J. S. Fletcher

“ There was gold in those days!—plenty of it—and Parslewe had a fist full. He held it out to Madrasia.
“Go and buy a toothbrush!” he said. “You know the town—go and do a bit of shopping. Better get all you want—didn’t I say we might be two nights? Go and amuse yourself, my dear, and leave mysteries alone. There are no mysteries—to me, anyway.” He thrust the money into her hands, stood smilingly by while she put on her furs, and when she had gone, turned to me with a laugh.
“Trust a woman for making the most of a mystery, Craye!” he said. “If there isn’t one she’ll invent one.” ”

“ In another moment he had coaxed Parslewe out of the room; the door closed on them. Madrasia and I, seated at opposite sides of the table, stared at each other. It seemed a long time before I found my tongue.
“Madrasia!” I managed to say at last. “Madrasia!”
“Well?” she answered.
“Madrasia!” I continued. “This is absolutely awful! You know what your guardian is!—a dreadful man. Nothing will prevent him from having his own way about—about anything! Whether we like it or not, he’ll go and do what—what he said he would do just now.” ”

“ Craye thinks he might be dull?”
“Mr. Craye thinks nothing of the sort,” I retorted hastily. “He’s overwhelmed on all sides. You’re extremely kind, Mr. Parslewe; your sense of hospitality is princely.”
[35] “Pooh, pooh!” he said. “We’ll just be glad. And there’s no need to be dull, my girl, when you’re about!” he added, nodding at his ward. “A lively damsel, this, Craye; the air of the hills is in her blood!”
“Miss Durham, sir, is, I am sure, one of those admirable hostesses who could never let a guest be anything but happy,” I said, with a glance towards the object of my compliment. ”

“ A dead silence fell on us. Madrasia turned wonderingly towards her guardian. [217] I was already watching him. As for Sir Charles Sperrigoe, he flushed crimson—as if somebody had struck him an insulting blow. He leaned forward.
“You—my dear sir, I am, I fear, inclining to deafness,” he said. “Did I understand you to say——”
“I said I don’t want it, and I won’t have it!” repeated Parslewe, loudly. “I should have told old Matthew that if he’d ever asked me about it. I’m a man of fixed and immutable principle. ”

“ I turned instinctively towards the coffee-room as we entered, already anticipating its pleasures more than my meeting with Parslewe. But our guide steered us away from it; he took us upstairs, along corridors, down passages, finally opened a door. And there was a private sitting-room, and a table laid for lunch, and on the hearth, warming his coat-tails at a blazing fire, his [136] saturnine countenance wearing a more cynical grin than ever, Parslewe.
He greeted us as coolly and unconcernedly as if we were in his own parlour at Kelpieshaw and had just come down to breakfast ”

“ And I saw then what I had not been able to see the night before, that this place, Kelpieshaw, was absolutely isolated; as far as I could see, on any side, there was not even a shepherd’s hut or gamekeeper’s lodge in view.
“You love solitude, Mr. Parslewe,” I remarked as I looked about me. “This, surely, is solitude!”
“Aye, it is!” he agreed. “And it suits me. What’s more to the purpose, it suits my ward—up to now, anyway. When I brought her from India, where she was born, I looked about for a likely place in this district. ”

“ For there was no doubt in my mind now that Pawley had come to Kelpieshaw as a spy, seeking some particular information, and evidently getting what he wanted in an inspection of Parslewe and an examination of the copper box.
That copper box began to assume a sinister significance in my thoughts of it and its relation to this affair. But what was its relation? It was a box, and it was made of copper. Beautifully made, to be sure, and by some man who had taken vast artistic pride in his work; the engraving of the coat-of-arms, too, was beautifully done. But, after all, it was only a copper box! ”

“ The fact was I had some queer suspicions about Mr. Pawley. I had noticed his odd, shrewd, [51] examining glances; he looked to me like a man who has an object, a mission; who is spying out the land; endeavouring to get at a discovery. That he had some purpose in view I was sure, but I said nothing to Parslewe and Madrasia. ”

“ Um! You don’t happen to know whose family coat-of-arms that is, Mr. Craye?”
“No, I don’t,” said I. “Do you?”
“No, sir, no! as I remarked—when I saw you and the young lady down the road—I’m a learner, a novice, a neophyte, Mr. Craye,” he replied. “Fine coat-of-arms, though, that—and a peculiar motto. Now what would you take those words to signify, Mr. Craye?”
Before I could reply, we heard Parslewe coming back, and Mr. Pawley hastily put down the copper box and retreated to his chair, for all the world as if he had been caught or been about to be caught in the act of stealing something. ”

“ We were more concerned with our mutual taste for old things. And the next day the old man [212] drove up to the Crown, when I was out, and left for me a parcel. It contained this copper box, which has been in the family for I don’t know how long, and some six or seven old books which I had admired—a nice present. I wrote him a nice letter in return, and carried my present home. Not knowing, mind you,” added Parslewe, with a sudden keen look, “what this box contained.”
Sir Charles was getting keenly attentive. He looked like a man who has become sure that something is going to be sprung on him. ”

“ But I had an idea that Pawley wanted me to speak.
“Leaving?” I asked, with a glance at his belongings.
“That’s it, Mr. Craye,” he replied, almost eagerly. “By the seven-forty, sir. I’m through with my job after last night.”
I noticed a difference in his tone and manner. He was no longer the amateur antiquary, [174] affecting a knowledge and a jargon carefully acquired; he talked like what he probably was, an inquiry agent of some sort. And in consonance with my previous feeling of intuition, I thought that however much he might keep back, he was not against communicating some of his knowledge. ”

“ But I could see cabinets and presses, shelves [23] and cases, evidently full of the sort of things of which Miss Durham had just spoken; there was also, on my left hand, a massive sideboard, covered with what looked to me like old silver.
“Is Mr. Parslewe a collector, then?” I asked. “Or is he an antiquary?”
“A bit of both, I think,” she answered, as she handed me a tea-cup. “Anyway, he’s always bringing home some curiosity or other that he’s picked up. And he spends most of his time reading his old books—there’s a room higher in the tower full of books—big things that one can scarcely lift.” ”

“ Weech, after your journey? A whisky-and-soda, now?”
“Well, thank you,” he answered, readily, with a glance at the sideboard. “It wouldn’t come amiss, Mr. Craye; I hired a push-bicycle at Wooler, but, my word! it wasn’t half a job shoving the old thing over your roads—some part of the way, at any rate! Cruel!”
I gave him a good stiff mixture and put a box of biscuits at the side of his glass. Then I got Madrasia’s attention once more, and, holding The Times in my hand, turned to the door.
“Just excuse Miss Durham and myself for a few minutes, Mr. Weech,” I said. “We’ll not keep you long.” ”

“ Motioning to the coachman to follow him up the road, Parslewe walked on ahead with his companion, and presently turned into a wayside wood. Coming abreast of the bridle-gate by which they had entered, we saw them in conversation with a third man, also elderly, who was felling trees; for some minutes the three stood talking together.
“What is he after now?” asked Madrasia.
I shook my head—nothing was going to draw me into speculations about Parslewe’s proceedings.
“The best thing at the present juncture,” said I, as oracularly as possible, “is just to let things occur. ”

“ Then she spoke.
“There’s one thing about Jimmie,” she remarked, reassuringly, “nobody will get the better of him! So let him work things out.”
I did not tell her that there was no question of choice on my part. We saw the play which Parslewe had commended so highly; we went back to the hotel; we had supper together; then Madrasia went off to her room. And it was then twenty minutes to twelve, and I sat out every one of them, waiting, watching the door, listening for a step in the corridor without. But Parslewe did not come. ”

“ When you come back, you’ll find a bit of supper in that private sitting-room. Before you go, I shall tell Madrasia that I may be very late in coming in, so after supper she’ll go to bed. Now comes in a job for you! I want you to wait up, in that sitting-room, until twelve o’clock—midnight. If I’m not in by exactly twelve”—here he paused and produced a sealed envelope which he placed in my hand—“put on your overcoat, and take that round, yourself, to the police station—it’s not far off—ask to see a responsible person, and hand it to him. Do you understand?” ”

“ Perhaps, because we were both young, I made bold to smile at her—knowingly.
“You think I shall be—lost in the snow and found dead in the morning?” I suggested.
“That’s precisely what you will be if you try to reach Wooler to-night,” she answered, with some liveliness. “Such a thing’s impossible! even if you knew the way, and I think you don’t. Of course, you must stay here. My guardian, Mr. Parslewe, is out, but——”
[17] “The master is not one for strangers, miss,” interrupted the old woman. ”

“ Wisdom is humble that he knows no more.’
—Just so—precisely!”
“You are fond of poetry, Sir Charles?” suggested Madrasia.
“Eminently so! And of antiquities,” assented our caller. “And being in the neighbourhood, and hearing of Mr. Parslewe, I did myself the honour of waiting upon him in the hope of being able to pay him my respects, and to——”
“Just so!” broke in Madrasia. “So very kind of you! I don’t think we were quite aware that my guardian’s fame as an antiquary had spread, but he appears to be getting celebrated. ”

“ Ah!—and a very pleasant country this is, Mr. Craye, for your form of art—and very delightful quarters, I’m sure,” added Mr. Pawley, with a bow towards our host. “And you were saying, Mr. Parslewe——?”
Madrasia, with an odd glance at me, went out of the room, and Parslewe, who, I thought, already looked bored to death by his visitor, turned to him.
“I was saying that if you’re really interested in that sort of thing—barrows and stone circles and so on, I’m scarcely the man to come to,” he said. “My tastes lie more chiefly in books. ”

“ There was that in his expression which made me think that he was wondering if Parslewe might not be a little mad.
“But why, my good sir?” he asked soothingly. “Why? Am I so——”
Parslewe laughed and pointed to the panelling over the big fireplace. There, carved in oak, was the Palkeney coat-of-arms, and beneath it the motto that had excited my wonder when I first saw it on the copper box.
“Do you see that?” he asked. “Aye?—well, you see, I have the Palkeney blood in my veins! And what I please to do, that I do!—without caring for or consulting anybody. Family characteristic, Sperrigoe! ”

“ Murthwaite, with another half wink at me. “However, I hope you’re sane enough to give me some tea, Miss Durham? Good!—then I’ll come in.” He handed his horse over to old Muir and followed Madrasia up the stair, I coming behind. His tone had been light and bantering up to then, but as soon as the three of us had reached the parlour and I had closed the door he turned to both with a quick, searching, earnest glance, and, unconsciously, I think, lowered his voice. “Now look here,” he said, in the tone of a man who wants a direct answer. “Do you young people, either of you, know where Parslewe is? ”

“ He waited during a moment’s silent reflection, then, leaning back in his chair, and using his cigarette occasionally to point his remarks, he began to address us pretty much as if we constituted a jury.
“The firm of which Sir Charles Sperrigoe is senior partner,” he said, “has for many years acted as legal advisers to a very ancient family [124] in the Midlands, the Palkeneys of Palkeney Manor, whose coat-of-arms you see on the now famous copper box on that sideboard, complete with its curious legend, or motto. ”

“ Craye—all right. Well, Mr. Craye and Miss Durham—or vice versa, if I’m to be polite—it’s like this,” he proceeded gaily. “There’s a mystery about that copper box, isn’t there? I guess Mr. Parslewe knows there is—but your old woman says he’s away—queer old party, that old woman, isn’t she?—a character, I should think. But if Mr. Parslewe’s away, you ain’t! And I want to get at something—and to get at it, I don’t mind telling what I know. Between ourselves, of course.”
Madrasia and I exchanged another glance; then we both sat down, one on either side of our loquacious visitor. ”

“ Railway stations, at any hour of the day, but especially early in the morning, have a fascination for me—the goings and comings of the first trains, the gradually increasing signs of waking up, the arrival of the newspapers and opening of the bookstalls, even the unloading and carrying away of the milk cans, are sources of mighty attraction. ”

“ Do you anticipate danger?”
“Not so much danger as difficulty, though I won’t deny that there may be danger,” he answered. “But do what I say. You’ll find [148] an inspector on night duty—he’ll know my name when he reads my note, because I’m a county magistrate. If he asks you a question or two, answer. And, if you like, go with him if he goes himself, or with whoever he sends. Is it all clear?—midnight?”
“It’s all clear,” I replied, putting the sealed envelope in my pocket. “And I’ll carry it out. But I hope you’re not running into personal danger, Mr. Parslewe!” ”

“ Pawley smiled in a queer, sickly, deprecating sort of fashion.
“Circumstances alter cases, Mr. Bickerdale,” he said. “I—I didn’t know then what I know now. My advice is, now—do as Mr. Parslewe wants.”
Weech sprang to his feet—an epitome of anger and chagrin.
“But us!” he vociferated. “Us—me and him! What are we going to get out of it? Where shall we profit?” He turned almost [167] savagely on Bickerdale. “Don’t!” he went on. “Don’t you do it! Never mind those fellows over there! ”

“ But by this time Madrasia’s cheeks were aflame, and she turned on Parslewe with blazing eyes.
“Jimmie!” she exclaimed. “How—how dare you? When will you give up that wicked habit of settling other people’s affairs as if—as if they were so many puppets? Why—why—Mr. Craye has never even asked me to marry him!”
Parslewe turned the full force of his grimmest smile on us.
“Well, my dear!” he retorted leisurely. “It’s his own fault if he hasn’t! I’m sure he’s had plenty of opportunity. But——”
Sir Charles rose to the occasion. He rose literally from his chair, bending towards Parslewe ”

“ As I expected, there was not a light to be seen in any of the windows, not even in those of the upper part of the tower wherein Parslewe had his library. I felt very lonely when the car had driven off, leaving me in the solitude of the wind-swept courtyard. I knocked on the turret door several [71] times without getting any response, and knowing the thickness of the walls and doors as I did, I began to fear that no summons of mine would be heard, and that I should have to camp out in one of the buildings. But my knocking roused the dogs ”

“ There was whisky and soda on the sideboard, and he mixed a couple of glasses, handed me one, and drank his own off at a draught. Then, when I had finished mine, he gave me a questioning look.
“Bed, my lad?” he suggested. “Just so! Come on, then—your room’s next to mine; we’ll go together.” We walked along the corridor outside. “Do you want an idea—not an original one—to go to bed with, Craye?” he asked abruptly, as we reached our doors. “I’ll give you one. There are some damned queer things in this world!” ”

“ Parslewe says it was a sixteenth-century peel tower—a sort of castle, you know,” she answered. “There are a good many here and there, on each side of the Tweed. We stayed for some time at Berwick when we came to England, looking round for an old place. Then we found this, and settled down. It’s delightful in summer, and in winter it’s weird!”
“Has it a name?” I asked. “Because it’s not marked on my map.”
“Name?—Yes!” she answered. “It’s called Kelpieshaw—that’s Kelpie Strand, that lies outside it, between Langlee Crags and Hedgehope Hill. ”