 CHAPTER ONE OF THE SEALED MESSAGE It was a sultry July afternoon and in the azure arch of the firmament flamed an unclouded The corn was ripening to a rich yellow in some meadows and the newly mown hay in others was being piled on lumbering wanes by perspiring laborers. The red earth of the sunken lanes was caked and their blossoming hedges were burnt up by the merciless heat. Under spreading foliage or knee deep in rapidly drying pools stood weary cattle, switching lazy tails to brush away the teasing flies. Honey bees ostentatiously industrious buzzed noisily from flower to flower and at the sleepy birds twittered faintly amidst the grateful shade of leaves. The land was parched for want of rain and the languid hours dragged on slowly to the wished poor evening. On some such day long ago must Elijah have sent his servant up the mount to watch for the growing of the small black cloud. Only by the trout stream was the weather durable, for the overhanging trees made the atmosphere of translucent green deliciously cool. Yet here and there spears of dazzling light pierced through the emerald twilight to smite the waters. These moved slowly in amber floods between the grassy banks and in places swirled pearly white round moss-grown stones. The stream brawled over pebbles gushed through granite rifts and gloomed mysteriously in deep and silent pools gleaming mirror-like under exposed tree trunks. May flies dip to the waters, swallows darted through the warm air, and kingfishers glanced here and there each a flash of blue fire. And ever the river talked to the voiceless woods as it babbled seawards. From the woods came no reply, for the wind had died away and the tongues of multitude in the sleeves could no longer speak. Had they been able even to whisper they surely would have rebuked the gay spirits of the two young men who had invaded their sacred solitude. This is simply ripping, murmured one who lay on his back with a battered Panama over his eyes. We are doing ourselves up to the top hole, I don't think. Heavenly, ain't it? It would be if he did not chatter, retorted the other fixing a fly on his line. Why do you desecrate this beauty with slang? Because I'm not a poet like you to spout black verse. There is a medium between mutilation of the language and pedantic usage thereof. Huh! was scorn. Who's pedantic now? My dear Todd, as a lawyer you should use better English. It is only a barrister who requires a super fine jaw, retorted Todd elegantly, and I'm only a solicitor of sorts. Don't worry, Haskins. Aware of the futility of argument the other man merely shrugged his square shoulders and threw a skillful line in a pool wherein lurked a famous wary trout. The fly fell lightly on the water and would have deceived any fish but the trout in question. There was no response to his dilly duck come and be killed invitation, and the angler made another cast with still less success as the fly hit the stream heavily scaring the trout into retreat. Haskins said one word under his breath but Todd overheard and giggled. That was exactly like Todd McCandoo. He had no sense of the fitness of things. Silly ass, commented his friend savagely, spinning up the line. You frighten the fish. Not on to your hook anyhow, chuckled Todd into the depths of his hat. What a sinfully bad angler you are, Jerry. As bad an angler as you are a lover perhaps, snapped Gerald, throwing his rod on the grass and squatting to manufacture a cigarette. Todd sat up abruptly with a wounded air. I call that beastly to taunt a chap because a girl won't bite. Won't kiss, you mean? I'm taking an illustration from your infernal angling, said Todd with aggressive dignity. If you were a lover yourself you would understand. Oh, I understand well enough, replied the other lightly. He paused to run his tongue along the tissue paper then added calmly. I was in love with Charity Bird myself before you came along, Todd. Well, now that I have come along perhaps you'll call her Miss Bird. Right, oh. Miss Bird in the hand is worth two. There are not two, interrupted McCandoo indignantly, but only one schoolgirl cousin. As if, cried Todd to the woods, I would sell myself. Gerald Haskins cast a sly look at Todd's ungraceful figure. I see you present yourself to Miss Bird as a desirable gift. Well, she wouldn't have you as a gift anyhow for all your family-herald good looks and half-penny journal fame. Notoriety, Todd, notoriety only. A volume of verse, a book of stories, and a dozen of essays do not give me the right to class myself along with the immortals. I'm a failure at thirty, Todd, in my own eyes, I mean. Think of that, Todd. A failure at thirty. Don't chuck it, advised McCandoo politely. You may be a success at forty. That won't compensate me for coming gray hairs in inevitable wrinkles, said the other bitterly, and smoked in door silence. Todd crossed his legs and held forth. Gerald went worth Julian Haskins. He remarked solemnly. All the fairies came to your nasty little cradle with gifts save the one who could have endowed you with gratitude. Consider your beastly good looks and abominably healthy constitution and silly popularity, not to speak of your undeserved five-hundred-a-year private income and take shame to yourself. Why, with half your advantage as I could marry charity tomorrow? Hum! The advantages you mention were practically offered to her, but she didn't seem to desire possession. I expect she prefers the last representative of an ancient Scots family with an embarrassed estate, a reputation as a rising solicitor, in a heart of gold enshrined in an agreeable looking body. Agreeable looking? Words failed Todd, and he sprang up to wreath a strong arm round Gerald's neck. Haskins remonstrated as well as he could for laughter, but was forced to the very verge of the bank. Here Todd made him look into the mirror of the steel pool below. Caliban and Ferdinand, Apollo and Vulcan, Count Dorsey and John Wilkes, growled McCandrew. Look at this picture and at that, you blighter. Almost choking for Todd was powerful and none too gentle in his grip, Gerald humored his friend sufficiently to stare into the water-glass, thinking meanwhile of an ear-revenge. He saw his own handsome brown face with bronze-colored hair and mustache of the same hue, curling under a straight Greek nose which divided two hazel eyes. He saw also McCandrew's round reddy countenance, devoid of hair on shin and lips and cheeks, but haloed with crisp red curls suggestive of his foxy nickname. Todd assuredly could not be called good-looking, with freckles and wide mouth and aquiline nose, proof of high descent. But so much good humor and genuine honesty gleamed from his sea-blue eyes that he did himself a gross injustice in undervaluing a most ingratiating appearance. Todd was Todd, when all was said and done, the best fellow in the world and the most unnecessarily modest. But Haskins was not going to pander to Todd's desire for compliments. You footling idiot, he breathed, possessed by a spirit of mischief, as if you weren't worth a dozen of me. Talk about ingratitude. You shall be punished, my friend, thus. And south into the pool they went. When Todd got his breath again after some spluttering, he used it to a bad purpose. Gerald, keeping himself afloat, watched the stout little man climb the bank dripping like an insane river-god, and heard him excel himself in language which he could scarcely have used in court. I'll pay you out for this, swore Todd, hastily stripping off his wet flannels and Haskins, fearing his righteous wrath, swam upstream clothes and all with light easy strokes laughing until the woods rang. What about your confounded fish, sang out McAndrew when his apparel was drying in the hot sun, and he was sitting unashamed amid the grass. You won't catch any more. I haven't caught any as it is, shouted Gerald, swimming back. I want to come ashore. Back, Stoddy, back, you, you unclothed, wiped. Wait till I get you here, cried Todd, shaking his fist. He is not wise who ventures into the enemy's camp, quote Haskins, and crossed to the opposite bank of the stream. Owing to the heat he had earlier shed all his clothing, save a silk shirt and a pair of flannel trousers, so there was not much left to dry. In a few minutes he also was sitting in a damic simplicity on the farther shore, imploring Todd to throw over a tobacco pouch and a pipe. But Todd wouldn't, and smoked, chuckling on his side of the stream while Haskins remonstrated. I'll sleep, then, announced Gerald, seeing that his efforts to soften McAndrew were unavailing. No, don't, shouted Todd. I want to talk about her. Not a word unless I get my smoke. Here you are, then, and McAndrew threw across the necessary materials for the pipe of peace. Now, then, he cried, and the woods rang with his cry. What am I to do about charity? Marry her! cried back Haskins, lighting his briar, and after that introduction the conversation resolved itself into high pitch talking from bank to bank while the stream rippled between. It was lucky that no one was within hearing as the young men well knew, for Todd shouted out his dearest secrets to the wide world. How can I marry her? bellowed McAndrew lying on his stomach in the attitude of Caliban reflecting on Settibos. She hasn't any money and I have very little also. There is the Dowager to be considered. The Dowager was Lady Euphemia McAndrew, Todd's highly respected grandmother who had looked after him since his parents had died. She wanted Todd to marry an heiress cousin who was still at school, and Todd wished for his wife a charming dancer who was absolutely proper and extremely pretty. Consequently Todd and Lady Euphemia were fighting with all the ardour of their fiery race. And the domestic piece of the House of McAndrew was the thing of the past. You should consider the Dowager, saying out Haskins who knew and approved of the grim old lady. She's your grandmother. No one denies that, yelled Todd crossly. Talk sense. Here then the sense of Gerald's son of his father, shouted the other in a high tenor. Mrs. Pellamotton who is, as you know, the clever old actress who looks after charity won't let you marry her seeing that you have no money. Lady Euphemia is equally opposed to the match, because charity is not born, as the French say. If you marry against the wishes of these two, Mrs. Pellamotton won't leave charity her savings, which must be considerable, and Lady Euphemia won't speak either to you or to your wife. Isn't this the case? Ancient history, ancient history, roared McAndrew like an angry bull, but your advice, Jerry. Chuck charity and marry your cousin, said Haskins tersely. I won't. Then why waste my time in asking for advice which you have no notion of taking? Go on your own silly way, Todd, and don't blame me if you tumbled into a quagmire of troubles. I believe you want to marry charity yourself, shouted Todd angrily. No, I don't, cried Haskins, feeling if his garments were dry. She is all that one can desire in the way of beauty. But I want something more than a picture, wife. Marriages are made in heaven, and charity sold does not respond to mine. Todd rose sulkily and dressed himself. When clothed again he took up the discarded rod to try his luck. I love her! He boomed and cast his fly with the air of a man who has brought forward an unanswerable argument. Perhaps he had, for McAndrew was as obstinate as a battery mule. Seeing that Todd's attention was taken up with a peaceful sport, which precluded retaliation for the late ducking, Gerald made his trousers and shirt into a ball and flung them deftly across the river. They hit Todd fairly and made him stagger and swear. What he would have said or done, it is impossible to say, for at this moment he proclaimed a triumphant yaw that he had a bite. And at this moment Gerald slipped into the water again. Hang it, don't! screamed McAndrew. You'll frighten the fish off the hook. Woosh! Come up! And Todd tucked hard while the rod bent to an arc. Mighty big fish! breathed the angler. Don't believe it's a fish at all! Spluttered Haskins seeing that the line remained stationary. You're making no play! caught a weed, maybe. He swam to the line and dived under while McAndrew danced and swore on the bank. Leave it alone, leave it alone! cried Todd in high wrath. It's a big fish! Oh, beast! Oh, animal! Oh, jealous reptile! He went on as the line slagging. You've done it! Even as he spoke Gerald rose to the surface spitting water from his mouth. In his right hand he held an object which he flung on to the bank and then crawled up himself. There's your fish, Todd! he said, rolling on to the grass to dry himself. Your hook caught in that cylinder which had got wedged between two big stones. Look at it while I dress. Todd handled the cylinder gingerly. It was made of tin and had apparently been covered with brown paper, for the remains of this clung loose at either end from under splotches of red sealing wax. Oddly enough there was also a string tied to the cylinder at the end of which dangled the remnant of a bladder. Evidently the bladder had borne up the somewhat heavy cylinder for a certain time and then had burst to drop it toward the big stones amid which it had been wedged when Todd's hook had caught it. Looks like a parcel of dynamite, said Todd in a nervous tone. Poachers fishing by night with dynamite. Oh, lord! Haskins, who was slipping on his socks and shoes, looked up. It's been in the water a good time anyhow, judging from the rotten brown paper in that decayed bladder. There's no chance of an explosion. If you are afraid to open it up, chuck it over. No! McAndrew dropped onto the grass beside his friend. We'll go to kingdom come together if necessary. Lend me your knife. Between them the young men prized off the lid of the cylinder with some difficulty for it fitted tightly. The contents proved to be as puzzling as the vessel itself, for Gerald drew out a moderately long roller covered with brown wax and scored delicately with regular lines almost invisible. There was nothing else in the cylinder but this roller and Todd eyed it with wonderment. What the deuce is it? he asked, twirling it round. Haskins pinched his netherlip and reflected. It's a phonograph record, he ventured to suggest. See the marking, Todd, and the wax and ear. He tilted the cylinder end uppermost. There's a name engraved on the butt plainly for all the world to see. Jekyll and Company. Red Todd fitting in his eyeglass to see clearly. I've never heard of the firm. That's not improbable. Your knowledge of many things being limited. Oh, come now, did you ever hear of the firm your own conceited self? No, but it's a firm that makes phonographs anyhow. Gerald slipped the treasure trove into his pocket. We'll take this back to the inn and see what it means. We shall have to get a phonograph, then. That goes without the speaking, you bally-ass. But when we do slip this roller into its parent machine, these marks will talk. But how can we get a parent machine? I suppose you mean a Jekyll and Company mechanism of sorts. There must be a machine of that sort in the district, or this roller wouldn't be here. Todd stared at the waters, blinking in the sunshine. I wonder how it got into the Blessed River. By accident or by design? By design, assuredly, said Haskins promptly. It was wrapped in brown paper and sealed at both ends. The bladder was attached to keep it afloat. Then the bladder went bang, and the cylinder sank until you fished it out, Toddie. Queer fish and queer chants anyhow. There is no such thing as chants, said Haskins slowly. Some cause we know not of brought us to the stream today to get the cylinder. Why, we only came holiday-making, protested Todd. You were always talking this infernal psychology. Supernal psychology, you mean, retorted the other, seeing that I follow white magic and not black. This, he patted his pocket, has a meaning. We must learn that meaning. And so get into trouble. Perhaps, Haskins shrugged his shoulders. But trouble is the sole thing which urges us to rise. Todd groaned. He could not understand his friend's mystical way of looking at the seen world through the unseen. Keeping the conversation on an ordinary level, he inquired. Why was the cylinder set afloat? Why does the sunshine? Why does the fire burn? You asked too many questions, Todd. I am not likely to get an answer from you, snapped McCandoo, taking up the impedimenta which they had brought to the river bank. You will see, in this instance, my son, the record when it talks through the jackal and company machine will tell us why the cylinder was sent downstream. Shipwrecked people throw bottles overboard with documents to tell of their danger, as you well know. Hum, is the first time I ever heard of a phonograph record being used to convey news, grunted Todd crossly. The person who floated the cylinder is evidently up to date. Perhaps it's a blessed joke. Maybe. Anyhow, I'll take it to the inn and learn as much as is possible. Don't chatter about it, though. Why not? Because... because... Haskins hesitated, not being able to express himself with his usual decision. I can't say. Anyhow, hold your tongue until we know what the record has to say. McCandrew nodded, and the two walked homeward. End of Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Of The Sealed Message By Fergus Hume This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. 2. The Message The Devon maid was a tumble down in and the centre of Denley village which lay more or less concealed among the folds of fertile hills. Down the valley prattled a shallow stream and the comparatively few cottages, forming the secluded hamlet were placed confusedly on either side, each having its own tiny garden. A broad-stone bridge of Cyclopean build spanned the brook in one low arch. Across this ran the highway which gave access to the interior world, for it dipped down one hill and after passing over the bridge assented the other on its way inland to even more remote villages. Near the bridge in question stood the two-story inn, built of rugged stone hewn into huge blocks and a roofed with curved red tiles. The whole overgrown with ivy and wisteria and many coloured roses. With three narrow windows above and two narrow windows with a moderately wide door below, the house looked sullen and secretive. One could have an adventure at such a hostel. It breathed the spirit of romance and cutthroat trapped door romance at that. Before the inn stood a horse trough, in front of the door, the two rude benches unto the windows. But those who frequented the Devon maid preferred to take their beer mugs and bovine conversation on to the bridge. It was their realto, whereon they met in the cool of the evening to discuss the doings of their small world, and such news as might filter into the isolated villages through carriers and tourists and newspapers. The population of Denley consisted almost wholly of agricultural labourers and their wives, a slow thinking lot, with infinitely more muscle than brains. Both men and women were of great stature, and even their children looked bulky and overgrown for their age. It seemed as though the children of Anak had gathered to design a new tower of Babel. The room in which Askins and McCandrew sat at dinner was small, with a low ceiling and one inefficient window smothered with curtains. It was crowded with early Victorian furniture of the most cumbersome and inelegant description. Table and chairs, sofa and sideboard, bookcase and desk were all of solid mahogany, deposited on a flowery Kitterminster carpet somewhat worn. Auntie Macassers adorned the horse-hair chairs, waxed fruit under a glass shade embellished the sideboard, and green-glass ornaments with dangling prisms appeared on either side of the black marble clock which disfigured the mantelpiece. On the faded pattern of oppression blue wallpaper were steel engravings representing the death of Nelson and the meeting of Wellington and Blusher after Waterloo, together with colored hunting scenes and illustrations from The Book of Beauty and The Keepsake. There were also samplers and offender stool and a canary in a gilt cage and a cupboard of inferior china and two screens of worsted work representing parrots and macaws. The apartment was stuffy and unwholesome and more like a curiosity shop than a place to dine in. The young men had changed to easy smoking suits and were doing full justice to an admirable meal consisting of roast beef and vegetables, super fine apple pie, Devonshire cream and first-rate stilton. They drank cider out of compliment to the county and knew that when eating was at an end two fragrant cups of coffee would add to the enjoyment of their after-dinner pipes. And this satisfactory state of things was presided over by a stout and genial waiter who was as black as the dress clothes he wore in honour of the guests. A bull in a china shop would not have seemed more out of keeping than was this negro in the heart of the Devon Hills. How he had drifted into such a locality heaven only knows, but he appeared exotic and strange, like some tropical bird which had flown from equatorial regions to make a nest in cool gray misty England. Adonis Geary was the incongruous name of the man and he was at one's landlord and waiter. Saved that he possessed but one eye there was nothing unpleasant in his looks and from his constant smiling and ready service he appeared to be of a nameable disposition. For over fifteen years so he told his guests he had owned the inn and also had married a six-foot girl from Barnstaple who was as meek as she was tall. This oddly matched pair had five or six coffee-coloured children who tumbled about the small house and made it lively. The minage was unusual to say least of it and likely in itself. The presence of the negro hinted at romance and mystery. As yet Haskins had said nothing about the phonograph. Some instinct told him to be silent about the discovery of the cylinder before this suave son of Ham although he had absolutely no reason to mistrust the man. All the same he intended to use Geary's wits to obtain a Jekyll and company phonograph in such a way as would not arouse suspicion concerning the particular use he intended to put it to. Yet why suspicions should be aroused by frankness Gerald could not say for on the face of it there was nothing to point out that the cylinder was dangerous. Nevertheless Haskins' six cents made him hold his tongue and impose secrecy upon Todd. Consequently McAndrew held his peace while Gerald cautiously approached his aim of getting the machine. It seemed incredible that a phonograph of the special make required should be found in that unpretentious inn or even in the village itself seeing how buried both were. Still Haskins argued from the discovery of the roller so marked that a Jekyll and company phonograph was to be had in the district. Being a novelist Gerald had already spun a web of romance round the adventure and was conducting the same to a close with constructive skill. Todd watched the progress of this real and tangible romance with careless interest. He thought that it was all moonshine and would end in smoke. The story of a mare's nest Todd called it with fine irony and giggled when Haskins stalked Mr. Adonis Geary. There is very little to do in the evening here began Gerald finishing the last of his cheese and addressing the landlord waiter. Very little, sir, replied Mr. Geary who spoke moderately good Anglo-Saxon, yet betrayed his negro origin in an occasional word and by a guttural intonation, but you can walk to Silbury with the other jemplum for Holland fun, sir. Holland fun in a country town? My eyes, muttered Todd, still eating. There's walking and a bicycle and vision and... Yes, yes, yes, broke in Gerald artfully, but I mean evening amusement, indoor doings, what you call... parlor tricks, interpolated mercantue. Exactly. Well, Mr. Geary, have you a piano or a harmonium? There's a harmonium in the chapel where I preach, explained Adonis doubtfully, but the instrument of the lode no good for devils singing. I have no intention of going to the devil for my amusement, said Gerald tartly, while Todd choked over his cider. Have you any cards? Dems, the devils' pictures, sir. Then pass along a concertina, remarked Todd, pushing back his chair with a sigh of repletion, or even a Jew's harp, or, uh, why not say a phonograph while you're about it, McAndrew? said Haskins, with feigned crossness, whereas likely to find the one as the other in this place at the back of beyond. With great respect, Mr. Haskins, sir, said Geary, falling into the trap promptly. There's my wife's phonograph. My wife, Hannah, let you have that phonograph, to hear the godly hymns. Just what I want to hear, said Gerald untruthfully, but what on earth made you get a phonograph? Geary smiled expansively, displaying magnificent teeth. There was a traveller who came this way with phonographs, and he stopped here. He so pleased with my wife Hannah's cooking that he gave her the phonograph, and then sell many, many, many all round, all round, and the landlord stretched his arms to embrace the globe. What kind of a phonograph is it? Asked Gerald with a triumphant look at Todd to bid him watch how romance was working golden threads into the gray fabric of the common place. I don't want to hear a bad one. Before Geary could reply, there sounded through the window an up-to-date note from the outer world. The toot, toot, toot of a motor horn brought the young men to their feet and to the window which looked out on the bridge. A motor car draws the attention of the grown-up as much as a military band attracts the notice of a child. Mr. Geary departed with dignified haste to see what new and aristocratic visitor was coming, and, since Todd's bulky form failed in the whole small window, Gerald followed at his leisure. The coming of the motor car stirred up the same bustle in this lonely inn as did the mail-coach in the days of old. Even Mrs. Geary emerged from the back kitchen to view the spectacle with three small children clinging to her lengthy skirts like the lily-pushens to gulliver's coattails. Toot, toot, toot! The horn sounded cheerfully and close at hand. A magnificent Hadrian, scarred as the sunset, swung down the long descent and hummed across the bridge with a powerful drone. There were two men in front disguised in the orthodox goggles and caps and shapeless coats, but the body of the car was empty, save for a large portmanteau and some small parcels done up in brown paper. The rastix crowded round the car to comment thereon and to misname it A's team engine, while the foremost man who was handling the steering gear slipped from his seat to stretch himself and to salute Geary. Hello, Adonis, is that you? He said, nodding brusquely. I want to wash in a glass of brandy, then I'm off again. I must reach Ligarth before sundown. Come this way, Major! said the landlord obsequiously. He seemed to know the traveller extremely well, and from his concluding remark Gerald was positive that he did. There's a little glass of your own particular brandy, Major. This way, sir. Glad to see you, Major. Major. From the title and the tone of the arrival's voice, Haskins had an idea that he also knew the owner of the motor car. When the goggles were shoved up over the cap and the high collar of the coat was loosened, suspicion became certainty. Major Reb, said Haskins advancing a step. I guessed it was you. Oh, Haskins, drawled the newcomer, and Gerald could have sworn that not only did he start with that he darted an inquiring look at the Negro landlord. It was Geary who replied. Disjemplin and his friend, they stop with me for one, two weeks, Major. The Major recovered himself. Yes, of course. What am I thinking about, Haskins? Mrs. Crosby told me that you and McCandrew were on a walking tour in Devonshire. Why are you stationary here of all places? Why not here as well as anywhere else? replied Gerald carelessly. We struck this in, taught an eye that is, and intended only to stop a night or so, but the food is so good and the fishing so capital and the expense is so small that we decided to remain. We're off in a couple of days. Todd goes back to London and I make for St. Ives to write a new book. But you, Major, what are you doing in this galley? I have come down to see a relative at Ligarth and elderly Aunt. Todd sniggered at the window. From what he knew of Major Reb and he knew a great deal from Club Gossip that retired officer was not the man to waste his time in looking after elderly relatives unless. How much money has she got? asked Todd impudently. Reb laughed, for Todd was a licensed jester and said things without reproof for which other men would have been kicked. Enough to make it worth my while to come down here, said Reb Cooley, but I won't give the business into your hands, Todd, so there will be no pickings. I'm jolly well sure of that when you're about, retorted McCandrew in a soft voice. This way, sir, cried Geary like a parrot, this way, Major. You know Adonis, then, said Reb entering the inn followed by Haskins. He's a decent sort, isn't he? I have put up here sometimes for a night. Where is the brandy, Adonis? Hurry up and give my man a glass of beer. Gerald had unconsciously led the way to the sitting-room occupied by himself and Todd. Here, Reb sat down drawing off his gloves while the brandy was brought. He was a tall, thin, upright man, eminently well-bred and somewhat stiff. His closely clipped hair and well-trimmed mustache were so dark and his complexion was of such a deep olive color that people declared that he had in him a touch of the tarbrush. And the scandal was emphasized by the significant fact that Major Reb had commanded a West Indian regiment in Jamaica before retiring from the army. But whether tainted by the African or not he certainly was a handsome man and wonderfully well-preserved for his fifty years. Mrs. Crosby to whom Reb had alluded when first addressing Haskins was a wealthy widow who greatly admired the fascinating Major. Report hinted at a match between them and a report said that Mrs. Crosby might do worse for Reb was well-off and much respected by the outside world. Those of whom Todd was one, who knew more than the Major approved of, declared that Reb's character was not without blemish and that he gambled both on the turf and on the green table. But no one could positively say that the man was a rascal. He had the vices of his generation, that was all. While Reb drank his brandy he told Haskins and McCandrew the latest club gossip and stated, not without a roguish glance at Todd, that Mrs. Pelham Oden wanted charity to marry a titled fool who had lately come into much money. Todd was very indignant at this and said many things which Reb had heard before since the little man's infatuation was an open secret. In the middle of his eloquence the Major went off to wash his hands and face and Haskins dragged his friend out to see the start of the car. In five minutes Reb was in his place and his chauffeur swung up alongside. Good night, you fellows! cried the Major amably. I'll see you in London! Night adonis! And then the car spun round the curve to mount the hill on its way to Ligarth, wherever that might be. Todd yawned and sauntered back into the inn, hinting that he would go to bed soon. Funny thing that we should meet Reb here, said Gerald. Todd raised his thick red eyebrows. Upon my soul I don't see it, he remarked. You don't want the whole country to yourself? He seemed to be startled when he saw me and he knows Geary well. He admitted that he knew Geary and as to being startled he well might be, dropping across a pal in these wilds. I am not a pal of Rebs, said Gerald stiffly. I don't like him and I'm very sorry that such a jolly little woman as Mrs. Crosby should think of marrying him. There's something queer about him. Bosh, said Todd, lightly whiffing away his friend's suspicions which indeed had little foundation. Reb is no worse nor no better than any other man. We all have turned down pages in our life's book, which we should like no one to read. That's quite a high flight of oratory for you, said Haskins Dryly. Oh, I can gas as well as most when necessary, retorted the other, but you are asinine, seeing a burden every bush. Hum, murmured Gerald, unconvinced. All the same I shall keep my eye on Major Reb. And so take a lot of trouble for nothing. So long as he does not cross your path I don't see why you should worry. Hello! Todd had entered the sitting-room by this time. Here's the phonograph. He examined it narrowly in the failing light. And Jekyll and company at that. By gum! What do you say now? cried Haskins, pleased that his surmise had proved correct. I'll bet that we are on the verge of discovering a mystery. Wait until we hear a few hymns and then we can experiment with our river record. But why bother about the hymns? grumbled McAndrew, who by this time was quite as curious as Haskins himself. Gerald glanced at the door and closed it. I don't want the nigger to think that anything unusual has happened. More suspicion, said Todd, and glanced in his turn, but at the window. You needn't bash yourself, as we say in Scotland. There's Geary walking down to the village. It was indeed the negro strolling with a crony along the Brookside, and when he had sauntered out of earshot, Haskins did not worry about the hymn tunes. He slipped the cylinder record on to the machine and set the thing going. Then, for the next minute, he and Todd listened in amazement to a message from Fairyland. This to the wide world, babbled the machine in the sweetest and most melodious of voices. This to the fairy prince who will come and awaken me from dreams. Come, dear prince, to the Pixie's house and watch that the jealous ogres, who guards me does not see you. I cannot read, I cannot write, but I talk my message to you, dear prince. To the stream I commit the message on this first day of April in this year five. May the river bear the message to you, dear prince. Come to me, come to me, come to me, and awaken your princess to life with a kiss. The machine still continued to work, but the voice became abruptly silent. There was no more of the message, so when the point of the phonograph reached the end of the inscribed wax, Gerald removed it. When it was again in his pocket he turned toward the amazed Todd. What do you think of that? He demanded triumphantly. I think that the date explains the whole thing, said Todd grimly. See? The first of April, five. That means 1905, which is this very year? Someone's having a joke. I don't believe it, said Haskins, and began to scribble in his pocketbook what the machine had said. He had a good memory, and he reproduced the message from the fairy princess very correctly. Later he determined to verify the same, but meanwhile kept the precious roller in his pocket and asserted his determination to search for the Pixie's house. What bosh! Grumbled Todd disdainfully. Maybe there's no such place. But if you will be a lunatic, ask Geary about the matter. No, said Gerald decidedly. I shall not say a word to Geary, and I must ask you to say nothing either. This is the first piece of romance which has come my way and I don't want it spoiled by sharing it with other people. My way! echoed McCandrew staring. I liked that. You forget that I found the cylinder, my son. I am the person who is supposed to have received the letter. Toddie, you are not a Turk or a Mormon, so this delicious princess who speaks like a silver bell is not for you. Keep to charity, bird, and allow me a chance of finding a wife. Oh Lord, Geary, you ain't serious. Yes and no. After all I am young and, as the cook said, of that happy disposition that I can love anyone, why shouldn't I seek in some fairy woods for the sleeping beauty? Sleeping! sniggered Todd, lighting his pipe. Then she must have written that silly message in her sleep. Or perhaps she talks in it. He added, recollecting that the message was a spoken one. A nice wife to have upon my word. You won't get a wink of sleep. Toddie, you are of the earth, earthy, and an imaginative beast. Romance doesn't appeal to you. I shall search for the pixie's house. In what direction? jeered McAndrew. Up the stream. This princess is apparently imprisoned in the house and must have flung the cylinder therefrom into the water. Ergo, the pixie's house must be near the water. I shall go to Exeter and bring back a canoe. Then I shall explore and find the mayor's nest. Don't be a nass. It's all bosh. It's romance, romance, romance. But not a word, Toddie, either to anyone here or to anyone in London. Promise. Oh, I promise. But silence. You profane the mysteries of Fairyland. I shall explore and learn the end of this adventure. And you, Todd McAndrew, I'll see what's the best lunatic asylum for you to occupy, said Todd costically. End of Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Of the Sealed Message by Fergus Hume This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. 3 Fairyland Nutt was standing his fantastical babble to McAndrew. Gerald was a shrewd young man. He prosecuted his search for the unknown sender of the message less to find a wife than to see the end of the adventure. At the enjoyable age of thirty he was not particularly keen on getting married, although his friends persistently advised him to do so. But, as Haskins pertinently observed, it was absurd to marry merely for marrying's sake. When I meet the woman, said Gerald wisely, I shall ask her to be my wife. Otherwise, and a shrug would complete the unfinished sentence. Todd was quite ready to leave the conclusion of the fishing adventure to his friend. Being in love with a particular girl he thought of her only and had no wish to search for another girl even though she were an illiterate princess who fluted like a nightingale. What, with earning his living and fighting Lady Euphemia and wooing Charity Bird and a tricking Mrs. Pelham Oden who was strongly opposed to that wooing, McAndrew's hands were quite full. Within two days he betook himself to London keen upon seeing the Moon Faye Ballet in which Charity was dancing. But before his departure he unwittingly did Gerald a service by learning something about the Pixie's house and that same something was less romantic than unpleasant. According to Todd the thing came about by accident, but Haskins who believed that everything was designed even to the winking of an eye insisted that McAndrew had been purposely lured into conversation with the laborer who had mentioned Ligarth and the Pixie's house. At a nine o'clock breakfast on the very day of his departure Todd mentioned to his friend that he had been taking a morning walk. I had a beastly wakeful night last night, grumbled Todd, while Geary brought in a dish of trout and some hot rolls. It made me sick tumbling and tossing so I dressed and strolled out at six o'clock. Why didn't you waken me? Asked Haskins, I would have come also. Not you. I'd have been cursed for an hour. Everyone knows what an infernal sleepyhead you are, Jerry. However I walked up the hill on to the moors and had a glorious view of the surrounding country. I saw the stream where we fished in the hollow two miles away, trees and occasional glimpses of the water, you know. And ever so far away there was a square-towered church with a cluster of red-roofed houses. Quite poetical, my Toddie! murmured Gerald helping himself to eggs and ham and rather bored by this geographical description. The morning made me poetical, said McCandrew simply. It was uncommonly ripping, you know. There was a laboring Johnny coming along and I asked him the name of the church. He said it was Ligarth Church and Ligarth Village. Hum! That's where Rebs' wealthy relative lives! Todd nodded. As it was early I had a mind to walk over and look about, but I first asked the man if there was anything of interest to see. He grinned and told me that I might call at the Pixie's house. Gerald looked up and was about to speak eagerly when Geary appeared again with a fresh supply of rolls. Oh! The Pixie's house! said Haskins carelessly. What's that? Why, you know! began Todd foolishly when he caught sight of a warning scowl on Haskins face and a look of interest on that of Geary's. You know, went on Todd artfully, that I can't talk if you interrupt. But it's all so dull, objected Haskins with a shrug. Not what I am about to tell. This laborer said that a lunatic lived in the Pixie's house looked after by another lunatic. The blind leading the blind, go on. The first lunatic is a girl and the second an old woman. The girl never comes out and no one has ever seen her, but the old woman does shopping and all the rest of it. That's all. What infernal rubbish! said Haskins crossly. He did not like his unknown princess to dwindle to a commonplace lunatic. And yet, when he remembered the spoken message it did seem a trifle mad. Well, and did you call at the Pixie's house? Not me. I walked in another direction and came back to breakfast. I have no use for crazy people. Would all respect, jamblam? remarked Mr. Geary unexpectedly. The story of that man is all twisty-turny. Oh, said Haskins apparently careless, but really with anxiety. So you know of this queer business, Geary. Very little, oh, very little, sir. That Pixie house, there all and there tumble down in heaps. Only one mad person there, jamblam. Which one, the old woman or the young one, has taught abruptly? Oh, they bough dare, jamblam, but the young lady is the mad person. She been dare for I come. Years and years and years. Oh, ever so long go. This poor lady, she want to kill people with knives. And the old woman, she watch her that she not get out to kill. The old woman's not a mad person, jamblam. Oh, no, that all wrong. She watch the other. You no go near that Pixie house, jamblam. Enter the landlord earnestly. Or that young lady, she kill you bough, dead as cough and lids. Haskins felt disgusted. He desired to find Fairyland, and it seemed as though his search would end in discovering a lunatic asylum. What is the lunatic's name? he asked. Mavis Dura My Tink, and old woman's, she called Belaria. Funny names, muse taught and rather pretty. Mavis means a thrash I fancy, but Belaria. Gerald recalled a charming book of Italian folklore which he had read some months before. Belaria was the Etruscan Don goddess or the goddess of flowers, I forget which, he remarked. Strange that anyone in a secluded Devonshire village should be called so. Hmm, is this old woman an Italian geary? I do not know, sir, replied the man promptly. I no go to that Ligarth, no never never. And you no go too, jamblam. That Mavis lady abbed a knife in you if you go dare. Homicidal mania, said Todd, learnedly and cheerfully. Haskins shuttered. It seemed terrible to think that the owner of that silvery voice who had sent so delightfully quaint a message should be a dangerous lunatic not responsible for her actions. When the landlord took his departure he made an observation rather to himself than to his friend. The message was sane enough, he said, thereby contradicting his first impression when Geary spoke of the lunacy. Well, I don't know, answered McAndrew doubtfully. All that fairy business and talk of not being able to read or write seems queer. I suppose you'll chuck the adventure now that you know this. Probably, said Haskins evasively so that Todd should not worry him. But in his heart he had a longing to probe the matter deeper. Later in the day Gerald escorted Todd to Salbury and saw him off to London. McAndrew left with the impression that Gerald would carry out his prearranged program and travel to St. Ives on the ensuing day. But when Haskins walked back to Denley he was far from having made up his mind to such a course. It seemed incredible that the stender of the message should have homicidal tendencies. All the same if she had not, the law would certainly have prevented her incarceration in the old Ligarth mansion known as the Pixie's House. That she could not read or write was quite possible, since she had used the phonograph and yet in this age of education it appeared improbable that anyone could be so ignorant. The wording of the message was that of an imaginative but not of a weak brain. And the spirit of poetry had breathed appeal to the young man, himself a poet of no mean order. On the whole, decided Gerald, I shall go to Exeter tomorrow and get that canoe. On that same evening when Geary went for his usual walk, Haskins again slipped the record into the machine and again drank in the music of that perfect voice. Then, for the sake of hiding his secret since the landlord unexpectedly returned, he set the phonograph to grind out the godly hymns which were Geary's delight. These were dismal enough in words and tunes but all through them sounded in Gerald's charmed ears the silvery lilt of the fairy princess's tones. The owner of such a voice could not possibly be crazy. Haskins rather regretted that he had not asked Major Reb about the Pixie's House and its occupant. Reb doubtless knew the village of Ligarth excellently well since he came down occasionally to see his elderly relative. For the moment Haskins was tempted to write and ask questions but on second thoughts he made up his mind to explore for himself. He was even glad that Todd had departed for now this secret was entirely his own and he wished to share it with no one. He therefore abstained from talking to Geary on the subject for he had learned all that was possible from that source. And what he had learned was so decidedly unpleasant that he did not wish to hear any more as it afterward turned out his reticence was wise. The next day Haskins informed Geary of his intention to remain in Denly for another week and the negro expressed his delight at the decision. Adonis was a cheerful soul who had traveled widely in the humble capacity of a steward on board various liners. He therefore approached more intellectual society than he could obtain in lethargic Denly. Haskins with an eye to copy after the fashion of the literary man found Geary's experiences both entertaining and useful. As for the landlady she was a non-entity who worked like a horse and was as dumb as one. She seemed to be somewhat afraid of her ever smiling husband and Gerald thought that there might be some cause for such dread. With all his suave manners Geary's one eye hinted at sinister doings. But as yet Haskins knowing him only on the surface had no fault to find with his personality. There was some difficulty in finding a precisely suitable canoe in Exeter. But having made up his mind a singularly obstinate one Gerald never rested until he had attained his object. In a couple of days he returned to the Devon maid with a light birchwood affair which he had purchased from a returned Canadian immigrant. This the young man temporarily bestowed in an outside shed and informed his landlord casually that he intended to explore the waters of the Ruddle as the stream was called. The name evidently came from the streaky red banks between which it flowed. Geary advised his guest to travel downstream towards Silbury as the canoe would there be impeded by fewer stones. Needless to say as Ligarth was in precisely the opposite direction Haskins had no intention of taking this well meant advice. And indeed because of the very difficulty in navigating the upper reaches of the Ruddle he had purchased the canoe for he could carry so light a craft along the banks when stones and weeds blocked up the waterway. When Gerald took his Indian coracle down to the river next afternoon he saw how wise he had been in not buying a heavier boat. As the little stream wound its devious way through the dense woods it grew yet more narrow and on the whole somewhat shallow. Here and there deep pools were to be found in shore but as a rule the current flowed lightly over a shingly bed foaming round gigantic stones or bubbling over the trunks of fallen trees. The distance to Ligarth as the crow flies could not have been more than three miles but the stream twisted so oddly and the difficulties of navigation were so great that Gerald sometimes doubted if he would reach his journey's end. Several times he was forced to climb the steep banks and drag his canoe through thickly growing saplings but on the whole the tiny shallop behaved with the dexterity of an eel and slipping through dangerous places. Nevertheless his traveling was more like the exploration of unknown lands than like a civilized river trip in mapped out England. Late in the day about six o'clock and when the western sky was beginning to glow with the hues of a soap bubble the adventurer found himself in a less toilsome position. After the choked stream where the trees met overhead it was a relief to float into an immense pool fenced in by precipitous red cliffs draped with vividly green vegetation. Gerald emerged into this haven with a feeling of thankfulness and laid down his paddle both to rest his weary muscles and to examine his romantic surroundings. The pool was nearly circular and as the narrow ruddle float in at one end and out at the other the hole resembled a bead on a string. On the placid waters brimming like those of a mill dam the canoe floated idly until it touched the left bank. Haskins therefore saw on the right hand a tall cliff of ruddy earth overgrown with bushes and surmounted by a fringe of trees. Between these he aspired a ruinous gray stone wall clothed thickly with ivy. As there were two or three small windows in this wall Gerald guessed that it formed the side of a dwelling place and guessed moreover that from one of those same windows the sealed message had been thrown into the pool. It was of course merely a surmise that the pixie's house was built on the top of this inland cliff but bearing in mind the cylinder with its attached bladder Haskins felt certain that he was correct. The imprisoned Mavis Derm could only have launched her message from the cliff top. Gerald had now practically arrived at his journey's end as he had discovered the palace of the sleeping beauty shut in by enchanted woods. He therefore paddled swiftly under the cliff itself to see how he could storm the castle. Todd would have called it a lunatic asylum in his coarse way but Gerald the poet preferred the more romantic appellation. Also after hearing that wonderful voice he made up his rash mind that he would not believe in the alleged insanity of Mavis Derm until he had seen her and had spoken with her. If she were really a homicidal maniac he could return with some regrets to the workaday world. But if she was all that he hoped she would be, well... Gerald drew a long breath as he thought thus. If she were as beautiful as her voice, as poetic as her message, he did not know what would happen. Yet as a young man dizzy with the wine of life he should have known. But such things for good or for evil were yet on the knees of the most high gods. At the upper end of the pool the adventurer found a stone landing stage with an iron ring to which he fastened the canoe. He leaped lately on to the rugged platform and climbed up a rude stair to find himself facing an arched opening hewn in the face of the cliff. It was masked more or less by neglected bushes and evidently had not been made use of many years. Still it undoubtedly led upward to the battlements of the enchanted castle. So Haskins pushed his way through the trees and clambered up a ruinous and twisting stair in complete darkness. Here indeed was an adventure not often to be met with in this unromantic age and the young man's body thrilled as he experienced either two unknown emotions. He was Sir Galahad searching for the Grail, Columbus staring at a newly discovered world, a calendar from the Arabian Knights tumbling upon the magical beauty of the world, a Jinn's daughter lovely and unapproachable. Up and up went the stair twisting and turning like an eel until Haskins losing count of time thought he was mounting to the North Star. Finally the steps ceased to wind and the explorer clambered up a straight flight which terminated in a small opening out of which he emerged onto the top of the cliff and immediately below the ivy draped wall. The house stood about twenty yards from the verge of the cliff and the space between was filled with long grass with stunted bushes and with tolerably tall trees all in full summer foliage. On looking up Gerald saw pointed roofs of weather worn red tiles, twisted stacks of chimneys and grazed-tone turrets, the whole so overgrown with greenery that it looked as though the mansion were a portion of the earth itself. There was no door in the wall visible. If there had been one as was probable to reach the landing stage it had been blocked up or was hidden by the darkly green ivy. Faint heart never won fair lady thought Gerald unoriginally and began to swarm up the natural ladder afforded by the tough roots of the creeper. Out of breath he gained the top of the wall and flinging his leg over satisfied to view this jack-and-the-bean-stock country. Then he beheld charity bird. End of Chapter 3 Chapter 4 of the Sealed Message by Fergus Hume. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. 4 The Fairy Princess Seated on the wall like Humpty Dumpty Gerald gasped for two excellent reasons. Firstly he was a trifle-breath with the arduous climb and secondly the sight of the girl whom he believed to be Miss Bird amazed him out of all common sense. She stood under the wall, arrayed in a plain white dress without frills or trimmings or ornaments, and looked more like a Vestal of Rome than a young lady of the 20th century. And to add to Haskins' astonishment she did not appear to be the least startled or even surprised. So you have come at last, she said softly, and the voice had in it the same melody that Gerald had noted when the phonograph delivered its fantastical message. Charity! Miss Bird! He could hardly get his tongue to move. The girl looked puzzled. My name is Mavis Durum, she said simply. Haskins knew that he was awake for he had grazed his knee while climbing and the pain assured him of material existence. Otherwise he would certainly have believed that the whole thing was a delicious dream. But on looking downward more intently he saw that, although the image of charity in physical appearance, this girl who declared herself to be Mavis Durum had a more spiritual look on her face. Her eyes were turquoise blue like the dancers. She possessed the same wonderful hair, the color of ripe corn about which Miss Bird's admirers raved, and her features were cast in the same classic mold, but she had a mystical, ethereal, evanescent look about her which hinted at more spirituality than was apparent in Charity's pronouncedly material charms. It might have been the dying light of the evening or the exalted state of mind consequent on emotion that raised Gerald to a high plane, but the girl looked as though she would vanish like a wreath of mist under the influence of the newly risen sun. The resemblance between Mavis and Charity was certainly marvelous and Askins could not account for the similarity, but after a long and searching look he became certain that the girls were two different flesh and blood human beings and not one as he had momentarily supposed. On acquiring this assurance in his innermost being the young man drew a breath of relief since Charity was more or less engaged to Todd and he did not wish to poach on Todd's preserves. The question of the resemblance he determined swiftly to leave to a later date for answer and meanwhile surrendered himself entirely to the incredible romance of the adventure. Surely no more poetic happening had taken place since King Cofetua had gone a-wooing his beggar maid, but by the time his reflections had reached this point the Princess of Fairyland for that she certainly was, betrayed excitement and uneasiness waving her hands to intimate that he should hide behind the ready leaves of a copper beach which overtopped the wall and leaned against it. Bilaria will catch you, called up Mavis softly, and then I'll never see you again. Get behind the beach, I'll return soon. She sped lightly away while Askins, still trying to assure himself that he was not dreaming, shuffled along the wall until he gained the covert of the spreading branches. Here he was safe from any a-spile and while Mavis was absent he gently parted the leaves to view her enchanted palace whether she had called him a phonograph and Fairyland. It was an odd mixture of poetry and science. A page with a silken-bound parchment, a dragon chariot to waft a mortal prince to a spellbound queen, these were natural in the circumstances. But to be summoned by a phonograph? Why, it linked the age of motor-cars with that of King Arthur. Askins saw below him a moderately-sized quadrangle smoothly turfed in the center and bordered with beds of flowers stretching to moldering walls. To the right and straight in front, somewhat after the shape of the letter L, were two ranges of a gray-stone mansion cloth, as was the wall, with thickly-growing ivy. There were two stories in the architecture was Tudor, picturesque and graceful. Along the lower story of the front wing were elaboratorial windows filled in with latticework and as Gerald shrewdly suspected, with stained glass. An archway pierced this wing and apparently led to another part of the grounds. The range of buildings on the right was less elaborate, as the windows above and below were square and modern in their looks. To the left were ruinous stables and outhouses more or less tumbled down and, of course, the fourth side of the quadrangle was closed in by the wall upon which the young man was seated. What with the gray wall, the beautifully shaped orioles, the peaked roofs of mellow red tiles and the mantle of greenery which overspread all, the place looked like a picture from the Christmas number of the graphic. Yet, if the house was neglected, the garden and lawn certainly were not. The turf was as smooth as a billiard table and the beds of flowers were carefully tended, as you could see from the absence of weeds and the efflorescence of blossoms. These were chiefly those of humble cottage flowers. Tall hollyhocks, golden snapdragon, sweet William, pansies, marigolds, ragged robin and musk carnations. All these grew in artistic profusion and confusion, making the quadrangle a world of beauty and color and perfume. In the center of the lawn rose an antique sundial supported by three battered female figures, and over all this dreamy old world haven of rest arched the shadowy sky, blending night and day in vapory blue and rosy flushings. Haskins felt that a new planet had swam into his kin. All that he had dreamed of as too fair for earth was here transmuted from the ideal into the real. I must certainly be in dreamland, thought the young man, or in paradise, or in prosperous enchanted island, or in the Vale of Avelian, were doth neither rain nor snow. But his poetic musings were cut short by a wrestle among the coppery leaves of the beach. He looked down from his wall and saw a vision of loveliness rising from the foliage like undine from the well. I went to see what Bellaria was doing, explained Mavis breathlessly, and perched on a sloping bow so near to the wall that the young man could have embraced her without difficulty. He felt very much inclined to do so, for he was rapidly falling fathoms deep in love. But a feeling of respect for the unprotected girl restrained him, and he listened spellbound to the music of her voice. Bellaria was cooking the supper, you know, went on the girl prosaically, so there is no chance of her coming to call me for half an hour. And what then? asked Gerald soberly. You must go away. Bellaria would be very angry if she knew that my fairy prince had come. Am I the fairy prince? asked Haskins softly. Mavis raised her brows with a trail of heavenly laughter. Of course you are, since you came over the wall. I have been watching here for months to see you arrive. You would not have come had you not got my message. No, acknowledged Haskins sensibly, that is very certain. No one would look for a fairy princess in this tangle of woods. But he hesitated and smiled. You are not sleeping. Yes, I am. Not with my eyes closed, of course. But I am sleeping through life. All my days I have lived in this dull old place, and my guardian will not let me go out and see the world. Who is your guardian? asked Gerald and received a shock. Major Reb. Good Lord. Major Reb. Huh! So this was the elderly relative whom the man had come to see. Haskins congratulated himself that he had not questioned the Major. Had he done so there would have been a speedy end to romance. The word elderly had apparently been used by Reb to conceal the existence of this lovely girl from two inquiring youth. No young man would search for anything elderly. Haskins felt like Saul, as though he had gone to seek his father's asses and had found a kingdom. Do you know my guardian? asked Mavis, quickly noting his surprise. Well, yes, I have met him in London. Oh, London, London! The girl clapped her hands in a childish way. How I wish to see London! My guardian says that he will take me there some day, and then… oh, and then… and then… and then… What then? I shall live. Just fancy, she continued swinging on the bow. I am twenty years of age and I have lived shut up here with Bilaria ever since I can remember. My guardian comes and sees me sometimes and gives me all kinds of presents. He is always very kind, but he will not let me leave the Pixies' house. I'm not shut up, of course, she added contradicting herself. The grounds are very large. There's a big garden of fruit and flowers beyond that archway and a park of trees with undergrowth just like a fairy wood. I have heaps and heaps to do, looking after my flowers and embroidering and cooking and playing games and listening to Bilaria's stories. I am quite happy, and now she leaned forward until her face nearly touched that of Gerald. I am happier than never, because you are here. Are you? inquired Haskins stupidly and thickly. He did not dare to move or to follow his impulse lest he should alarm her. She was as trusting as a tame bird, but a chance word or a too eloquent look might teach her that fear existed. Yes, of course I am. How silly you are! In Bilaria's stories the Prince always comes to the Princess in the end. Mine would not come, so I sent that message. And now she stretched a hand to caress his face. Oh, my Prince, my Prince! I may not be your Prince, after all, said Gerald weakly. He certainly felt unworthy of being so. But you are! You are! cried Mavis with conviction. You would not have found my message otherwise. I flung it from one of the windows into the pool below. And you picked it up, so I know that you are my Prince. And then, she added naively, you are so very handsome. Haskins was pretty well hardened to admiration since he knew more about women that was good for him. All the same the outspoken speech made him blush. Who is Bilaria? He asked abruptly, changing a too embarrassing subject. My nurse, who has looked after me all my life? I call her the ogress and my guardian the ogre. Not but what they are both very kind. I have all I want. Save liberty. And why cannot you get that? It is not the custom of the country. Haskins looked puzzled. What do you mean, Mavis? She raised her clear-toothful eyes. Why, you know, don't you? Major Reb told me that all girls were brought up in seclusion until they reached the age of twenty-one, and then they were taken out to see the world. I wish ten months were passed, sighed the imprisoned beauty, for then I shall be one in twenty and able to leave the pixie's house. Bilaria says I won't like the world, but I shall, I shall, I shall. It was both cunning and clever of Major Reb to suggest such a reason for her seclusion to the girl herself, as it prevented her feeling that she was being detained against her will. But she was apparently unaware that he ascribed a more terrible reason to the world beyond the gates, and that she was looked upon as a homicidal maniac. Of course, this was wholly and entirely absurd. No one was such steady eyes and who spoke so artlessly could be tainted in that way. She was limited from sheer ignorance and innocent beyond belief of evil. The child of nature has unsophisticated as undean herself. Gerald doubted if she would know the meaning of the word murder. What is Bilaria's other name? He asked after a pause. Dondi, Bilaria Dondi, who came from Florence and Italy, said Miss Durham easily. She is ugly and old and very cross, but I love her all the same, for she loves me and means well. And, oh, she tells such lovely, lovely stories and can repeat poetry by Dante and Ariosto and Leopardie for ever so long. I can repeat poetry also, she added hastily, with the complacency of a child. I know lots of Homer and of Shakespeare and of Geats and— Stop, stop! interrupted Gerald hastily. How can you when, according to your message, you are unable to read? Oh, Shibar taught me— Shibar Mavis nodded with bright eyes. You know, the Perry Banu's brother in the Arabian Nights. His real name is Arnold, Mr. Arnold. But I call him Shibar because he is a dwarf with a long beard and a short temper. He used to recite poetry and I learned to recite also. But Shibar has gone away, she said, with a falling cadence. Months ago he went to Australia and promised to write, but he did not. You could not read what he wrote, Mavis. I could hear it. Shibar should send me a record in the same way as I sent you my message. But he has not done so, and yet he was so fond of me, I cannot understand it. And Mavis sighed. From your mention of Australia it seems that you know geography also. Oh yes, of course I do. Shibar drew the maps and told me where cities and mountains and lakes and rivers were. I carry it all in my head. And you cannot read or write, as Gerald with the passing recollection of the Golden Butterfly Heroine. No, the ogre said that my brain was not strong enough to learn. The ogre, said Haskins, forgetting. My guardian, Major Reb. He says that lots and lots of girls never learn to read or write. Liar, thought Haskins, but he suppressed the appropriate name and merely remarked anxiously. But you don't feel your brain weak? Oh no, oh no! I could learn anything, I think. I have never had a day's illness in my life. Do you ever feel dizzy? No, why should I? Do you ever get into a rage and want to strike Balaria? Mavis laughed wonderingly. I should be foolish to do that. Poor Balaria doesn't mean to be cross, and if she cannot keep her temper I must. I wouldn't strike her or anyone even if I were in a rage. Do you strike people when you are angry? Gerald copped. He had a vivid recollection of school fights and of horse-whipping a scandal monger much later in life. It is necessary sometimes, Mavis, he remarked. The world is not inhabited entirely by agreeable people. Oh, I know that, she said quickly. The old gardener Matthew, who came to help me from Ligarth, is very disagreeable, and he seems to be a little afraid of me. I don't know why and I am very sorry. I want everyone to love me. Doesn't Major Reb. Reb. Yes, in a way, but he is cold. He never kisses me. If you like a person, don't you kiss her. If she's a very nice person I do, said Haskins, bubbling over with laughter, now you. His eyes completed the sentence. You love me? Yes, Mavis. He answered unhesitatingly. Gerald scorned a lie. Then, of course, she bent forward, and in spite of Gerald's virtuous resolutions, their lips would have met, but that a deep contralto voice boomed from the quadrangle calling on Mavis angrily. Oh, the girl flung back her head. There is Beleria calling me to supper. I must go or she may find you. But come again, and I'll kiss you. You—oh, what is your name? Gerald, he replied softly. Prince Gerald, she said, smiling, and slipped down the tree rapidly as Beleria called again. Haskins, parting the leaves, saw her cross the lawn and enter the house in the company of a tall, lean woman. But it was too dark to see Beleria's looks at that distance. The adventurer slipped from the wall and descended to Mother Kerry's Peace Pool, as he named the place. Paddling to the opposite side, he found a sloping bank and dragged his canoe into the undergrowth. Then, in the rosy twilight, he scrambled through the bushes to find some path or road leading to Denly. End of Chapter 4 Chapter 5 of The Sealed Message by Fergus Hume This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. 5 Golden Hours How Haskins reached the Devon maid that evening he could not tell, for his memory was occupied in recalling every word of that delightful conversation. But in some way he managed to strike a narrow path which led on to the high moors and thence gained the highway, descending into Denly Valley. It was rather late when he entered his sitting-room and the rosy hues of the sunset had given place to the shadowy stillness of a summer night. Supper was waiting for him and almost immediately the negro appeared with a hot dish. I thought you were lost, sir, said Geary, looking closely at Gerald's flannels which were somewhat torn by brambles, and smeared with mud. Oh, no! answered the young man ready with an explanation since he wished to satisfy the negro's curiosity without enlightening him. I have been down the river and up the river in my canoe, but I got mixed up with stones and cross-currants and blundered in the darkness. I therefore hid my canoe in the bushes and came back. And you lied, the river, sir! asked Geary, lingering. Haskins subbed his soup and nodded. A most charming river, he said in a careless voice, very quiet, very lonely. I shall explore it again tomorrow afternoon. The negro withdrew quietly and Haskins reflected on the persistent way in which the man questioned him. More than ever did he mistrust Adonis and now with stronger reason for he felt certain that the negro was connected in some way with Major Reb, who in his turn was assuredly connected with Epixie's house and its inmates. If Geary discovered that Gerald had met with the enchanted princess, he might officially inform Reb when there would be trouble. Without doubt the Major was behaving illegally in shutting up a perfectly sane girl and therefore would not create a public scandal. Nevertheless, if he knew that Haskins had penetrated his secret, he might remove Mabus to another hiding-place. Gerald could not risk that until he knew more and again had met the girl. He looked upon himself as the night errant of distressed beauty and it behooved him to be wary in his dealings with a very difficult and somewhat dangerous matter. After supper, Haskins lighted his pipe and seated himself by the open window to think over matters. Mrs. Geary entered and removed the remnants of the meal in her dumb way. After placing a cup of coffee on a small table at her guest's elbow, she withdrew and he was left to his reflections. These began with a consideration of Mabus's beauty of person and charm of conversation. It can thus be guessed that Haskins was in love, genuinely in love, and for the first time in his life. As Bulwar Lytton says, there are many counterfeits but only one eros. This was Haskins' experience. He had loved in an earthly way many times in his life and several times had mistaken the false for the true. A fastidious mind had saved him from the commercial passion of the ordinary man and he had usually approached women in the belief that they were goddesses. This was hard on the sex as the attitude exacts too much perfection in a world of temptation. Consequently Gerald had been deceived several times and therefore had guarded himself carefully against the tender passion. Then he met with charity bird and, in common with many another man, fell in love with her physical charms. But in spite of her beauty which he grew to admire as he would that of a picture, Haskins failed to find in her the wife and helpmate his exacting nature demanded. Outwardly charity was all that he could desire, but inwardly she was less attractive, being matter of fact when she was not silly. She might suit Todd, but she did not match with Gerald so he withdrew with little regret and for some months he had been hard-haul and fancy-free. Now, in an unexpected and extraordinary way the young man had met with another charity bird, more perfect than the original. Mabus was as beautiful in looks and yet was higher in mind. From the strange upbringing to which she had subjected she looked at life, what little she knew of it, in a poetical way. Yet, judging by her remarks on cooking and embroidering and gardening, she had a fund of common knowledge directed by common sense. It was too early as yet to pronounce authoritatively on her capabilities and trend of thought, but the spiritual power manifested in her personality appealed strongly to the lover who had loved her counterfeit. Here indeed was the true eros, a deity who could be worshipped without disappointment. Gerald, with less reflection than he usually gave to his decisions, determined to be a faithful attendant at the shrine of this divinity. Having thus settled his attitude towards the girl, with the impetuosity of a young man and a true lover, Haskins began to think over Ms. Durham's position. In spite of the hideous rumor reported by Gary he believed from personal observation that the girl was quite sane. Reb, who was her acknowledged guardian, had apparently set such gossip afloat so that no one might comment upon the seclusion of the girl. Guarded in this way by public fear which had been erected by a lying tale, Mavis might continue to dwell for the rest of her life amidst the ruins of the Pixie's house, closely watched by the Florentine and Spideypon in a last degree, as Gerald shrewdly suspected, by Geary, who was probably a creature of major Rebs. Now, the question was this. Why did Reb shut up so pretty and unsophisticated a creature in conventional solitude? She had committed no crime, and from what little Haskins had seen of her, she had no instinct which would make her commit one. There must be some other reason and a strong one for the odd behavior of Reb. This reason Haskins determined to learn how so-ever much Geary and his employer might desire to conceal it. Also, there were other questions to which the young man desired answers. Why was Mavis so similar to Charity in looks? Why had she not been taught to read and write? Why was Geary, as Haskins verily believed, posted at the Devon maid to keep his one sinister eye on her? Gerald could not have sworn in a court of law that the Negro was connected in any way with the Pixie's house secret, but he had an intuitive feeling from the man's behavior towards major Reb and by his eager statement of a false rumor that in some manner the landlord had to do with the matter. Haskins therefore placed himself on his guard and by a careless demeanor and a apparent fratness he succeeded in lulling Geary's suspicions as to his true reasons for postponing his journey to St. Ives. It was Geary who could answer at least some of the questions which vexed Gerald's soul, and he lingered to hear them. Unfortunately he did not know how to inquire without betraying his secret visit to the Pixie's house. Two or three days went by and Haskins regularly took his way to the river to seek the fairy palace. After that first attempt to navigate so stubborn a stream as the ruddle he used the canoe very little. It was easier and more expeditious to take the highway to the Moors and then strike into the secret path which led to mother Geary's peace-pool. This, Haskins did and then would paddle across to the landing place once he would gain the summit of the cliff. Here he would climb the wall to hide behind the beach-tree and hither Mavis would come to chatter to her fairy prince as she still continued to call him. But owing to the presence of Balarria the young man did not dare to descend into the grounds. Any moment might have brought about discovery had he risked so much for according to Mavis the Florentine was a keen and restless dragon. She's afraid of something, said Mavis one day when Gerald questioned her about the woman. I don't know what it is, but she is afraid. Why do you think that? Because she is always looking over her shoulder with a scared expression and she never sleeps in the same bedroom. Has she more than one then, Mavis? Oh, yes. There are many, many bedrooms in the house and Balarria goes to a different one nightly. She's afraid of the darkness too and remains always in the house after sundown. When she goes shopping in Ligarth she returns quite pale and nervous. I am quite sure that she is afraid of something but she always gets angry with me when I ask what is the matter. Curious, murmured Haskins, here is another mystery. Then he asked aloud, how often does your guardian come to you? Not very often. Sometimes he is away for months and then will come twice in a week. He really is very kind for he always brings me presents. I call him Santa Claus when he does that. But oh, there is Balarria. Stay here, Gerald. I'll see what she wants. As it was early in the afternoon, Haskins had an excellent view of the Florentine who stalked across the lawn almost to the foot of the beach, drawn thither by her nursing's answering cry. You are all the ways a sitting on the high branches of that tree, said the Italian crossly and in most excellent English. Why do you do that? I can see the river and the pool, said Mavis quickly. Oh, Balarria, I wish I was a nymph that I could plunge into the cool water. You can do that without being a nymph, a caramia, but not in the pool below, not outside of the grounds. Your guardian would be angry. No English young lady leaves at her home until she is at twenty-one. Haskins smiled when he heard this frightful falsehood. Balarria had been well trained by her master, and such was the simplicity of Mavis that she accepted the limitation of her liberty in all good faith. But I shall be so glad when I am twenty-one, she complained with a sigh. See, see, see! Balarria placed her hands on her hips and nodded three times emphatically. But you will not like the world. No, ah, dio mio! The world is a dangerous and evil place. And she looked in a scared manner over her shoulder shivering in the warm air. The Florentine had been a handsome woman, tall and dark and of a commanding appearance. She was still remarkably straight at the age of fifty-six and carried herself with a defiant air when forgetful of the danger that threatened her whatsoever that might be. Then she would cringe and wince as Gerald had just seen her do. Her eyes were large and black, but the pupils were dilated and she looked like a terrified rabbit. Apparently the woman had caused to fear some enemy or some punishment, for not only were her eyes scared looking, but her plentiful hair was absolutely snow-white. This might have been age, but fifty-six is not a very great age, and the hair might easily have been an iron gray. There was certainly some shadow on her life that threatened disaster, and only when she forgot the danger in conversation with Mavis did Bilaria appear defiant and stately and tolerably young. But the very slightest reminder of that past, and the past apparently contained the danger referred to, and her form dwindled, her body bent, her eyes grew timid and she aged to seventy as though by enchantment. All this might have been fancy on Haskins part for he was extremely imaginative, but he believed that he had read the woman rightly. Whatever might be the reason, Bilaria Dondie had been frightened into this lonely house, there to hide from some appalling danger. It appeared that the fit of terror tormented her now and that she had sought Mavis's company from sheer dread of solitude. Quite ignorant of the man up the tree, or rather the lover who was seated on the wall, Bilaria sat near the trunk talking to Mavis. Both the lovers were afraid lest their secret should be discovered, but Bilaria kept up so loud a conversation, and it seemed as though she spoke loudly to reassure herself that the occasional movements of Haskins passed unheeded. Mavis proved herself to be a capable actress despite her simplicity, for nothing could have been more artless than her demeanor. Geary is coming to see me tonight, said Bilaria after a pause and the observation startled the listener. He sent her a message by Matthew. This was the aged Cross Gardener of whom Mavis had spoken. Why is he coming? questioned Mavis. Major Reb told him to come and see that the young man who is stopping at the Devon Maid has not been lurking about here. What young man? asked Mavis coolly. I have told you? A friend of the Majors who is stopping at the Gearies Inn. He has taken to rowing on the river and might find this place. I wish he would, said the girl truthfully. I should like to see a really young man. Your will is some day, Bilaria assured her, and then you will be a sorry caramia. Young men are all liars and villains. Geary wrote to Major Reb in London, telling about to this Mr. Haskins. That is the name, I believe. So the Major says that Geary has to come over tonight to look round the place and ask me questions. So absurd! Bilaria shrugged her thin shoulders, as if anyone could come her here unless I knew. Why shouldn't this Mr. Haskins come, Bilaria? Because you may fall in love, and if you do you may want to marry this man. Major Reb does not wish you to marry until you have seen the world, my dear. But I have to wait for another ten months, powdered Mavis. What is that? I, yes, I, who speak Bilaria Dondi, shall never see the world again. Here I am shut up forever and ever. Why, nanny, I have often asked but you never will tell. I tell no one the reason why I stop here, said the woman somberly. I am a dead to the world and to its people. For twenty years I have been dead, and it is as well that I should be thought to be dead. If they knew, if they guessed, oh! She looked round and shivered. If who knew? No matter, no matter. Bilaria leaped to her feet. All is done with and over. I was a famous once, Garamia. Yes, beholden me, a greater singer. But you know, you know. Often have I talked to you of my greatness. And it was a blotted out in a night by. Hush, hush! She cast a scared glance over her shoulder and darted into the middle of the lawn. Bilaria, Bilaria, called out Mavis. I'll climb the beach again. But the woman did not reply. She burst out into the shadow-song from Dinora, and Haskins realized at once what a magnificent voice she must have had. Even now many of the notes were true, though occasionally a high one was cracked and wheezy. Spreading her black scurse, she bowed and becked and swept and danced to her shadow in the strong sunlight, while her voice fluted high and bird-like through the air. Thus singing and dancing, she re-entered the house, her dark hour over for the time being. Haskins wondered what could be her secret. Here, indeed, was a woman with a past. But by this time Mavis had climbed the tree again and was hurriedly persuading him to go. Bilaria suspects nothing, she said eagerly, and after Geary comes tonight he won't come again. But you must be careful. How can I be more careful than I am? asked Gerald, taking her hand. Come at night, she urged. Come to more a night when the moon is high and the fairies come out to dance. I am often in the garden on these summer nights, for Bilaria will not come out, and I hate to be mewed up in stuffy rooms. She will not think that I am meeting anyone, and then we can talk without fear of discovery. I shall lead you into the other garden through the arch. But if Bilaria sees me from a window, her bedroom is on the other side of the house looking down onto the woods. She will not see us, and she will never suspect that anyone is with me. She knows that I love the moonlight, and besides, she will not dare to come out because of her fear. I wonder what that fear is, said Gerald meditatively. I do not know. But go now, dear Prince, and come again tomorrow night at ten o'clock. Tonight you must not come lest Gary sees you, and if he did. Oh, Mavis shivered. I don't know what he would do. He is a terrible black man, and has a horrid knife with the yellow handle. A big knife? Oh, so dangerous! He brought it from Jamaica, he told Bilaria so. He would kill you if he found you. I quite believe that, said Gerald grimly, and resolved to arm himself with a revolver when he next came to the Pixie's house. He was resolved not to die without a fight. But don't worry, darling, I'll be all right. Good-bye. Tomorrow night then. He dropped from the wall and departed, while Mavis wailed that he had not kissed her. And of Chapter 5 Chapter 6 of the Sealed Message by Fergus Hume This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 6 The Past of Adonis Geary No, Gerald had not kissed her. He wished to very badly, but something in his heart, a strong sense of honour maybe, prevented his doing so until he had made his position clear to her. She was so simple, so innocent, so virginal that she knew nothing of passion or of life, or of that world wherein women marry and are given in marriage. With an almost absurd particularity the young man desired that, before being kissed, she should learn that he was her true lover, that he wished to marry her, that he greatly desired to enter into a lifelong companionship with her. To act otherwise was to bind her unknowingly to him. When she understood what love meant and was ready to accept him as her husband, then he could seal this acceptance with a kiss. For he knew full well that such a kiss would awaken the woman in her, would reveal life to her soul. A caress meant so much that it was little wonder he restrained himself from following too hurriedly the desire of his heart. And perhaps it was that he found her innocent and friendly acceptance of his presence too delightful to transmute with unconsidered haste friendship into love. Why spoil this idol of lilies by presenting her with the red ripe roses of love? The romance was so charming, so dreamlike, that the poetic instinct of the poet forbade him to rouse her. Mavis was indeed the sleeping beauty, slumbering within her enchanted palace, and he, the fated prince, as it would seem he was from his finding of the cylinder, wouldn't time awaken her with a kiss. But the hour had not yet struck. When it did, many things would come to pass. In the first place, Mavis would no longer be contented to live in the pixie's house ignorant of life. She would wish to come out into the world, even before the age of twenty-one, and would not wait longer for her guardian's permission. Such a desire would mean a meeting and an explanation with Reb, and Gerald as yet did not see how to bring this about. He guessed that when he spoke to the major he would be told of the homicidal mania with which Mavis was said to be tainted. It would be vain for him to decline to believe in such a taint. If Reb insisted that it was so he could refuse to allow Haskins to marry his ward, particularly as she was under age. Then again, if Reb guessed that the young man wished to marry the girl, he might very easily remove her secretly to a new hiding place, and Gerald would lose her forever. Hasty action was not to be thought of, and it would be best to wait until he could learn why Reb secluded the girl in that ruinous house. Haskins duly returned to the Devon maid and found gary as cheerful and obsequious as usual. But now that Gerald was enlightened as to the connection of the negro with the pixie's house he found it difficult to tolerate these false smiles. Piercing the mask of Geary's good humor he saw in him a dangerous man gripping a yellow handled knife which he was ready to use should it be necessary. Haskins no longer wondered at the negro's presence amongst these lonely hills. He knew that he had not drifted there, but had been made landlord of the inn to act as a dragon. And a very dangerous dragon he might prove to be should he gain wind of Gerald's philanderings with Mavis. Geary, however, showed no signs that he suspected anything but waited as usual on his guess. While at dinner Gerald seized the opportunity to tell his landlord that he contemplated stopping at Silbury on the ensuing night. I have to run up to London on the day after tomorrow, said Haskins, with feigned carelessness, and if I sleep at Silbury I can catch the eight o'clock train. I could drive you there, sir, for that train, said Geary beaming and evidently pleased at Haskins' announcement. No, my good fellow, that would mean my getting up at five in the morning. I prefer to sleep at Silbury at the Prince's Head Hotel. Well, you come back here, sir. Oh, yes, in two or three days, but only for a time, Geary. I have to go on to St. Ives, you know. I shall be sorry to lose you, sir. Thank you. I shall be sorry to go. This inn is comfortable and the country all around is picturesque. I have left my canoe down on the river and when I return I shall send it back to Exeter. I am tired of exploring that river. It is so lonely. Very lonely, sir. I sent it Geary promptly and went towards the door with the train his hands. There he stopped. Will you want me to see Benin, sir? I go to see a friend in Delaud at Leegarth, who wished to see me for the good of his brazen soul. No, I won't want you. Rejoined Askins secretly disgusted at the fellow for using the cloak of religion to mask his Spixie's house visit. I shall go to bed early. Thank you, sir. And Geary departed. Later, while Jared at the window sipped his coffee, he saw the big negro walking up the hill which led on to the moors. For the moment it flashed across the young man that Geary might go to Mother Carey's Peace Pool by taking the down path and there might discover the canoe. But on second thoughts he dismissed his reflection. Geary, being quite ignorant of Askins' knowledge, had no reason to seek the pool and so the canoe would be left undisturbed in the undergrowth. Askins had really intended to retire early but unable to rest quietly he strolled out of the inn and on to the bridge. No one lingered there now as the early birds of Den Lee had gone to roost. He had the realto of the village all to himself as he thought until he became aware that Mrs. Geary, with a blue shawl over her head, was leaning against the parapet. Wondering if he could learn anything about Adonis from his usually silent wife, Gerald moved alongside. A penny for your thoughts, Mrs. Geary, he said cheerfully. Mrs. Geary turned and in the moonlight he saw that she was crying. My thoughts have to do with funerals, sir. She said in a heavy voice but with a much less use of the Devonshire dialect than he would have expected from a barn staple woman. With funerals? I was thinking, said Mrs. Geary looking at the water flowing under the bridge, if it wouldn't be best for me to throw myself into yon stream. Why on earth should you do that? Asked Askins blankly. And it was then that he became conscious that she had been drinking for she swayed against the stonework. Perhaps it was the drink which made her talk more than usual added to the absence of her husband, but she certainly spoke very freely and told him much that he wished to know. Why should I wish to do that, sir? She repeated scornfully. Because I am the most miserable woman on God's green earth. Oh, surely not, Mrs. Geary. You have a good home, healthy children, and a capital husband. Again she laughed scornfully. A capital husband when it suits him. Oh, you don't know what Geary is, Mr. Askins. His soul is as black as his face and that is saying a lot. I wondered why you married a negro, commented Askins leaning over the bridge and leading her to confide in him. I married him because I was a greedy fool, sir. I was a housemaid or at least a general servant and a malaria at the pixie's house. Gerald caught his breath. That is where the mad girl lives, according to your husband. Mad? She's less mad than I am, sir. A poor, pretty, sweet young lady who was kept a fast prisoner by Major Reb. Why is she kept prisoner? I can't tell you that, sir. All I know is that sixteen long years ago I was a servant there and Miss Mavis liked me. I got on well with Balarria too, although she had her vits of terror at times. Why, I can't say. But she often seemed to be scared by her very shadow. Major Reb was away then with his regiment in Jamaica. Oh, and Miss Mavis lived at the pixie's house? She was and is kept a prisoner there, said Mrs. Geary, whose tongue seemed to be very loose with the drink else she would scarcely have talked so boldly. Major Reb came home with Geary, who had been his servant in Jamaica. Geary stopped at the pixie's house while his master went to London. He fell in love with me and quarreled with Balarria. They were like cat and dog, so when Major Reb came down he said that if I would marry Geary he would keep my old mother out of the poor house. I didn't dislike Geary then, and I wanted my mother to be comfortable for the rest of her life. I agreed and married Geary. Major Reb settled us in the Devon maid fifteen years ago, and since then my life has been a hell with that villain. Geary will kill me some day, added the woman in a matter of fact tone, unless I kill myself first. But a big woman like you can manage him. Not when he threatens with that yellow-handed knife he holds, sir. I fear that knife. Geary says that it was used in some African sacrifice in Jamaica, and the sight of it makes me sick. Because of Geary's treatment I took to drink, and he's always threatening to kill me unless I leave it off. How can I? cried Mrs. Geary, throwing open her arms. When it is the only thing that makes me able to stand the brute. Does he strike you? He beats me and kicks me and threatens me with the knife. Don't tell him that I said so, sir. cried Mrs. Geary with sudden terror for the drink was dying out of her. If you do he'll kill me. I am afraid of death. She added, looking into the silver water. If I were not I would end everything in yonder's dream. I won't say a word, Mrs. Geary, said Haskins soothingly. Your husband will never hear anything from me. Why does he live here? To watch the pixie's house, said Mrs. Geary, to see that Miss Mavis don't get away. If she did and learned what she should learn, the major wouldn't be able to dash about in motor cars. Is it money? asked Gerald eagerly. Mrs. Geary drew her shawl tightly round her massive form. I don't know rightly what it is, she said in her heavy voice. Geary says very little, but what he does say shows that Major Reb will never let Miss Mavis leave that house. And she's not mad, poor lamb. She's a poor innocent angel, the sport of villains. I'll go now, Mr. Haskins, in mind. I have your word to say nothing. You have, said Gerald as she turned away. But if you want to help Miss Mavis, only one man can help her. Interrupted the woman gruffly, and he must be her lover who will stand against these devils on her behalf. But she never sees a man, since Mr. Arnold went away, unless old Matthew counts, so what chance has she? There. She ended abruptly. I have told you more than I ought to. The drink, the drink. Geary would kill me if he knew. Curse Geary and curse the drink. And she returned slowly to the inn, striking her forehead and repeating. The drink, the drink, the drink. Haskins remained on the bridge for a few minutes and then retired to bed, not to sleep, but to think deeply. He had enough to occupy his thoughts throughout that long summer night. Mrs. Geary, as the saying goes, had given the show away. From the remark about the motor-car, Gerald felt certain that Mrs. Geary had meant a loss of money. Apparently, if Mavis escaped from the Pixies' house, Reb would lose an income which rightfully belonged to the girl. But of this the young man could not be sure, and until he had more information he could do nothing. Still his suspicions had certainly proved to be correct. The negro was Reb's creature, and had been posted in Denley Village to guard the Pixies' house and its occupants. Haskins felt that he was on the track of the mystery, but could not follow it up until he talked it over with another person. Two heads were better than one in this instance, and Todd McAndrew was very shrewd. Therefore Haskins fell asleep with a resolution to explain matters to the lawyer when he went to London. Meanwhile he had to meet Mavis in the moonlight on the ensuing night, and that thought alone was sufficient to fill his mind to the exclusion of less romantic matters. Next morning Geary was a suave and obedient as usual. Evidently he had neither found, nor had he heard anything to awaken his suspicion while visiting the Pixies' house. Haskins watched him closely and weighed every look, every inflection of the voice, but in every case he was satisfied that the negro had not the slightest idea that his guests had stormed the enchanted castle. When the time came for Haskins to drive to Silbury, the negro himself appeared on the box of the trap. Hello, said Gerald climbing in and seeing that his portmanteau was all right. This is an honour, Geary. Oh no, sir, said the negro showing his splendid teeth. You very good person, sir, to have at the Devon Maid. I wish you to come here again and tell utter jamblem of displace. I'll tell everyone, said Gerald when the trap started, and I'll be back soon. To stay with me, sir. For a few days I must then get on to St. Ives as a friend is awaiting me there. What I miss about Denley Geary, added the young man in a careless tone, is that there are no pretty girls. No, sir, no. You apt to see Jamaica for the pretty girls, sir. You come from Jamaica, then? Yes, sir. Me, Buckra Nigger, sir, and servant to Major Reb. Him was in command of a fine black regiment, sir. Geary was communicative indeed and simply told what Gerald had gathered from the wife. However, to shield her he expressed suitable surprise. I wonder you don't go back to Jamaica, Geary. After the tropics this place must be chilly and extremely dull in winter. Yes, sir, it very dull, replied the negro unsuspiciously, but I abdain into wife and to family, so I getting on very well. But some day I go back to Port Royal to live with money, and am I a grand gem-loom. In this way Adonis chatted all the long way to Silbury, and told Haskins quite a lot about his life with Major Reb. The negro appeared to be quite devoted to his old master, alleging that Reb had saved his life when it was in danger. From what? asked Gerald Idley. Voodoo! said Geary, scowling. I lose one eye in Voodoo! And after this remark he became silent. Haskins had heard of Voodoo of the terrible African witchcraft, and having an initiate in his company would have liked from literary curiosity to learn more. But by this time the trap was entering Silbury and descending the steep high street, so Geary refused to say anything more. The loss of his eye was evidently a sore subject with him, and small wonder that he loved Reb if the sight of the other eye had been saved by that military gentleman. When Geary drove away leaving Haskins at the prince's head, that individual thought deeply.