Sweet Danger (12 page)

He was speaking reluctantly, as though the offer was being forced from him. He looked from Eager-Wright to Guffy and smiled nervously.

‘I'm afraid you'll think that this is rather extraordinary
coming from a medical man,' he continued, ‘but there's nothing like familiarity with a disease to produce a preventive. The recipe for this stuff was given me by an old man who used to live on the other side of the heath about thirty years ago. He was a strange old fellow – something of a herbalist – and this stuff, whatever it is, does sometimes work. I'll get you some, anyway.'

He picked his way across the room with the quick daintiness of a bird and hurried out into the passage.

The Hereditary Paladin and his aides-de-camp had barely time to exchange glances before he had returned, however, bearing a little stone jar tied down with a piece of paper.

‘Here it is,' he said. ‘I always keep a supply handy. I often use it, but I may warn you it's seldom efficacious. You try it this evening. Rub it well in. But if I were you I think I'd simply go back to London. After all, perhaps, I wouldn't take this,' he went on, stretching out his hand to take the jar from Guffy.

Mr Campion intervened by shaking the outstretched hand.

‘I say, this is really awfully kind of you, awfully kind,' he murmured idiotically. ‘I don't mind telling you you've given us the scare of our lives. After all, it's a drawback to a place, a thing like that. I realize that. If it weren't for old Wright's book we'd clear out. As it is, Art must be served and all that. Which reminds me; I nearly forgot what we meant to ask you. Where is the Pontisbright Malplaquet drum?'

If he expected the little doctor to show any surprise he was disappointed. Dr Galley merely appeared puzzled.

‘I've never heard of it, my boy,' he said genially. ‘Malplaquet? Let me see, that was Marlborough, wasn't it? No, I'm afraid I can't help you. Ask Arnanda. She's an extraordinarily intelligent child. She'll probably tell you anything like that that you want to know. But,' he went on with returning
seriousness, ‘you mustn't think that these are the ramblings of an old man. This is a serious matter we've been discussing, and I know what I'm talking about.'

He stood on the step and waved to them as they went down the drive. The moon had risen and they saw him quite plainly, an odd little figure in his ridiculous smoking jacket.

They walked along in silence until they were well out of earshot, and it was Eager-Wright who spoke first.

‘I say,' he said, ‘if this is true, it's rather filthy, isn't it?'

Mr Campion said nothing, but Guffy spoke.

‘I suppose it must be true,' he said. ‘But I think we'll stay. We must stay. It's ridiculous. I expect that stuff he gave us is no great use, but we can try.'

He took the jar out of his pocket and they gathered round him. There was sufficient light still for them to see the thick black marking on the cover. This consisted of a rough diagrammatic drawing of the sun, but no words surrounded it.

Guffy removed the paper carefully and they stood looking down into the jar, which appeared to be half full of some dark greasy-looking substance which gave off a peculiarly pungent odour.

Mr Campion thrust a forefinger into the stuff and rubbed a modicum into the palm of his left hand. Then he stood for some moments, his head slightly on one side, a thoughtful expression in his eyes. Suddenly he began to laugh.

‘Old Doctor Displays Unexpected Humour,' he remarked, and scrubbed his palm with his handkerchief.

‘What is it?' Guffy took the jar and sniffed at it gingerly. ‘Stop laughing like an idiot, Campion. What's this infernal stuff made of?'

‘Sea onion,' said Campion mildly. ‘Or, as we botanical eggs like to think,
Scilla maritima
, or Ye Common Squill. One of the most powerful irritants known to ancient herbal medicine. In fact, rub this well into your palms, behind your ears and into the creases of your elbows, and to-morrow you'll have a fine crop of blisters. Quite terrifying symptoms,
in fact; serious enough to make any unenlightened bird hare back to London for expert medical advice. Too bad that poor old boy didn't allow for a modern education. He evidently hasn't heard of the “How to Cure Uncle at Home” school of literature which has made us all so bright. His tale of plague was pretty, but not circumstantial enough to pass our modern boy.'

Guffy stared at him in frank astonishment. ‘D'you mean to say the fellow was lying?' he demanded.

‘But, good heavens,' Eager-Wright expostulated, ‘the man was positively sweating with sincerity.'

The Hereditary Paladin cocked a thoughtful eye at his followers.

‘He was, wasn't he? I noticed that,' he said. ‘But not with sincerity. Hang it all, people don't perspire with truth.'

‘Of course,' said Guffy slowly. ‘A man sweats with fear.'

‘That's what I thought,' said Mr Campion. ‘Odd, isn't it?'

‘TALKING OF POETRY,'
said Mr Campion unexpectedly, as the three young men continued thoughtfully across the heath towards the mill, ‘many a useful thought has burned in verse that Shelley would have spurned. Likewise, the stuff to put your pennies on is not concealed in Tennyson.'

‘Interesting, no doubt,' commented Eager-Wright good-humouredly, ‘but in the circumstances not very helpful. This is not time for blathering, Campion.'

The Hereditary Paladin looked hurt but not offended.

‘I'm not blathering,' he said. ‘I think like that. I spend so long at the movies that I've picked up their culture. But if you want more dignity, in the words of the Prime Minister, “I have just had a bewtiful thoat which I am about to brodecast – not to the wurrld, but to you two, my trusty co-lleagues.” Consider this:
If Pontisbright would crowned be, Three strange happenings must he see. The diamond must be rent in twain Before he wear his crown again
– you can't have anything clearer than that.
Thrice must the mighty bell be toll'd Before he shall the sceptre hold, And ere he to his birthright come Stricken must be Malplaquet drum
. There you are; there's the whole thing in a nutshell. A fine old-fashioned treasure-hunt with clues complete. Now it's all simple and straightforward. We just have to think round, split the diamond, toll the bell and beat a rousing tattoo on Malplaquet drum.

‘To avoid,' he continued, his quiet precise voice sounding somehow absurd in the moonlight, ‘a great many tedious and irritating questions, I will tell you how I came by this
information, poem, valentine, or what-have-you. Pay attention, because I do not wish to have to repeat myself.'

He launched into a brief but truthful account of his adventure with Amanda in the mill that morning and dutifully repeated the doggerel when they asked for it. Guffy was inclined to be excited.

‘I say – well – that is, rather – er – conclusive, isn't it?' he said, his face glowing with enthusiasm. ‘That accounts for everything we've got to find. The crown, the sceptre – which corresponds with the charter and the birthright, which is the title deed. Why did you keep quiet about it so long, Campion? I mean, the whole thing's practically settled. Now we just have to hunt round and get the things. Rather a clever little bit of poetry too. Hang it, what are we waiting for?'

‘Three things,' said Mr Campion gently. ‘The diamond, the bell, and the drum. And, of course, there's always the possibility that the whole thing's a sort of joke in bad taste. After all, it doesn't follow that because a thing's been written a hundred years it's true. Consider Joanna Southcott.'

‘All the same,' said Guffy, who was a little hurt by the production of these awkward details, ‘it is a help, isn't it? I mean, the hoax theory is absolutely absurd. I once carved a girl's name on a tree. Only three letters, but it nearly broke my wrist. No one would carve all that out if he hadn't got some very good reason. Things are livening up, anyhow. That old doctor was an interesting bird, and then this coming on top of it – well, really!'

He smiled with tremendous satisfaction. Eager-Wright, who had been silent throughout the discussion, now glanced up.

‘I say, Campion,' he said. ‘It comes back to me now. When we were in the pub last night playing darts, one old fellow was being teased about his lack of skill and someone bet him he wouldn't get five bulls in ten shots, and he said he would when the Great Bell rang again. I gathered it was
a sort of local saying, meaning, you know, the next blue moon, or, as one would say, “Come domesday”.'

‘That's right,' said Guffy. ‘I heard him say that. What an extraordinary thing!'

‘The catch being,' said Mr Campion, ‘that the Great Bell is the local Mrs Harris. There ain't no sich thing. If you want to know, it used to hang in the tower of Pontisbright house and was the sort of Big Ben of the county. Unfortunately, it was sold with the rest of the house and melted down to make guns for the Zulu War. There's only one like it in the world – the convent bell of St Breed in the Pyrenees. I asked Amanda this afternoon. She's a mine of information. Apparently, our only chance of hearing the “owd Bell of Pontisbright” is an earthquake, hurricane, air-raid, or other calamity, when its ghostly and muffled voice is heard in the village. Still, we can hardly rely upon that. The other minor difficulties include the fact that no one's ever heard of a diamond in the family, and the only drums in the vicinity are the battered pieces of work on the trophies in the gallery of the church. There are nearly a dozen of them, so we can go up and have a musical evening if we feel like it. None of them are of the Malplaquet period, I hear, and anyway they're dropping to bits. Not very comforting, what?'

They turned into the lane leading to the mill as he spoke. Eager-Wright grunted sympathetically, but Guffy was inclined to be obstinately cheerful.

‘We'll get to the bottom of it, you'll see. I'm only afraid the thing may be too easy.'

‘I shouldn't let that cloud trouble you,' said Eager-Wright bitterly. ‘That's not disturbing you,' I suppose, Campion?'

Mr Campion did not reply. A shadow had disentangled itself from the hedge and now clutched his arm. It was Amanda.

She was breathless with suppressed excitement, and, as she stood before them in the moonlight, she presented a
slightly fey appearance in her tight brown clothes, her burnished hair dishevelled and her eyes sparkling distinctly in the faint light. It was evident that she was bursting with some great news, but there was also an indefinable flavour of alarm in her whole attitude.

‘I say,' she began, with her now familiar rush of inconsequential confidences, ‘it's going to be frightfully awkward, I'm afraid, but it is rather good. He fought like a fiend and Scatty hadn't the least idea who he was until Lugg sat on his chest. Lugg is a delightful person. He and Scatty are going into partnership if ever you get tired of him. But, of course, we can't talk about that now. There's him to think of. I suppose we could hush it all up, but it would be so awkward if it all came out. We couldn't plead self-defence then. Oh, I say, be careful. Nobody knows except me and Scatty and Lugg. I thought I'd wait here and catch you before you went into the house. Still, they did deserve it, creeping about the mill like that. I knew it wasn't rats. And, of course, the noise was tremendous when Scatty and Lugg got there. They were playing cards in the kitchen at first. It was awfully dull, because Scatty hadn't got any money, and they were so glad that something had happened that they got over-excited and – well –'

Eager-Wright clutched his forehead. ‘For heaven's sake, what's happened?' he demanded.

‘I'm telling you,' said Amanda's voice plaintively out of the dark. ‘Don't make such a noise.'

Mr Campion sat down on the bank by the side of the lane.

‘Suppose you start from when you decided it wasn't rats,' he said gently.

‘Well,' said Amanda, planting herself before him, ‘I'll go through it all again if you like, but we're wasting time. I remembered that I hadn't put the dust cover over my dynamo. I look after it rather specially because it's the most important thing I've got. Scatty says it's silly to wrap it up at night, but it doesn't do it any harm, anyway.

‘Well, I sneaked out into the mill without taking a lantern, because I know the way, and while I was there I heard someone moving upstairs in the loft where the oak is. So I shouted “Oi!” quite loudly, because I thought it might be one of the Quinney children ratting. And then there was an awful crash and someone swore. Of course, I guessed what had happened. Someone had knocked over the oak, which was enough to bring the whole mill down. When I heard the swearing I knew it couldn't be the Quinney children because Mrs Quinney does try to bring them up well, in spite of what they say in the village. And, anyway, it was a strange man's voice.'

She paused for breath whilst they waited, trying to sort out her story from the mass of irrelevant details which she showered upon them.

‘Well, the next thing that happened was nothing at all,' she said. ‘Absolute silence. And, although I wasn't afraid – I wasn't, really – I thought, well, suppose I'm not able to get them down alone. So I crept out so softly that they couldn't possibly have heard me and rushed into the kitchen. As you were paying so much every week I bought a lot of beer, and, of course, I forgot Scatty.

‘Anyway, he and Lugg were playing cards, and there was a lot of beer about, and when I told them what had happened they just sprang up and charged out into the mill.'

She sighed. ‘They made so much noise that I thought the others would be sure to hear them and come out, but I expect they just thought it was you coming back from the doctor's and they were polite enough to keep quiet.'