when I run into any Johnnies whodo, or think they do--they fight like the devil over it, and vote eachother crass ignoramuses. How's that?"
"Oh, I don't know. Let's go and look at something of the kind thisafternoon. Shall we?"
"No, my child. Not if I know it. You wait till you're clean throughthis ailment of yours before I sanction you going into any damp oldvault to look at gargoyles."
Melian went off into a rippling peal.
"Gargoyles don't live in vaults, Uncle Seward. They live on roofs, andtowers."
"Do they? Well, wherever they live, God's good open English country isgoing to be the thing for you to-day, anyhow."
"All safe. The other will keep."
Mervyn dawdled over breakfast, absolutely contrary to his wont. Hiswont was to play with it; now he ate it. This bright presence turned anormally gloomy necessity into a fairy feast.
"Come and let's potter round a bit," he said, soon after they had done.
"Rather."
Melian swung on her large hooded cloak, and they went up the step pathto the sluice. The sheen of ice lay before them, running up in a fartriangle to the distance of the woods.
"By the way, do you know how to skate?" said Mervyn.
"Yes, but I'm not great at it, and it makes my ankles horribly stiff."
"Well, I sometimes take a turn or two, just to keep in practice. Butit's awful slow work all alone. If you like, dear, I'll get you a pairfrom Clancehurst and you can take a turn with me."
"It wouldn't be worth while I think," she answered. "In point of factI'm feeling rather too much of a worm for hard exercise just now, andthe ice will probably vanish any day."
They wandered on, over the crisp frozen woodland path, and then hepointed out the scene of the stranger's immersion and rescue. Melianlooked at it with vivid interest.
"It must have been a lively undertaking, Uncle Seward," she commented."And that you should only just have heard his call for help? And then--him dying afterwards. Poor man, I wonder who he was."
"So do I--did rather--for you can't go on wondering for ever. But thatidiot, Nashby, has still more than a suspicion that I murdered him. Bythe way, Melian, you remember I said there were reasons why I couldn'tcome up to Town to fetch you; well, there it is. I've been practicallyunder police supervision ever since. If I had gone up to London they'dhave concluded I'd bolted, and started all Scotland Yard on the spot.How's that?"
"How's that? They must be idiots."
"Yes. That's near the `bull.' But Nashby, though an excellent countypolice inspector, imagines himself a very real Sherlock Holmes whoselight is hidden in a bushel called Clancehurst; consequently there beingno earthly motive for me making away with the stranger, therefore I musthave made away with him--according to Nashby."
"But, Uncle Seward. Do you really mean to say you're suspected ofmurdering the man?"
"Well, more than half--by Nashby. I don't know that any one else shareshis opinion. In fact, I don't think they do. Look. Here's the placewhere I hauled him out."
They had come near the head of the pond. In the weeks of frost that hadsupervened there were still traces in the ice of that midnight tragedy.Melian looked at them with wide eyed wonderment.
"Come along," said Mervyn extending a hand. "It's quite safe--fromseven to nine inches thick. We can walk all over it now, can even walkback on it instead of through the wood."
And they did; but first they went up it to where it narrowed to itshead, where the feeding stream trickled in. Two wild ducks rose withalarmed quacking, and winnowed away at a surprising velocity over thetree-tops.
"There'd have been a good chance if I'd got a gun," remarked Mervyn. "Icome along at dusk sometimes and bag a brace. Old Sir John Tullibard upat the Hall gave me a sort of carte blanche to shoot anything in thatline, and told the keeper to cut me in when the pheasants wantedthinning down. He's a decent old chap, but isn't at home much. To putit nakedly he's a regular absentee landlord, but his people seem snugenough."
"The Hall? What sort of place is it? What's it called?"
Mervyn laughed.
"Why I do believe you're scenting old stones already. Well, it's rathera jolly old place, Plane House it's called. Old Tullibard's mylandlord."
"Good. We must have a look over Plane House."
"Easy enough. If the old man comes over we'll go and dine there. I dothat when he is here, but that's not often. He's an old Indian too,though we weren't in the same part. Now he prefers hanging out on theRiviera. I don't. Old England's good enough for me. Look at this forinstance."
She did look, and thoroughly agreed. They were walking down the frozensurface of the pond as on a broad highway. The gossamer branches of theleafless trees shone in the sunlight, picked out in myriad frosted,scintillating patterns of indescribable delicacy against the cloudlessblue of the winter sky, and, in between, the dark foliage of firs. Nowand then a slide of snow from these, dislodged by the focussed rays ofthe midday sun, thudded to the ground, with a ghostly break upon thesilence of the woodland. But the air--crisp, invigorating--Melian'scheeks were aglow with it, and the blue eyes, thus framed, shone forthin all the animation begotten of the scene and surroundings. Mervynstared, in whole-souled admiration, likewise wonderment.
"Well done, my `flu' convalescent," he cried, dropping an arm round hershoulders. "You've come to the right sort of hospital and no mistake."
"Yes, I have indeed," she answered, becoming suddenly grave, as shethought of the all pervading murk and the blackened vista of chimneystacks. Then, as they gained the broad end of the pond, and she climbedlightly over the fence on to the road that ran along the top of thesluice--"What an awfully picturesque old place Heath Hover looks fromhere, Uncle Seward. By the way, it's a curious name. What does it comefrom?"
"Ah--ah! An enquiring mind? I suppose that goes on all fours with thelove of old stones--eh? Heath I take it is after the surroundings.When you get up beyond these woods you're on heathery slopes, which glowred in summer, so I suppose they called it after that; the other inlocal parlance is something coldish or damp, and this house is situatedthat way in all conscience. So there you are."
"How ripping, I would like to see that same red glow."
"Well, and you will," he answered. "But you'll have to wait for it,like for everything else. And summer's none too near just now."
They were halfway down the path from the sluice by now. Melian hadhalted to take in the view, her eyes wide open and fairly revelling init. Mervyn did not fail to notice that one foot rested on the largishround stone which covered something--which constituted the tombstoneof--_something_. And then, whether it was that the stone was slipperywith the frost, her footing suddenly failed, and she would have fallen,had he not caught her in a firm grasp.
"Steady up, child," he laughed, as he set her on her feet again. "Whyyou haven't got your ice legs even yet, although we've walked down thatlong frozen pond."
She laughed too. But the coincidence struck him. Why on earth shouldthat have been the one stone of all those around, on which she shouldhave chanced to trip? It was significant. Further, as they resumedtheir way, he noticed that the stone had been displaced, though ever solittle. Even that circumstance sent an uneasy chill through him. Ithad been firm enough before. Could the frost have loosened it? Or--could any other agency? And then came the sound of approachingfootsteps on the road above.
"Good-day, sir," and the passing man saluted, respectfully enough."Sharp, middlin' weather, this, sir?"
"It is," he answered, with a genial nod, and the man passed on.
"You remember what I told you about being under police surveillance," hesaid as they entered the house--old Judy could be dimly heard grumblingat her ancient proprietor through the back of the kitchen door.
"Yes," answered the girl wonderingly.
"Well that was one of Nashby's pickets."
"What? That old yokel who just passed?"
Mervyn nodde
d, with a whimsical smile on his face.
"But what in the world does he think he's going to discover?"
"Ah, exactly. Well, that's his job, not mine. Only he's wasting aprecious lot of valuable time."
All the same the speaker was just a trifle--and unaccountably--disposedto uneasiness. What a curious coincidence it was, for instance, thathis niece should have suddenly slipped and so nearly fallen, headlong,on that very stone that custodied this infernal thing! Then again, thatthe