The Tale of Oat Cake Crag (22 page)

Major Kittredge, hearing the sound of the motor car, came out on the broad stone steps to greet them. “I’m afraid it’s no good trying to question Baum,” he told the captain when he had heard the reason for their official visit. “He’s still unconscious. The doctor says he has no idea when—or if—he’ll come out of it. Oh, and it’s no good wanting to question the servants at Lakeshore Manor, either. Baum let them all go, I’m told. He’s been putting every cent into that aeroplane venture of his.”

The captain frowned. “No servants, eh? That’s interesting.” He paused. “I understand from Butters that you discovered the accident last night. What can you tell us about it?”

“Not much,” Kittredge replied. “It was late, and I wouldn’t have gone out if Dimity hadn’t urged me. It was George Crook’s dog, you see.” When that part of the story had been told, he added, “I suppose you would like to see the spot where we found Baum?”

“We would,” the captain said. So Will climbed into the backseat with the constable, and Major Kittredge rode up front with the captain, and they all drove round the road (no taking the woodland path this time) to Lakeshore Manor, which sat, alone and silent and deserted, on the slope above the lake.

The captain parked the motor car and they all got out. “We found him back here,” said the major, and led them to the spot beneath the crag, where they could clearly see broken brush and scuffed soil at the spot where Mr. Baum had been discovered.

Kittredge pointed up. “You can also see where a few of the smaller trees and bushes snapped off as he fell. As to what the fellow was doing up top, I can’t even hazard a guess.”

“I believe I’ll go up,” Will said. “Coming?”

The captain frowned at him. “You’re not going to climb up the face of that cliff, are you, Heelis?”

Will chuckled. “Of course not. There’s a path. It’s steep—I wonder that Baum, heavy as he was, would undertake the climb. But I’ve done it often. There’s quite a view from the top.”

Constable Braithwaite sucked in his own rather substantial belly. “I’ll go wi’ thi, sir,” he said bravely. “We might find a clue as to wot happened up there. How t’ pore gentleman come to fall down, I mean.”

“Well, then,” Captain Woodcock said with a sigh, “I suppose I should go as well.”

“Count me in,” said the major cheerfully. “I climbed it often, when I was a boy.”

So fifteen minutes later, winded and breathless in different degrees, all four men stood on the top of Oat Cake Crag. It was a wide, flat, bare rock, some twelve by fifteen feet, surrounded by bushes and trees. If they had been looking for signs of an accident or any evidence that might explain Baum’s fall, they would have been disappointed, for nothing of the sort was readily apparent. But there was plenty else to see. The lake spread out in front of them like a wide blue ribbon. Below were the roofs and chimneys of Lakeshore Manor, and its wide, grassy park sloping down to the water. Off to the right steamed the ferry, just leaving from Ferry Nab on the eastern side and sailing in their direction, as lopsided as always, since the steam boiler was on the starboard side, giving it a heavy list. The blue water was dotted with sailboats, for the day was mild and the wind favorable.

“You’re right, it’s quite a spectacular view,” said the captain admiringly, looking around. “I’m sorry to say it, but in all the years I’ve lived in the district, this is the first time I’ve been up here.”

“My brother and I used to climb up here often when we were youngsters,” Major Kittredge said reminiscently. “We would bring our spyglass and watch the lake birds or spy on the ferry. It’s amazing what you can see from here with the right kind of aid.” He stepped to the lip and looked down, then stepped quickly back. “Poor Baum,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s a wonder he wasn’t killed outright.”

“Speaking of spyglasses,” Will said suddenly, “look here.” He had been scouting around the lip of the crag. Now, he pointed to a brass telescope. They hadn’t seen it at first because it lay half-hidden under a bush that was growing at the very edge, as if it had rolled there. In fact, if it hadn’t been prevented by the bush, it might have gone right on over.

“Why, that’s an R and J Beck instrument, I do believe,” said Major Kittredge in some surprise. He bent down to have a closer look. “The best telescope to be had, bar none. Do you suppose it’s Baum’s? I didn’t know the fellow had an interest in birds.”

“I wonder,” said Will. He picked up the telescope, put it to his eye, and began to look around, first in one direction, then the other, finally settling on a spot directly opposite the crag. He studied it for a moment, then straightened. “Have a look, Woodcock,” he said, handing over the scope.

The captain had a look. “Why, it’s the aeroplane hangar,” he said in surprise. “You can see it plain as day. And it looks like they’re getting ready to take the aeroplane out on the water.” He turned to the major. “Did that pilot—Oscar Wyatt—put in an appearance at Raven Hall this morning? The doctor told me he left a note at the Sawrey Hotel, informing Wyatt of Baum’s situation.”

“He did,” the major replied. “He rather insisted on seeing poor Baum, but my wife wouldn’t allow it.” He grinned at the captain, for (as you no doubt remember) the major has married the captain’s sister. “As I’m sure you know, Woodcock, Dimity has a will of iron, when she wants—or doesn’t want—something. And in this case, she was bent on following the doctor’s orders. No visitors. No exceptions. Wyatt was not amused.” His grin turned rueful. “The fellow is very forceful, I must say. Dim stood firm, but I found it necessary to step in myself and make it clear that she and the doctor were to be obeyed.”

Will turned the telescope in his hands, studying the gold casing. “Look here,” he said, pointing. “Engraved initials. FB. Baum’s scope, without a doubt.” He put the scope back to his eye. “The aeroplane is getting ready to take off. See how it’s dodging the boats in Bowness Harbor. What a disaster that machine is going to be. Shouldn’t be allowed on the lake.”

“I’ll have to agree with you on that score,” Major Kittredge said. “But I understand that Churchill has an interest in it, so I suppose there’s no use in our opposing it.”

“Churchill!” exclaimed Captain Woodcock. “The Admiralty? You don’t say!”

“That’s according to Dr. Butters,” Kittredge replied. “He overheard Baum and Wyatt talking about it. Seems that Churchill is coming to have a look at the hydroplane, with the idea that it may come in handy for the navy. Has it in mind to set up a Royal Flying Corps and thinks Baum’s aeroplane might be just the thing. Baum was not enthusiastic. Didn’t feel that the machine was ready for that kind of attention. Wyatt felt quite the contrary, according to Butters. Gave him another reason to ask for money, apparently.”

“Money?” Will asked, lowering the scope.

“Yes. Baum put up the money for this venture, but apparently it’s running out. The doctor overheard Wyatt trying to squeeze more out of him—repairs, work on the hangar, that sort of thing. All in public, too. The doctor thought it was quite a rude display. It’s his opinion that Baum rues his bargain and would be glad to be out of it if he could.”

Will raised the scope again. “Looks like Wyatt is getting ready to take off. He’s carrying a passenger, too. Maybe that’s how he’s raising the money he needs for repairs. Charging for a ride.” He chuckled wryly. “Dangerous business, that. The riders aren’t strapped in—just told to hang on as best they can. Wonder if Churchill has it in mind to send up a man with a rifle on every aeroplane.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little odd that Wyatt is taking up passengers when the government is considering the military possibilities of the thing?” Major Kittredge asked, frowning. “For all anybody knows, those riders might be German spies, aiming to steal the design of the thing.”

“Perhaps Baum objected to the practice,” Will said. “It sounds as if he had a few disagreements with his pilot. Maybe he came up here with the scope in order to do a little spying of his own—on Wyatt.”

He lifted the scope to his eye again, pointing it, this time, toward the house below. “Hullo, who’s that, do you suppose?” He was looking at a man who had just come around the house, walking furtively, as if he did not want to be observed. He was carrying a burlap sack slung over one shoulder. “Braithwaite, do you recognize that fellow?” Will handed the telescope to the constable.

“Aye, that I do,” the constable said grimly after a moment. “That’s Paddy Pratt, that is. Odd-jobs man for Mr. Buchanan.”

“Former odd-jobs man,” Will muttered. “Wonder what he’s doing down there. Didn’t you say all the servants had gone, Kittredge?”

“I did indeed,” Kittredge said. “Last night, the house was empty. They’d all cleared off. That’s why we carried Baum to Raven Hall. There was no one here to look after him. And a little later, the doctor told me that the servants had been given the sack. Baum was short on funds, apparently.”

“Whatever Paddy Pratt’s up to,” the constable said in a dark tone, “’tis nae good. T’ man is not to be trusted, in my opinion.”

“Paddy Pratt.” The captain frowned. “Isn’t he the thief who made off with Mrs. Lytle’s rooster a fortnight ago? Let’s go and see what he has in that sack, shall we?”

Climbing back down the path took less time than climbing up, but when they reached the bottom of the cliff below the crag, Paddy Pratt and his sack were nowhere to be seen. However, the constable knew where Paddy lived and volunteered to go and have a little talk with him (“Put t’ fear o’ God in his bones”), so they all climbed back in the captain’s motor car and headed for Raven Hall.

“Well, we accomplished something,” the captain said as he drove. “We know that Baum was up there to have a look around—at that aeroplane of his, probably, on the other side of the lake. He was using the telescope, it seems.”

“And fell while he was using it, I suppose,” Kittredge added. “He was engrossed with whatever he was looking at, took one step too many, and went right on over the edge.” He shook his head. “Easy enough to do.”

Easy enough, they all agreed. Easy enough.

As he flew through the night on his way back to Claife Woods after the rescue of Mr. Baum, Professor Galileo Newton Owl reflected, with some chagrin, that he had not exactly covered himself with glory. He had been, in his own estimation, more or less a bystander, doing little more than folding his wings and watching as others did the work. Of course, this was not entirely his fault, he reminded himself. Hyacinth (who had quite a remarkable sense of smell) had discovered the injured man. Rascal (who could more easily communicate with humans) had gone for help. There had been nothing for him to do—nothing, that is, that he
could
do.

But it now occurred to him that there was something he could be doing right now—
should
be doing, actually, for he was feeling peckish. He ought to go shopping for a late supper. Luckily, the meat market was still open, for as he flew over a small clearing in the woods, he looked down and saw a pair of unsuspecting voles searching for mushrooms in the moonlight. It appeared that they had been at the job for some time, for they had already collected a full sack. The Professor swooped down, invited the larger vole to dinner, offered his apologies to the smaller for not having selected
him
(the owl was not wearing his flying vest and had no pocket in which to carry a passenger), and then flew off, with the reluctant guest in one claw and the sack of mushrooms in the other.

The Professor is something of a gourmand, so when he arrived at his beech tree, he flew directly to the kitchen and pulled his mother’s recipe for
Vole à la Chateaubriand
out of the recipe file. This dish required a turnip, a large carrot, two onions, a small marrow, thyme, rosemary, parsley, and pepper and salt, all of which he had in his larder. Oh, and of course the vole, who by now was past caring what sort of vegetables would accompany him to table. (If this sounds cruel, I must remind you that everyone has to eat, and that the vole himself had dined on several fat white grubs, a large earthworm, and a tasty mushroom just before the Professor invited him to dinner.) The Professor put both vole and vegetables into a large pot. While this was cooking, he prepared the sauce: fresh mushrooms and shallots sautéed in butter, with white wine, tarragon, and lemon juice. This was one of his favorite dishes, and while it strikes me as a little bit heavy for a late supper, I am not an owl, and have no business criticizing.

The owl laid his table, with a bouquet of winter grasses as a centerpiece. Then, whilst his supper continued to cook, he flew up to his observatory to take a few star-sightings. The observatory door bears this hand-lettered sign, which is both an announcement and a warning to those of the Professor’s guests who are taller than he and might get bumped.