The Coldstone (29 page)

The writing-room of the George and Crown certainly fulfilled the condition of not being crowded: it would, in fact, have been difficult to find any place better adapted for their purpose. The inn itself dated back to a period before a George had ever worn the English crown, but the writing-room was most strictly and definitely mid-Victorian. It had a large spotted mirror over the mantelpiece, blue plush curtains tied up with sashes, massive dingy furniture, and a floor space overrun with tables of all sizes and shapes, from the solid rosewood centrepiece down to a three-legged atrocity that had once been enamelled pale blue and now displayed a wreath of grimy roses on a dark grey ground.

Susan laid
The Shepheard's Kalendar
on a walnut table with an oval top beautifully inlaid in coloured woods. She opened the book and turned the pages with fingers that shook a little from excitement, until she had found the Seventh Eclogue with its heading, “I
ULY
.”

“Look!” she said. “I believe it's here. I shall scream with rage if it isn't. You know, when I saw it in the Museum I was only thinking about the ‘stone that Merlin blessed,' and all that. And I thought the page was badly spotted—but I never thought about the cipher—not till afterwards—and afterwards I kept seeing the page—and when I thought about the spots there was something odd about them—and there is. Look!” The words came tumbling over each other.

When Susan said “Look!” she pinched him very hard and gave an excited little laugh.

“Look! Look!
Look!
”

Anthony looked, and saw a page badly speckled with damp. There were large brown stains and little round spots here, there, and everywhere. He didn't think much of Susan's discovery.

Susan went on talking:

“Take a pencil and paper and write down the letters as I read them. Are you ready? T—O—M—Y—S—O—N—” She pinched him so that he cried out. “It is—it is! It really is! Oh, I knew it was! Don't you see? Read it out! Read the letters together!”

Anthony read slowly: “To—my—son—” Then he looked from his paper to the book and protested, “That's what I've written down, but I'm hanged if I know how you get it. This says:

‘
THOM
.   Is not thilke same a gotehearde prowde,

That sittes on yonder bancke,

Whose straying heard them selfe doth shrowde

Emong the bushes rancke?'”

Susan snatched away his pencil and pointed.

“The ‘t' in ‘gotehearde' has got one of those little dark brown specks right on top of it, and so has the ‘o' in ‘prowde'”—the pencil moved to the third line—” and the ‘m' in ‘them'—and the ‘y' in ‘iolly.' That's how it's done!”

“Of course you can make any words you like out of anything if you can just pick and choose what letters you want as you go along.”

“How unbelieving you are! That's just what Philip Colstone did—he took what letters he wanted, and he made up a message to his son. And oh, do go on quickly and write it down!”

She pushed the pencil into his hand again.

“You must play fair and give me the spotted letters just as they come.”

“Of course I'll play fair. Oh, do let's go on! The next letter's an N—and then E—T—H—O—”

“That doesn't make sense. What's ‘Netho'? You're off on a wild goose chase.”

Susan looked over him.

“It's not' Netho.' Look! The ‘ne' belongs to ‘sonne.' You've got to allow for the old spelling. It's ‘To my sonne.' ‘Tho' belongs to the next word. Now we've got to find out what it is.” She went on reading out letters, whilst he wrote them down. “Don't let's put the letters into words till the very end. Just write them down and make your mind a blank. I don't think I can bear to find out a secret one letter at a time. Oh, Anthony, do be quick!” Her voice thrilled and trembled with excitement, and the dull room was full of the scarlet and emerald and blue of high adventure.

A fat red-haired girl brought in tea on a black japanned tray in the middle of the eclogue. She seemed to expect them to move
The Shepheard's Kaletidar
to make room for it.

“E—” said Susan in palpitating tones.

The red-haired girl flounced. Her lips shaped the word “balmy.” She set down the tray with a clatter on a funereal side table of very highly polished ebony, demanded three shillings, and withdrew. The tray with its load of cold buttered toast and thick bread and scrape ceased to exist as far as Susan and Anthony were concerned.

At last Susan heaved a sigh.

“Oh, I think that's all, but I'm not sure—only we must read it now—we really must. I can't bear the suspense any longer.”

She put her arm through his and leaned upon his shoulder, and Anthony read, in a tone of protesting incredulity:

“To my sonne those matters broughte by me from the indies i thoughte to hide beneath the coldstone since all men feare to touch it but where i digged came up a blast that catched on fyre from my lanthorn I hardly escaping this beware after i layde them in the place will knoweth none else goe soe low as thou canst there is a stone that turneth harde by the wall presse where is the shield and with thy foote presse harde upon the second shield these two shields i cut for alle men feare merlyn's sign.”

“Some of it doesn't make sense,” said Anthony. But his face had flushed.

Susan tore the paper from him.

“It does. You must put in the proper stops. It's frightfully exciting. Listen!” She read aloud in her turn. Her voice trembled with excitement. “It goes like this, don't you see—‘To my sonne. Those matters broughte by me from the Indies I thoughte to hide beneath the Coldstone, since all men feare to touch it. But where I digged, came up a blast that catched on fyre from my lanthorn, I hardly escaping. This beware. After, I layde them in the place Will knoweth, none else. Goe soe low as thou canst. There is a stone that tumeth harde by the wall. Presse where is the shield, and with thy foote presse harde upon the second shield. These two shields I cut, for alle men feare Merlyn's sign—' There!” She paused, panting a little. “And the shield is the mark on the Coldstone—two interlaced triangles. They called it the Shield of David, and it was used as a charm. I found a cutting from a newspaper all about it—frightfully learned—I'll show you—”

Anthony flung his arm round her.

“Don't be uppish!”

“I'm not uppish—I'm just very clever. I'm Sherlock, and you're Watson!”

“I'm not!”

“You are! I shall buy a violin and learn to smoke a pipe, and tell people everything they've ever said and done just by looking at their cigarette ash or the dust out of a pencil-sharpener. And you shall be Watson and knock villains down for me whenever I want them knocked.”

There was an interlude.

When it was over, they drank the stewed tea and ate some of the less arid portions of the so-called buttered toast.

“When you get a dry bit, you wish they hadn't skimped the butter so, but when you do get a buttery bit you're not so sure,” said Susan.

“It's pretty foul,” said Anthony cheerfully.

It was after tea that things began to go wrong. The Daimler wouldn't start. Anthony cranked until he streamed, but after one cough she gave no further sign of life.

Passers by began to offer helpful advice. The boots of the hotel had a brother who worked for a gentleman who had a car that stopped dead “just like that car of yours, sir—and would you believe it, when they come to take 'er to bits, the 'ole of the engine was that wore out it fair come to bits in their 'ands. A very rich genelman 'e was, but 'e 'ated new things like poison. ‘Old things is best,' 'e says, 'and old cars is best. Give me a good old friend,' 'e says. And that's 'ow 'e was served.”

Anthony looked at him ungratefully.

A fat man leaning on a bicycle proffered the suggestion that he might have run out of petrol. He had an uncle in a good way of business who was towed ten miles and “never found out till he got to the garridge that he'd run her bone dry, and if the mechanics didn't half have the laugh on him.”

An elderly female with a shopping basket and a nondescript dog on a string hoped that no one was hurt—“Shocking things these accidents—and I'm sure I do hope and trust—”

Anthony pushed back his hair and straightened his back for a moment.

“It's
not
an accident,” he said in tones of polite fury.

Susan giggled.

In the end the car had to be man-handled to the nearest garage, where the expert opinion was not very encouraging.

“Isn't hardly safe to go on the roads with a car like this—not what I should call
safe.
She's been a good car, of course, but in a manner of speaking that's the trouble, sir. Anna Domminy—that's about the size of it—she's been a car too long. But I dare say we can patch her up for you to get home in—but I wouldn't like to say how long it'll take.”

It took three hours.

They dined at the hotel, watched with interest by the red-headed girl, who held firmly to the opinion that they were both “batty”; whereas the boots diagnosed them as “'oneymooners.”

It was dark when they drove away.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

They drove through the dark. The clouds were lower than they had been. The night was black, and still, and very warm. Rain might fall before morning. The old car ran well enough.

They talked all the time, saying the same things over and over, as people do when their minds are so full of something that they cannot leave it alone.

“He must have meant the cellar when he said, ‘Go soe low as thou canst.'” That was Susan, as excited as if it were the first time she had said it.

“Yes, he must have.” Anthony had stopped being incredulous. He couldn't say when he had stopped, but all of a sudden the adventure had him. He said, “Yes, he must have meant the cellar,” and added, “And that's what those fellows were after—though how in the world they knew—”

Susan's heart gave a little jump. How much had Garry known, and how did he know it? And had he strung together all those blotted letters in the July eclogue and read Philip Colstone's message? No, he couldn't have done that. She murmured,

“Anyhow we've stolen a march on them.”

“Yes.”

Her shoulder touched his in the dark. A little shiver ran over her. Suppose Garry were to steal a march on
them.
Suppose he were there before them. Suppose they were to find the adventure rifled. Suppose … She spoke quickly:

“You've got the key safe?”

Anthony nodded.

“In my inside pocket. That's what I really came up for to-day.”

“You
said
you came up to find me.”

“I had to have a decent excuse. I did the key first anyway. I don't suppose they'd have sent it for days. I wonder if—the others—have got theirs yet.”

Susan shivered again, and Anthony took his left hand off the wheel and put it on her shoulder.

“Cold?”

“Oh no—boiling.”

“You shivered.”

He heard her laugh and felt her press against him.

“I only want to get on. I want to be sure we get there first.”

His astonishment was plain.

“You think—”

“I
know,
” said Susan. This time the shudder was in her voice. Garry never gave up. He always went on until he got what he wanted. She spoke in breathless haste. “Can't you go faster?”

“Why? What's the hurry? We can't do anything to-night, anyhow.”

He was aware of an abrupt movement.

“Not? Oh, but we
must!
You don't mean to say—”

“We shan't get down till after eleven.”

“But that's just our very best time.”

“You mean to look for the secret place tonight?”

“Yes—
yes!
They'll try and get in first—they will—I
know
they will.”

She heard him laugh, a dry, short laugh.

“It would be a lot easier for me if I knew a little more about it all.”

“Yes—but—I—can't. But we've got to be quick. Don't you see it's quite easy to do things to-night? Nobody will know we're back—nobody will know anything.”

Anthony considered this in silence. He couldn't get in without rousing the house, unless … And then there was the car. Of course he could run it into the field at the corner. It would be quite safe there.

Susan was speaking again, softly, eagerly:

“You could come in with me, and we could go through the passage.”

“I thought we agreed that you weren't going to come through the passage any more.”

“Anthony! You don't imagine you're going down into that cellar to find things all by yourself?”

He abandoned the idea.

“Well, how are you going to get in, anyway?”

“Gran gave me the front door key. I told her I might be late, and she promised to go off to bed.”

After a pause Anthony said, “You oughtn't to.”

“I'm going to.”

After another pause, “I could back the car through the gate into that field just before you come to the corner.”

Susan hugged herself.

“Yes, you
could!
”

Her spirits began to soar. Garry wasn't following them. He wouldn't follow them. He'd just give up. He'd be bound to give up once they'd got the book. There wasn't anything he could do, really.

All at once she felt as if someone had dropped a little burning piece of ice down the back of her neck. She made such a quick movement towards Anthony that the car swerved right across the road.

“I say, don't do that! What's the matter?”

“I'm frightened,” said Susan.

“What on earth have you got to be frightened about?”