MORE MYSTERY.
"It's that poultry-carver right enough," repeated Guy--"the one the
mater said was lost."
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His sister and Brian all crowded round to have a nearer view of the
object in question.
"So it is!" cried Elsie. "How on earth could it have got into the pond?"
"I suppose some one threw it in," answered her brother. "It couldn't
have walked or flown there of its own accord."
"But why should any one throw a knife into the pond? Who could have done
such a silly thing?"
"Oh, ask me something easier," laughed Guy. "All I know is, 'twasn't my
doing."
"Let's have a look," said Brian, holding out his hand. "The point's
broken, and the little plated knob from the end has gone."
He took the knife and examined it more closely.
"Hullo!" he exclaimed. "Look at the blade. That's queer."
"What? what?" demanded the others.
"Why, something's been done to it; it's as thin as paper."
The knife blade certainly presented a curious appearance. Though
maintaining its original form and size, it seemed to have wasted away
until it was scarcely thicker than a sheet of note-paper. It was
probably owing to this fact that the point had snapped off when it
came into contact with the bricks at the bottom of the pond.
"Perhaps the water has made it go like that," suggested Elsie.
"Oh no," answered her cousin. "You can see where it's rusty. It must
have been ground or rubbed down on a stone."
"But why should any one grind a knife blade as thin as that?" asked the
girl. "If you tried to cut anything, the blade would bend all up or
break."
"The best thing for us to do will be to take it indoors and show it to
the mater," said Guy. "I expect she'll be jolly surprised when she hears
we found it in the pond."
"Wait half a minute," answered Brian, who was always practical. "Let me
get my ship out first."
The rake was once more thrust out, and the end lowered into the water;
after two unsuccessful attempts the whereabouts of the sunken _Fury_ was
discovered, and she was carefully dragged to the edge of the pond.
"There!" said Brian, as he carefully emptied the water out of the little
craft. "That's where she leaks. I'll stop that up before we try her
again. Now let's go and find aunt, and show her the knife."
Elsie walked along beside the others in silence; she was dying to say
something, but was afraid to speak. Brian's statement that the knife
blade must have been reduced by grinding or rubbing on a stone had at
once reminded her of her midnight, or, rather, early morning adventure.
Could it have been this poultry-carver that the mysterious intruder
was working at when she had awoke and seen the faint light in the
tool-house? She longed to hazard the suggestion, but Guy and Ida had
already made so much fun of her story that she feared to mention the
subject again lest it should occasion a fresh teasing.
The children found Mr. and Mrs. Ormond in the hall, just preparing to
start out for a walk.
"Mother, we've found the carving-knife!" cried Guy. "'Twas at the bottom
of the pond."
With three people all assisting one another in the telling, the story
did not take long to relate. Mr. and Mrs. Ormond seemed equally
astonished.
"Look, uncle, how thin it is," said Brian. "It must have been ground
down carefully on a stone."
"So I see," was the answer. "It's very extraordinary."
"Most extraordinary," echoed Mrs. Ormond. "Then, who could have thrown
it into the pond?--Guy, are you sure you know nothing about it?"
"Quite sure, mother."
"I don't like to doubt the honesty of that boy Henry," began Mr. Ormond,
"but the thought has just occurred to me that he might, when he was
cleaning the knives, have tried to put an edge on this one, and ground
it too much; then, being afraid to bring it back to the house, have
thrown it into the pond."
"Oh, I don't think that," answered Mrs. Ormond. "I'm quite sure Henry's
honest. I asked him about the knife, and he said he never remembered
having seen it; in fact, as I said before, I don't think he's had it to
clean since he's been here."
"Besides, if he had wanted to put an edge on it, he'd never have ground
the whole blade thin like that," added Brian.
"Put it away somewhere," said Mr. Ormond, "and I'll have a look at it
again when I come back."
The little group dispersed. Brian and Guy went away to mend the boat,
while Elsie, left to herself, wandered out into the yard and entered the
tool-house. There stood the grindstone in its usual place, looking a
very unromantic object indeed; but the girl viewed it with almost
bated breath. She had quite made up her mind that connected with that
grindstone was a mystery in which the poultry-carver was somehow
concerned. What this secret was she could not imagine; but the belief
grew in her mind that if she had been able to summon up sufficient
courage to have crossed the yard that night, and to have peeped round
the door of the tool-house, she might now be able to explain how and
why the poultry-carver had found its way to the bottom of the pond.
She longed to tell the others what was in her thoughts, but pride made
her hold her tongue. She did not like being made fun of, and she felt
sure that any reference to what Ida called her "dream" about the
grindstone was certain to be received with nothing but ridicule by both
brother and sister.
In one corner of the tool-house stood Uncle Roger's iron-bound box,
which, since the eventful evening when it was opened, had been banished
from the library in disgrace, Mr. Ormond wishing to put a small bookcase
in the space which the box had hitherto occupied.
Elsie tried to lift the lid, but the two padlocks had been refastened to
prevent their being lost. She sat down on the chest, and began drumming
her feet on the dark oak planks.
"What a disappointment that old box has proved!" thought the girl. "I
wonder if there ever _was_ anything in it. Father seems to think it
couldn't possibly have been opened, but then how did that cork with
Greenworthy's name on it come to be inside? I do wish it had been full
of money. It would have been jolly to have had a real pony, and to have
learned to ride."
"If wishes were horses," runs the old proverb, "then beggars would
ride;" and Elsie had to rest content with a short day-dream, from which
she at length awoke with a little sigh of regret.
An hour or two later, as Guy unstrapped his pile of school books
and flung them down on the breakfast-room table, he referred to the
discovery which had been made earlier in the day.
"The pater can't understand that carving-knife. I wonder how in the
world it got into the pond!"
"Yes, I wonder too," said Ida, rather suspiciously. "And I wonder if
you, Guy, could explain it if you chose."
"I explain it!" exclaimed the boy. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, you know you _have_ done things like that," returned his sister
calmly. "You smashed a big flower-pot the other day, and threw the
pieces away into the hedge."
"Look here, Ida," cried Guy, with a great show of indignation. "You're
always accusing me of doing things, and it's not fair. The other day
you tried to make out I'd taken cook's methylated spirit when I said
I hadn't. What's the good of a fellow telling the truth if he isn't
believed?"
"Shall I tell you what I think about it?" asked Brian, looking up from
the open book before him, with his finger at the spot where he had left
off reading.
"Yes," was the reply.
"Well, the idea's come into my head that some one was grinding the knife
that night when Elsie woke up and heard the stone turning."
Elsie clapped her hands with delight; her cousin's words were exactly
what she herself had been longing to speak.
"That's just what I've been thinking, Brian!" she cried. "I'm sure
that's right."
"What nonsense!" ejaculated Guy. "You never did hear any one working at
the grindstone. It was a dream."
"I'm not sure about that," answered his cousin. "When I looked at the
grindstone next day there were spots of candle-grease on the wooden
frame."
"What if there were?" interrupted Guy. "Henry may have taken a light in
there late in the afternoon. Because there were a few spots of grease
about, it doesn't prove that some one was working there in the middle of
the night. Besides, supposing the knife was ground on our stone at that
unearthly hour, it doesn't explain anything. It doesn't show what earthly
object there could be in making the blade as thin as possible, and then
throwing it into the pond."
"Oh, of course it doesn't," answered Brian; "but if you're ever going
to get at the explanation of a thing like that, you must begin at the
beginning, and ravel it out bit by bit. I believe it began that night
when Elsie heard the stone turning, and I shall continue to think so
until I have reason to believe otherwise."
"Oh, you're talking nonsense!" said Guy, who could think of no better
reply to make. "Now, let's get on with our work."
It so happened that at the same time the children were talking over the
strange loss and reappearance of the carving-knife, the subject was also
being discussed in the dining-room.
"If I hadn't been quite sure that Guy was speaking the truth, I should
have set it down as his doing," said Mrs. Ormond.
"It's neither of the boys' doing," answered her husband from behind his
newspaper. "I saw that at once."
"How?"
"Why," replied Mr. Ormond, laying down his paper, and reaching for the
knife, which lay on a side table, "it's a difficult matter to grind a
blade as thin as that. No boy did it; at least that's my opinion. It was
done by a man, and one who knew what he was about.
"I shall be at the police court on Monday," the speaker continued after
a pause, "and I have a good mind to ask Evans, the sergeant, to step
round and have a look at it. I'm inclined to think there's more in this
matter than may appear on the surface."
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