Twelve

I

“WELL,” said Dimble, “there’s no one here.”

“He was here a moment ago,” said Denniston.

“You’re sure you did see someone?” said Dimble.

“I thought I saw someone,” said Denniston. “I’m not positive.”

“If there was anyone he must still be quite close,” said Dimble.

“What about giving him a call?” suggested Denniston.

“Hush! Listen! “said Jane. They were all silent for a few moments.

“That’s only the old donkey,” said Dimble presently, “moving about at the top.”

There was another silence.

“He seems to have been pretty extravagant with his matches,” said Denniston presently, glancing at the trodden earth in the firelight. “One would expect a tramp--”

“On the other hand,” said Dimble, “one would not expect Merlin to have brought a box of matches with him from the Fifth Century.”

“But what are we to do?” said Jane.

“One hardly likes to think what MacPhee will say if we return with no more success than this. He will at once point out a plan we ought to have followed,” said Denniston with a smile.

“Now that the rain’s over,” said Dimble, “we’d better get back to the car and start hunting for your white gate. What are you looking at, Denniston?”

“I’m looking at this mud,” said Denniston, who had moved a few paces away from the fire and in the direction of the path by which they had descended into the dingle. He had been stooping and using his torch. Now he suddenly straightened himself. “Look,” he said, “there have been several people here. No, don’t walk onto it and mess up all the tracks. Look. Can’t you see, sir?”

“Aren’t they our own footprints?” said Dimble.

“Some of them are pointing the wrong way. Look at that-and that.”

“Might they be the tramp himself?” said Dimble.

“If it was a tramp.”

“He couldn’t have walked up that path without our seeing him,” said Jane.

“Unless he did it before we arrived,” said Denniston.

“But we all saw him,” said Jane.

“Come,” said Dimble. “Let’s follow them up to the top. I don’t suppose we shall be able to follow them far. If not, we must get back to the road and go on looking for the gate.”

As they reached the lip of the hollow, mud changed into grass under foot and the footprints disappeared. They walked twice round the dingle and found nothing: then they set out to return to the road. It had turned into a fine night: Orion dominated the whole sky.

II

The Deputy Director hardly ever slept. When it became absolutely necessary for him to do so, he took a drug, but the necessity was rare, for the mode of consciousness he experienced at most hours of day or night had long ceased to be exactly like what other men call waking. He had learned to withdraw most of his consciousness from the task of living, to conduct business, even, with only a quarter of his mind. Colours, tastes, smells, and tactual sensations no doubt bombarded his physical senses in the normal manner: they did not now reach his ego. The manner and outward attitude to men which he had adopted half a century ago were now an organisation which functioned almost independently, like a gramophone, and to which he could hand over his whole routine of interviews and committees. While the brain and lips carried on this work, and built up day by day for those around him the vague and formidable personality which they knew so well, his inmost self was free to pursue its own life. That detachment of the spirit not only from the senses but even from the reason which has been the goal of some mystics was now his.

Hence he was still, in a sense, awake-that is, he was certainly not sleeping-an hour after Frost had left him to visit Mark in his cell. Anyone who had looked into the study during that hour would have seen him sitting motionless at his table, with bowed head and folded hands. But his eyes were not shut. The face had no expression; the real man was far away, suffering, enjoying, or inflicting whatever such souls do suffer, enjoy, or inflict when the cord that binds them to the natural order is stretched out to its utmost but not yet snapped. When the telephone rang at his elbow he took up the receiver without a start.

“Speaking,” he said.

“This is Stone, sir,” came a voice. “We have found the chamber.”

“Yes.”

“It was empty, sir.”

“Empty?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you sure, my dear Mr. Stone, that you have found the right place ? It is possible . . .”

“Oh yes, sir. It is a little kind of crypt. Stonework and some Roman brick. And a kind of slab in the middle, like an altar or a bed.”

“And 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?”