary feeling so difficult to describe and yet so real and so unforgettable, the feeling that he was in another world that had covered up and hidden the old world as a carpet covers a floor. The floor was there all right underneath, but what he walked on was the carpet that covered it, and that carpet was drenched in magic as the turf was drenched in dew. The feeling was very wonderful. Perhaps you will feel it some day. There are still some places in the world where it can be felt, but they grow fewer every year. The enchantment of the garden held him. I'll not go in yet, he told himself. It's too early, and perhaps I shall never be here at night again. I suppose it is the night that makes everything look so different. Something white moved under a weeping willow. White hands parted the long rustling leaves. A white figure came out, a creature with horns and goat's legs, and the head and arms of a boy. And Gerald was not afraid. That was the most wonderful thing of all, though he would never have owned it. The white thing stretched its limbs, rolled on the grass, righted itself and frisked away across the lawn. Still something white gleamed under the willow. Three steps nearer, Gerald saw that it was the pedestal of a statue. Empty. They come alive, he said, and another white shape came out of the temple of Flora and disappeared in the laurels. The statues come alive. There was a crunching of the little stones in the gravel of the drive. Something enormously long and darkly gray came crawling towards him, slowly, heavily. The moon came out just in time to show its shape. It was one of those great lizards that you see at the Crystal Palace, made in stone, of the same awful size which they were millions of years ago when they were masters of the world before man was. It can't see me, said Gerald. I am not afraid. It's come to life too. As it writhed past him he reached out a hand and touched the side of its gigantic tail. It was of stone. It had not come alive, as he had fancied, but was alive in its stone. It turned, however, at the touch. But Gerald also had turned and was running with all his speed towards the house. Because at that stony touch fear had come into the garden and almost caught him. It was fear that he ran from and not the moving stone beast. He stood panting under the fifth window. When he had climbed to the window ledge by the twisted ivy that clung to the wall he looked back over the gray slope. There was splashing at the fish pool that had mirrored the stars. The shape of the great stone beast was wallowing in the shallows among the lily pads. Once inside the room Gerald turned for another look. The fish pond lay still and dark reflecting the moon. Through a gap in the drooping willow the moonlight fell on a statue that stood calm and motionless on its pedestal. Everything was in its place now in the garden. Nothing moved or stirred. How extraordinarily wrong! said Gerald. I shouldn't have thought you could go to sleep walking through a garden and dream. Like that! He shut the window, lit a match, and closed the shutters. Another match showed him the door. He turned the key, went out, locked the door again, hung the key on its usual nail and crept to the end of the passage. Here he waited, safe in his invisibility, till the dazzle of the matches should have gone from his eyes, and he be once more able to find his way by the moonlight that fell in bright patches on the floor through the barred, unshuttered windows of the hall. Wonder where the kitchen is? said Gerald. He had quite forgotten that he was a detective. He was only anxious to get home and tell the others about that extraordinarily odd dream that he had had in the gardens. I suppose it doesn't matter what doors I open. I'm invisible all right still, I suppose. Yes, can't see my hand before my face. He held up a hand for the purpose. Here goes. He opened many doors, wandered into long rooms with furniture dressed in round holland covers that looked white in that strange light. Rooms with chandeliers hanging in big bags from the high ceilings. Rooms whose walls were alive with pictures. Rooms whose walls were deadened with rows on rows of old books. State bedrooms in whose great plumed four posters Queen Elizabeth had no doubt slept. That queen, by the way, must have been very little at home for she seems to have slept in every old house in England. But he could not find the kitchen. At last a door opened on stone steps that went up. There was a narrow stone passage. Steps that went down. A door with a light under it. It was somehow difficult to put one's hand to that door and open it. Nonsense, Gerald told himself. Don't be an ass. Are you invisible or aren't you? Then he opened the door and someone inside said something in a sudden rough growl. Gerald stood back, flattened against the wall as a man sprang to the doorway and flashed a lantern into the passage. All right, said the man with almost a sob of relief. It was only the door swung open. It's that heavy. That's all. Blow the door! Said another growling voice. Blessed if I didn't think it was a fair cop that time. They closed the door again. Gerald did not mind. In fact he rather preferred that it should be so. He didn't like the look of those men. There was an air of threat about them. In their presence even invisibility seemed too thin a disguise. And Gerald had seen as much as he wanted to see. He had seen that he had been right about the gang. By wonderful luck, beginner's luck a card player would have told him, he had discovered a burglary on the very first night of his detective career. The men were taking silver out of two great chests, wrapping it in rags, and packing it in bays sacks. The door of the room was of iron six inches thick. It was, in fact, the strong room, and these men had picked the lock. The tools they had done it with lay on the floor, on a neat cloth roll, such as wood carvers keep their chisels in. Hurry up, Gerald heard. You needn't take all night over it. The silver rattled slightly. You're a rattling of them trays like blooming castanets, said the gruffest voice. Gerald turned and went away very carefully and very quickly. And it is a most curious thing that though he couldn't find the way to the servant's wing when he had nothing else to think of, yet now, with his mind full, so to speak, of silver forks and silver cups, and the question of who might be coming after him down those twisting passages, he went straight as an arrow to the door that led from the hall to the place he wanted to get to. As he went, the happenings took words in his mind. The fortunate detective, he told himself, having succeeded beyond his wildest dreams, himself left the spot in search of assistance. But what assistance? There were no doubt men in the house, also the aunt, but he could not warn them. He was too hopelessly invisible to carry any weight with strangers. The assistance of Mabel would not be of much value. The police? Before they could be got, and the getting of them presented difficulties, others would have cleared away with their sacks of silver. Gerald stopped and thought hard. He held his head with both hands to do it. You know the way, the same as you sometimes do for simple equations, or the dates of the battles of the Civil War. Then, with pencil, notebook, a window ledge, and all the cleverness he could find at the moment, he wrote, Know the room where the silver is. Burglars are burgling it. The thick door is picked. Send a man for police. I will follow the burglars if they get away ere police arrive on the spot. He hesitated a moment and ended. From a friend, this is not a prank. This letter, tied tightly round a stone by means of a shoelace, thundered through the window of the room where Mabel and her aunt, the ardour of reunion, were enjoying a supper of unusual charm. Stewed plums, cream, sponge cake, custarding cups, and cold bread and butter pudding. Gerald, in hungry invisibility, looked wistfully at the supper before he threw the stone. He waited till the shrieks had died away, saw the stone picked up, the warning letter read. Nonsense, said the aunt, growing calmer. How wicked! Of course it's a hoax. Oh, do send for the police, like he says, wailed Mabel. Like who says? snapped the aunt. Whoever it is, Mabel moaned. Send for the police at once, said Gerald outside, in the manliest voice he could find. You'll only blame yourself if you don't. I can't do any more for you. I'll set the dogs on you, cried the aunt. Oh, aunt, he don't. Mabel was dancing with agitation. It's true, I know it's true. Do wake, Bates. I don't believe a word of it, said the aunt. No more did Bates, when owing to Mabel's persistent worryings, he was awakened. But, when he had seen the paper, and had to choose whether he'd go to the strong room and see that there really wasn't anything to believe, or go for the police on his bicycle, he chose the latter course. When the police arrived, the strong room door stood ajar, and the silver, or as much of it as the three men could carry, was gone. Gerald's notebook and pencil came into play again later on that night. It was five in the morning before he crept into bed, tired out and cold as a stone. Master Gerald! It was Eliza's voice in his ears. It's seven o'clock in another fine day, and there's been another burglary. My cat's alive! She screamed as she drew up the blind and turned towards the bed. Look at his bed, all crocked with black and him not there. Oh, chimney! It was a scream this time. Kathleen came running from her room. Jimmy sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes. Whatever is it? Kathleen cried. I don't know when I add such a turn. Eliza sat down heavily on a box as she spoke. First thing, his bed all empty and black is the chimney back and him not in it. And then when I look again, he is in it all the time. I must be going silly. I thought as much when I heard them haunting angel voices yesterday morning. But I'll tell Mam Zell of you my lad with your tricks. You may rely on that, blacken yourself all over and crock up your clean sheets and pillowcases. It's going back of beyond this is. Look here, said Gerald slowly. I'm going to tell you something. Eliza simply snorted, and that was rude of her. But then she had had a shock and had not got over it. Can you keep a secret? asked Gerald, very earnest through the grey of his partly rubbed off black lead. Yes, said Eliza. Then keep it and I'll give you two Bob. But what was you going to tell me? That about the two Bob and the secret and you keep your mouth shut. I didn't ought to take it, said Eliza holding out her hand eagerly. Now you get up and might you wash all the corners, Master Gerald. Oh, I'm so glad you're safe, said Kathleen when Eliza had gone. You didn't seem to care much last night, said Gerald coldly. I can't think how I'd let you go. I didn't care last night, but when I woke this morning it remembered. There, that'll do. It'll come off on you, said Gerald through the reckless hugging of his sister. How did you get visible? Jimmy asked. It just happened when she called me. The ring came off. Tell us all about everything, said Kathleen. Not yet, said Gerald mysteriously. Where's the ring? Jimmy asked after breakfast. I want to have a try now. I, I forgot it, said Gerald. I expect it's in the bed somewhere. But it wasn't. Eliza had made the bed. I'll swear there ain't no ring there, she said. I should've seen it if there had been. End of chapter 4. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to find out how you can volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Enchanted Castle by E. Nesbitt. Recorded by Peter Eastman. Chapter 5 Search and research proving vain, said Gerald when every corner of the bedroom had been turned out and the ring had not been found. The noble detective hero of our tale remarked that you would have other fish to fry and half a jiff and if the rest of you want to hear about last night let's keep it till we get to Mabel, said Kathleen heroically. The assignation was ten-thirty, wasn't it? Why shouldn't Gerald gas as we go along? I don't suppose anything very much happened anyhow. This, of course, was Jimmy. That shows, remarked Gerald sweetly, you know, the melancholy Mabel will await the tryst without success as far as this one is concerned. Fish, fish, other fish, other fish I fry. He warbled to the tune of Cherry Ripe till Kathleen could have pinched him. Jimmy turned coldly away, remarking, when you've quite done. But Gerald went on singing. Where the lips of Johnson smile there's the land of Cherry Isle. Other fish, other fish, fish I fry. Stately Johnson, come and buy. How can you, asked Kathleen, be so aggravating? I don't know, said Gerald, returning to prose. Want of sleep? Or intoxication? Of success, I mean. Come where no one can hear us. Oh, come to some island where no one can hear and beware of the keyhole that's glued to an ear. He whispered, opened at the door suddenly. And there, sure enough, was Eliza, stooping without. She flicked feebly at the wainscot with the duster, but concealment was vain. You know what listeners never hear, said Jimmy severely. I didn't then, so there, said Eliza, whose listening ears were crimson. So they passed out and up the high street to sit on the churchyard wall and dangle their legs. And all the way Gerald's lips were shut into a thin obstinate line. Now, said Kathleen, oh, Cherry, don't be a goat. I'm simply dying to hear what happened. That's better, said Gerald. And he told his story. As he told it, some of the white mystery and magic of the moonlit gardens got into his voice and his words, so that when he told of the statues that came alive and the great beast that was alive through all its stone, Kathleen thrilled responsive, clutching his arm. And even Jimmy ceased to kick the wall with his bootheels and listened open-mouthed. Then came the thrilling tale of the burglars and the warning letter flung into the peaceful company of Mabel, her aunt, and the bread and butter pudding. Gerald told the story with the greatest enjoyment and such fullness of detail that the church clock chimed half past eleven, as he said. Having done all that human agency could do and further help being disparate of our gallant young detective, hello, there's Mabel. There was. The tailboard of a cart shed her almost at her feet. I couldn't wait any longer, she explained, when you didn't come and I got a lift. Has anything more happened? The burglars had gone when Bates got to the strong room. You don't mean to say all that wheeze is real, Jimmy asked. Of course it's real, said Kathleen. Go on, Jerry. He's just got to where he threw the stone into your bread and butter pudding, Mabel. Go on. Mabel climbed onto the wall. You've got visible again quicker than I did, she said. Gerald nodded and resumed. Our story must be told in as few words as possible, owing to the fish-frying taking place at twelve, and it's past the half hour now. Having left his missive to do his warning work, Gerald de Sherlock Holmes sped back, grabbed an invisibility to the spot whereby the light of their dark lanterns the burglars were still. Still burglaring with the utmost punctuality and dispatch. I didn't see any sense in running into danger, so I just waited outside the passage where the steps are. You know? Mabel nodded. Presently they came out very cautiously, of course, and looked about them. They didn't see me, so deeming themselves, unobserved they passed in silent Indian file along the passage, one of the sacks of silver grazed by front part, and out into the night. But which way? Through the little looking-glass room where you looked at yourself when you were invisible. The hero followed swiftly on his invisible tennis shoes. The three miscreants instantly sought the shelter of the groves and passed stealthily among the rhododendrons and across the park, and his voice dropped, and he looked straight before him at the pinky convolvulus, netting a heap of stones beyond the white dust of the road. The stone things that come alive, they kept looking out from between bushes and under trees, and I saw them all right, but they didn't see me. They saw the burglars, though, right enough, but the burglars couldn't see them. Run, wasn't it? The stone things? Mabel had to have them explained to her. I never saw them come alive, she said, and I've been in the gardens in the evening as often as often. I saw them, said Gerald stiffly. I know, I know. Mabel hastened to put herself right with him. What I mean to say is I shouldn't wonder if they're only visible in your invisible, the lifeness of them, I mean, not the stoniness. Gerald understood, and I'm sure I hope you do. I shouldn't wonder if you're right, he said. The castle gardens enchanted right enough, but what I should like to know is how and why. I say, come on, I've got to catch Johnson before twelve. We'll walk as far as the market, and then we'll have to run for it. But go on with the adventure, said Mabel. You can talk as we go. Oh, dude, it is so awfully thrilling. This pleased Gerald, of course. Well, I just followed, you know, like in a dream, and they got out the cavey way, you know, where we got in, and I jolly well thought I'd lost them. I had to wait till they'd moved off down the road so that they shouldn't hear me rattling the stones, and I had to tear to catch them up. I took my shoes off, I expect my stockings are done for, and I followed and followed and followed, and they went through the place where the poor people live and right down to the river, and I say, we must run for it. So the story stopped, and the running began. They caught Johnson in his own back yard, washing at a bench against his own back door. Look here, Johnson, Gerald said. Why don't you give me if I put you up to winning that fifty pounds reward? Halves, said Johnson promptly, and a clout alongside your head if you was coming any of your nonsense over me. It's not nonsense, said Gerald very impressively. If you'll let us in, I'll tell you all about it. And when you've caught the burglars and got the swag back, you just give me a quid for luck. I won't ask for more. Come along in, then, said Johnson, if the young ladies will excuse the towel. But I bet you do want something more off of me. Else why not claim the reward yourself? Great is the wisdom of Johnson. He speaks winged words. The children were all in the cottage now, and the door was shut. I want you never to let on who told you. Let them think it was your own unaided pluck and farsightedness. Sit you down, said Johnson, and if you're kidding, you'd best send the little girls home before I begin on you. I am not kidding, replied Gerald loftily, nevertheless, and anyone but a policeman would see why I don't want anyone to know it was me. I found it out at dead of night in a place where I wasn't supposed to be, and there'd be a beastly row if they found out at home about me being out nearly all night. Now do you see my bright-eyed Daisy? Johnson was now too interested, as Jimmy said afterwards, to mind what silly names he was called. He said he did see, and asked to see more. Well, don't you ask any questions, then. I'll tell you all it's good for you to know. Last night, about eleven, I was at Yalding Towers. No, it doesn't matter how I got there or what I got there for. And there was a window open, and I got in, and there was a light. And it was in the strong room, and there were three men putting silver in a bag. Was it you give the warning, and they sent for the police? Johnson was leaning eagerly forward, a hand on each knee. Yes, that was me. You can let them think it was you if you like. You were off duty, weren't you? I was, said Johnson, in the arms of Murphy. Well, the police didn't come quick enough. But I was there, a lonely detective, and I followed them. You did? And I saw them hide the booty, and I know the other stuff from Hoden Courts in the same place, and I heard them arrange about when to take it away. Come and show me where, said Johnson, jumping up so quickly that his Windsor armchair fell over backwards with a crack on the red brick floor. Not so, said Gerald Comley. If you go near the spot before the appointed time, you'll find the silver, but you'll never catch the thieves. You're right there. The policeman picked up his chair and sat down in it again. Well? Well, there's to be a motor to meet them in the lane beyond the boathouse by Sadler's rents at one o'clock tonight. They'll get the things out at half past twelve and take them along in a boat. So now's your chance to fill your pockets with chink and cover yourself with honor and glory. So help me. Johnson was pensive and doubtful still. So help me. You couldn't have made all this up out of your head. Oh, yes I could, but I didn't. Now, look here. It's the chance of your lifetime, Johnson. A quid for me, and it's still tongue for you, and the job's done. Do you agree? Oh, I agree right enough, said Johnson. I agree, but if you're coming, any of your larks... Can't you see he isn't? Kathleen put in impatiently. He's not a liar, we none of us are. If you're not on, say so, said Gerald, and I'll find another policeman with more sense. I could split about you being out all night, said Johnson. But you wouldn't be so un-gentlemanly, said Mabel brightly. Don't you be so unbelieving when we're trying to do you a good turn? If I were you, Gerald advised, I'd go to the place where the silver is with two other men. You can make a nice little ambush in the woodyard. It's close there. And I'd have two or three more men up trees in the lane to wait for the motor car. You ought to have been in the force, you ought, said Johnson admiringly. But suppose it was a hoax. Well, then you'd have made an ass of yourself. I don't suppose it'd be the first time, said Jimmy. Are you on, said Gerald in haste? Hold your jaw, Jimmy, you idiot. Yes, said Johnson. Then when you're on duty, you go down to the woodyard. And the place where you see me blow my nose is the place. The sacks are tied with string to the posts under the water. You just stalk by in your dignified beauty and make a note of the spot. That's where glory waits you. And when fame elates you and you're a sergeant, please remember me. Johnson said he was blessed. He said it more than once and then remarked that he was on and added that he must be off that instant minute. Johnson's cottage lies just out of the town beyond the blacksmith's forge and the children had come to it through the wood. They went back the same way and then down through the town and through its narrow unsavory streets to the towing path by the timberyard. Here they ran along the trunks of the big trees, peeped into the saw-pit, and the men were away at dinner and this was a favourite play-place of every boy within miles. Made themselves a seesaw with a fresh cut, sweet-smelling pine-plank and an elm-root. What a ripping place, said Mabel, breathless on the seesaw's end. I believe I like this better than pretending games or even magic. So do I, said Jimmy. Jerry, don't keep sniffing so. You'll have no nose left. I can't help it, Gerald answered. I dare not use my hanky for fear Johnson's on the lookout somewhere unseen. I wish I'd thought of some other signal. Sniff. No, nor I shouldn't want to now if I hadn't gotten not to. That's what's so rum. The moment I got down here and remembered what I'd said about the signal, I began to have a cold and, thank goodness, here he is. The children, with the fine air of unconcern, abandoned the seesaw. Follow my leader, Gerald cried, and ran along a barked oak-trunk, the others following. In and out and round about ran the file of children over heaps of logs, under the jutting ends of piled planks, and just as the policeman's heavy boots trod the towing path, Gerald halted at the end of a little landing stage of rotten boards with a rickety handrail, cried, Pax, and blew his nose with loud fervour. Morning, he said immediately. Morning, said Johnson. Got a cold, ain't you? Ah, I shouldn't have a cold if I'd got boots like yours, returned Gerald admiringly. Look at them! Anyone would know your very footstep a mile off. How do you ever get near enough to anyone to arrest them? He skipped off the landing stage, whispered as he passed Johnson. Courage, promptitude, and dispatch, that's the place. And was off again, the active leader of an active procession. We've brought a friend home to dinner, said Kathleen, and Liza opened the door. Where's Mademoiselle? Gone to see yalding-towers. Today's showday, you know, and just you hurry over your dinners. It's my afternoon out, and my gentleman friend don't like it if he's kept waiting. All right, we'll eat like lightning, Gerald promised, said another place. There's an angel. They kept their word. The dinner. It was minced veal, and potatoes, and rice pudding, perhaps the dullest food in the world, was over in a quarter of an hour. And now, said Mabel, when Liza and a jug of hot water had disappeared up the stairs together, where's the ring? I ought to put it back. I haven't had a turn yet, said Jimmy. When we find it, Kathy and I ought to have turns, same as you and Gerald did. When you find it? Mabel's pale face turned paler between her dark locks. I'm very sorry. We're all very sorry, began Kathleen, and then the story of the losing had to be told. You couldn't have looked properly, Mabel protested. He can't have vanished. You don't know what it can do. No more do we. It's no use getting your quills up, fair lady. Perhaps vanishing itself is just what it does do. You see, it came off my hand in the bed. We looked everywhere. Would you mind if I looked? Mabel's eyes implored her little hostess. You see, if it's lost, it's my fault. It's almost the same as stealing. Fat Johnson would say it was just the same. I know he would. Let's all look again, said Kathleen jumping up. We were rather in a hurry this morning. So they looked. And they looked. In the bed, under the bed, under the carpet, under the furniture. They shook the curtains, they explored the corners, and found dust and flu. But no ring. They looked, and they looked. Everywhere they looked. Jimmy even looked fixedly at the ceiling as though he thought the ring might have bounced up there and stuck. But it hadn't. Then, said Mabel at last, your housemaid must have stolen it. That's all. I shall tell her I think so. And she would have done it too. But at that moment the front door banged. And they knew that Eliza had gone forth in all the glory of her best things to meet her gentleman friend. It's no use. Mabel was almost in tears. Look here. Will you leave me alone? Perhaps you others looking distracts me, and I'll go over every inch of the room by myself. Respecting the emotion of their guest, the kindly charcoal burners withdrew, said Gerald. And they closed the door softly from the outside on Mabel and her search. They waited for her, of course. Politeness demanded it, and besides they had to stay at home to let Mademoiselle in. Though it was a dazzling day, and Jimmy had just remembered that Gerald's pockets were full of the money earned at the fair, and that nothing had yet been bought with that money, except a few buns in which he had had no share. And, of course, they waited impatiently. It seemed about an hour, and was really quite ten minutes before they heard the bedroom door open and Mabel's feet on the stairs. She hasn't found it, Gerald said. How do you know? Jimmy asked. The way she walks, said Gerald. You can, in fact, almost always tell whether the thing has been found that people have gone to look for by the sound of their feet as they return. Mabel's feet said, No go, as plain as they could speak. And her face confirmed the cheerless news. A sudden and violent knocking at the back door prevented anyone from having to be polite about how sorry they were, or fanciful about being sure the ring would turn up soon. All the servants except Eliza were away on their holidays, so the children went together to open the door, because, as Gerald said, if it was the baker, they could buy a cake from him and eat it for dessert. That kind of dinner sort of needs dessert, he said. But it was not the baker. When they opened the door, they saw in the paved court where the pump is and the dustbin and the water-butt, a young man, with his hat very much on one side, his mouth open under his fair bristly mustache, and his eyes as nearly round as human eyes can be. He wore a suit of a bright mustard color, a blue necktie, and a goldish watch chain across his waistcoat. His body was thrown back, and his right arm stretched out towards the door, and his expression was that of a person who was being dragged somewhere against his will. He looked so strange that Kathleen tried to shut the door in his face, murmuring, Escaped insane! But the door would not close. There was something in the way. Leave go of me, said the young man. Well, yes, I'll leave go of you. It was the voice of Eliza, but no Eliza could be seen. Who's cutthold of you, asked Kathleen? She has, miss, replied the unhappy stranger. Who's she, asked Kathleen, to gain time as she afterwards explained, for she now knew well enough that what was keeping the door open was Eliza's unseen foot. My fiancée, miss, at least it sounds like her voice, and it feels like her bones, but some things come over me, miss, and I can't see her. That's what he keeps on saying, said Eliza's voice. He's my gentleman friend. Is he gone dotty, or is it me? Both I shouldn't wonder, said Jimmy. Now, said Eliza, you call yourself a man. You look me in the face and say you can't see me. Well, I can't, said the wretched gentleman friend. If I'd stolen a ring, said Gerald, looking at the sky, I should go indoors and be quiet, not stand at the back door and make an exhibition of myself. Not much exhibition about her, whispered Jimmy, good old ring. I haven't stolen anything, said the gentleman friend. Here, you leave me be. It's my eyes has gone wrong. I'll leave go of me. Do you hear? Suddenly his hand dropped, and he staggered back against the water-butt. Eliza had let go of him. She pushed past the children, shoving them aside with her invisible elbows. Gerald caught her by the arm with one hand, felt for her ear with the other, and whispered, You stand still and don't say a word. If you do, well, what's to stop me from sending for the police? Eliza did not know what there was to stop him. So she did as she was told, and stood invisible and silent, save for a sort of blowing, snorting noise peculiar to her when she was out of breath. The mustard-colored young man had recovered his balance, and stood looking at the children with eyes, if possible, rounder than before. What is it? He gasped feebly. What's up? What's it all about? If you don't know, I'm afraid we can't tell you," said Gerald politely. Have I been talking very strange like? he asked, taking off his hat and passing his hand over his forehead. Very, said Mabel. I hope I haven't said anything that wasn't good manners, he said anxiously. Not at all, said Kathleen. You only said your fiancee had hold of your hand and that you couldn't see her. No more I can. No more can we, said Mabel. But I couldn't have dreamed it, and then come along here making a penny show of myself like this, could I? You know best, said Gerald courteously. But the mustard-colored victim almost screamed. Do you mean to tell me? I don't mean to tell you anything, said Gerald quite truly, but I'll give you a bit of advice. You go home and lie down a bit and put a wet rag on your head. You'll be all right tomorrow. But I haven't— I should, said Mabel. The sun's very hot, you know. I feel all right now, he said. But, well, I can only say I'm sorry. That's all I can say. I've never been taken like this before, Miss. I'm not subject to it. Don't you think that? But I could have sworn Eliza. Ain't she gone out to meet me? Eliza's indoors, said Mabel. She can't come out to meet anybody today. You won't tell her about me carrying on this way, will you, Miss? It might set her against me if she thought I was liable to fits, which I never was, from a child. We won't tell Eliza anything about you. And you'll overlook the liberty. Of course. We know you couldn't help it, said Kathleen. You go home and lie down. I'm sure you must need it. Good afternoon. Good afternoon, I'm sure, Miss, he said dreamily. All the same, I can feel the print of her finger bones on my hand while I'm saying it. And you won't let it get round to my boss, my employer, I mean. Fits of all sorts are against a man in any trade. No, no, no, it's all right. Goodbye! said everyone. And a silence fell as he went slowly round the water-butt and the green yard gate shut behind him. The silence was broken by Eliza. Give me up! she said. Give me up! You break my heart in a prison cell! There was a sudden splash and a round wet drop lay on the doorstep. Thunder-shower, said Jimmy. But it was a tear from Eliza. Give me up! she went on. Give me up! Splash! But don't let me be took here in the town where I'm known and respected! Splash! I'll walk ten miles to be took by a strange police, not Johnson, who keeps company with my own cousin! Splash! But I do thank you for one thing. You didn't tell Elf as I'd stolen the ring. And I didn't. Splash! I only sort of borrowed it, if being my day out, and my gentleman friend such a toff like you can see for yourselves. The children had watched, spellbound, the interesting tears that became visible as they rolled off the invisible nose of the miserable Eliza. Now Gerald roused himself and spoke. It's no use you're talking, he said. We can't see you. That's what he said, said Eliza's voice. But... You can't see yourself, Gerald went on. Where's your hand? Eliza no doubt tried to see it, and of course failed. For instantly, with a shriek that might have brought the police if there had been any about, she went into a violent fit of hysterics. The children did what they could. Everything that they had read of in books is suitable to such occasions, but it is extremely difficult to do the right thing with an invisible housemaid in strong hysterics and her best clothes. That was why the best hat was found later on to be completely ruined and why the best blue dress was never quite itself again. And as they were burning bits of the feather-dusting brush as nearly under Eliza's nose as they could guess, a sudden spurt of flame and a horrible smell as the flame died between the quick hands of Gerald showed but too plainly that Eliza's feather boa had tried to help. It did help. Eliza came to with a deep sob and said, Don't burn me real ostrich stall, I'm better now. They helped her up and she sat down on the bottom step and the children explained to her very carefully and quite kindly that she really was invisible and that if you steal or even borrow rings you can never be sure what will happen to you. But have I got to go on stopping like this? She moaned when they had fetched the little mahogany looking glass from its nail over the kitchen sink and convinced her that she was really invisible forever and ever. And we was to have been married come Easter. No one won't marry a gal as he can't see, it ain't likely. No, not forever and ever, said Mabel kindly, but you've got to go through with it like measles. I expect you'll be all right tomorrow. Tonight, I think, said Gerald. We'll help you all we can and not tell anyone, said Kathleen. Not even the police, said Jimmy. Now let's get Mademoiselle's tea ready, said Gerald. And ours, said Jimmy. No, said Gerald. We'll have our tea out. We'll have a picnic and we'll take Eliza. I'll go out and get the cakes. I shan't eat no cake, Master Jerry, said Eliza's voice, so don't you think it. You'd see it going down inside my chest. It wouldn't be what I should call nice of me if that cake showing through means the open air. Oh, it's a dreadful judgment, just for a borrow. They reassured her, set the tea, deputed Kathleen to let in Mademoiselle, who came home tired and a little sad it seemed, waited for her and Gerald and the cakes and started off for yalding towers. The parties aren't allowed, said Mabel. Ours will be, said Gerald briefly. Now Eliza, you catch on to Kathleen's arm and I'll walk behind to conceal your shadow. My aunt, take your hat off. It makes your shadow look like I don't know what. People will think where the county lunatic asylum turned loose. It was then that the hat, becoming visible in Kathleen's hand, showed how little of the sprinkled water had gone where it was meant to go on Eliza's face. Me best hat, said Eliza, and there was a silence with sniffs in it. Look here, said Mabel, you cheer up. Just you think this is all a dream. It's just the kind of thing you might dream if your conscience had got pains in it about the ring. But will I wake up again? Oh yes, you'll wake up again. Now we're going to bandage your eyes and take you through a very small door so don't you resist or we'll bring a policeman into the dream like a shot. I have not time to describe Eliza's entrance into the cave. She went head first. The girls propelled and the boys received her. If Gerald had not thought of tying her hands someone would certainly have been scratched. As it was, Mabel's hand was scraped between the cold rock and a passionate boot heel. Nor will I tell you all that she said as they let her along the fern-bordered gully and threw the arch into the wonderland of Italian scenery. She had but little language left when they removed her bandage under a weeping willow where a statue of Diana, bow in hand, stood poised on one toe. A most unsuitable attitude for archery I have always thought. Now, said Gerald, it's all over nothing but niceness now and cake and things. It's time we did have our tea, said Jimmy. And it was. Eliza, once convinced that her chest, though invisible, was not transparent and that her companions could not by looking through it without how many buns she had eaten made an excellent meal. So did the others. If you want really to enjoy your tea have minced veal and potatoes and rice pudding for dinner with several hours of excitement to follow and take your tea late. The soft, cool green and grey of the garden were changing. The green grew golden, the shadows black, and the lake where the swans were mirrored upside down under the temple of Phoebus was bathed in rosy light from the little fluffy clouds that lay opposite the sunset. It is pretty, said Eliza, just like a picture-postcard, ain't it, the tappany kind. I ought to be getting home, said Mabel. I can't go home like this. I'd stay and be a savage and live in that white hut at any walls and doors, said Eliza. She means the temple of Dionysus, said Mabel, pointing to it. The sun set suddenly behind the line of black fir trees on the top of the slope, and the white temple that had been pink turned grey. It would be a very nice place to live in, even as it is, said Kathleen. Drafty, said Eliza, and Law, with a lot of steps to clean. What they make houses for without no walls to them who'd live in. She broke off, stared, and added, What's that? What? That white thing coming down the steps. Why, is he young man in statuary? The statues do come alive here after sunset, said Gerald in very matter-of-fact tones. I see they do. Eliza did not seem at all surprised or alarmed. There's another of them. Look them little wings on his feet, like pigeons. I expect that's Mercury, said Gerald. It's Hermes under the statue that's got wings on his feet, said Mabel, but... I don't see any statues, said Jimmy. What are you punching me for? Don't you see? Gerald whispered. We need not have been so troubled, for all Eliza's attention was with her wandering eyes that followed hither and thither the quick movements of unseen statues. Don't you see? The statues come alive when the sun goes down, and you can't see them unless you're invisible, and I, if you do see them, you're not frightened, unless you touch them. Let's get her to touch one and see, said Jimmy. He's leapt into the water, said Eliza in a rapt voice. My, can't he swim neither? And the one with the pigeon's wings is flying all over the lake, having larks with him. I do call that pretty. It's like cupids, as you see on wedding cakes. And here's another of them, a little chap with long ears and a baby deer galloping long side. And look at the lady with the baby, throwing it up and catching it like as if it was a ball. I wonder she ain't afraid, but it's pretty to see him. The broad park lay stretched before the children in growing grayness and a stillness that deepened. Amid the thickening shadows, they could see the statues gleam white and motionless. But Eliza saw other things. She watched in silence presently, and they watched silently, and the evening fell like a veil that grew heavier and blacker. And it was night, and the moon came up above the trees. Oh! cried Eliza suddenly. Here's the dear little boy with the deer. He's coming right for me, bless his heart. Next moment she was screaming, and her screams grew fainter and there was the sound of swift boots on gravel. Come on! cried Gerald. She touched it, and then she was frightened. Just like I was. Run! She'll send everyone in the town mad if she gets there like that. Just a voice and boots. Run, run! They ran. But Eliza had the start of them. Also, when she ran on the grass, they could not hear her footsteps and had to wait for the sound of leather on faraway gravel. Also, she was driven by fear, and fear drives fast. She went, it seemed, the nearest way, invisibly through the waxing moonlight, seeing she only knew what amid the glades and groves. I'll stop here. See you tomorrow. Gasped Mabel, as the loud pursuers followed Eliza's clatter across the terrace, she's gone through the stable yard. The back way, Gerald panted, as they turned the corner of their own street, and he and Jimmy swung in past the water-butt. An unseen but agitated presence seemed to be fumbling with the locked back door. The church clock struck the half-hour. Half past nine, Gerald had just breathed to say, pull at the ring, perhaps it'll come off now. He spoke to the bare doorstep. But it was Eliza, disheveled, breathless, her hair coming down, her collar crooked, her dress twisted and disordered, who suddenly held out a hand, a hand that they could see. And in the hand, plainly visible in the moonlight, the dark circle of the magic ring. Afamo, said Eliza's gentleman friend next morning. He was waiting for her when she opened the door with pale and hearthstone in her hand. Sorry you couldn't come out yesterday. So am I. Eliza swept the wet flannel along the top step. What did you do? I had a bit of a headache, said the gentleman friend. I laid down most of the afternoon. What were you up to? Oh, nothing particular, said Eliza. Then it was all a dream, she said when he was gone. But it'll be a lesson to me, not to meddle with anybody's old rig again in a hurry. So they didn't tell her about me behaving like I did, said he, as he went. Son, I suppose, like our army in India. I hope I ain't going to be liable to it, that's all. End of chapter 5.