am I to understand there was no one there? No sign of occupation?”
“Well, sir, it seemed to us to have been recently disturbed.”
“Pray be as explicit as possible, Mr. Stone.”
“Well, sir, there was an exit—I mean a tunnel, leading out of it to the south. We went up this tunnel at once. It comes out about eight hundred yards away, outside the area of the wood.”
“Comes out? Do you mean there is an arch—a gate—a tunnel mouth?”
“Well, that’s just the point. We got out to the open air all right. But obviously something had been smashed-up there quite recently. It looked as if it had been done by explosives. As if the end of the tunnel had been walled up and had some depth of earth on top of it, and as if someone had recently blasted his way out. There was no end of a mess.”
“Continue, Mr. Stone. What did you do next?”
“I used the order you had given me, sir, to collect all the police available and have sent off search-parties for the man you described.”
“I see. And how did you describe him to them?”
“Just as you did, sir: an old man with either a very long beard or a beard very roughly trimmed, probably in a mantle, but certainly in some kind of unusual clothes. It occurred to me at the last moment to add that he might have no clothes at all.”
“Why did you add that, Mr. Stone?”
“Well, sir, I didn’t know how long he’d been there, and it isn’t my business. I’d heard things about clothes preserved in a place like that and all falling to pieces as soon as the air was admitted. I hope you won’t imagine for a moment that I’m trying to find out anything you don’t choose to tell me. But I just thought it would be as well to . . .”
“You were quite right, Mr. Stone,” said Wither, “in thinking that anything remotely resembling inquisitiveness on your part might have the most disastrous consequences. I mean, for yourself; for, of course, it is your interests I have chiefly had in view in my choice of methods. I assure you that you can rely on my support in the very—er—delicate position you have—no doubt unintentionally—chosen to occupy.”
“Thank you very much, sir. I am so glad you think I was right in saying he might be naked.”
“Oh, as to that,” said the Director, “there are a great many considerations which cannot be raised at the moment. And what did you instruct your search-parties to do on finding any such—er—person?”
“Well, that was another difficulty, sir. I sent my own assistant, Father Doyle, with one party, because he knows Latin. And I gave Inspector Wrench the ring you gave me and put him in charge of the second. The best I could do for the third party was to see that it contained someone who knew Welsh.”
“You did not think of accompanying a party yourself?”
“No, sir. You’d told me to ring up without fail the moment we found anything. And I didn’t want to delay the search-parties until I’d got you.”
“I see. Well, no doubt your action (speaking quite without prejudice) could be interpreted along those lines. You made it quite clear that this—ah—Personage—when found, was to be treated with the greatest deference and—if you won’t misunderstand me—caution?”
“Oh yes, sir.”
“Well, Mr. Stone, I am, on the whole, and with certain inevitable reservations, moderately satisfied with your conduct of this affair. I believe that I may be able to present it in a favourable light to those of my colleagues whose good will you have, unfortunately, not been able to retain. If you can bring it to a successful conclusion you would very much strengthen your position. If not . . . it is inexpressibly painful to me that there should be these tensions and mutual recriminations among us. But you quite understand me, my dear boy. If only I could persuade—say Miss Hardcastle and Mr. Studdock—to share my appreciation of your very real qualities, you would need to have no apprehensions about your career or—ah—your security.”
“But what do you want me to do, sir?”
“My dear young friend, the golden rule is very simple. There are only two errors which would be fatal to one placed in the peculiar situation which certain parts of your previous conduct have unfortunately created for you. On the one hand, anything like a lack of initiative or enterprise would be disastrous. On the other, the slightest approach to unauthorised action—anything which suggested that you were assuming a liberty of decision which, in all the circumstances, is not really yours—might have consequences from which even I could not protect you. But as long as you keep quite clear of these two extremes, there is no reason (speaking unofficially) why you should not be perfectly safe.”
Then, without waiting for Mr. Stone to reply, he hung up the receiver and rang his bell.
III
“Oughtn’t we to be nearly at the gate we climbed over?” said Dimble.
It was a good deal lighter now that the rain had stopped, but the wind had risen and was roaring about them so that only shouted remarks could be heard. The branches of the hedge beside which they were tramping swayed and dipped and rose again so that they looked as if they were lashing the bright stars.
“It’s a good deal longer than I remembered,” said Denniston.
“But not so muddy,” said Jane.
“You’re right,” said Denniston, suddenly stopping. “It’s all stony. It wasn’t like this at all on the way up. We’re in the wrong field.”
“I think,” said Dimble mildly, “we must be right. We turned half left along this hedge as soon as we came out of the trees, and I’m sure I remember——”
“But did we come out of the copse on the right side?” said Denniston.
“If we once start changing course,” said Dimble, “we shall go round and round in circles all night. Let’s keep straight on. We’re bound to come to the road in the end.”
“Hullo!” said Jane sharply. “What’s this?”
All listened. Because of the wind, the unidentified rhythmic noise which they were straining to hear seemed quite distant at one moment, and then, next moment, with shouts of “Look out!”—“Go away you great brute!”—“Get back”—and the like, all were shrinking back into the hedge as the plosh-plosh of a horse cantering on soft ground passed close beside them. A cold gobbet of mud flung up from its hoofs struck Denniston in the face.
“Oh, look! Look!” cried Jane. “Stop him. Quick!”
“Stop him?” said Denniston who was trying to clean his face. “What on earth for? The less I see of that great clod-hopping quadruped, the better——”
“Oh, shout out to him, Dr. Dimble,” said Jane, in an agony of impatience. “Come on. Run! Didn’t you see?”
“See what?” panted Dimble, as
