"Silence makes admission," the stranger said. "Well, come along to my
house. This grove is between it and town, and nobody will bother us for
the night, at least."
_8. "A Trick that Almost Killed You."_
When I stepped into the open with Judge Keith Pursuivant, the snow
had ceased and a full moon glared through a rip in the clouds, making
diamond dust of the sugary drifts. By its light I saw my companion
with some degree of plainness--a man of great height and girth, with
a wide black hat and a voluminous gray ulster. His face was as round
as the moon itself, at least as shiny, and much warmer to look at. A
broad bulbous nose and broad bulbous eyes beamed at me, while under a
drooping blond mustache a smile seemed to be lurking. Apparently he
considered the situation a pleasant one.
"I'm not one of the mob," he informed me reassuringly. "These pastimes
of the town do not attract me. I left such things behind when I
dropped out of politics and practise--oh, I was active in such things,
ten years ago up North--and took up meditation."
"I've heard that you keep to yourself," I told him.
"You heard correctly. My black servant does the shopping and brings me
the gossip. Most of the time it bores me, but not today, when I learned
about you and the killing of John Gird----"
"And you came looking for me?"
"Of course. By the way, that was a wise impulse, ducking into the
Devil's Croft."
But I shuddered, and not with the chill of the outer night. He made a
motion for me to come along, and we began tramping through the soft
snow toward a distant light under the shadow of a hill. Meanwhile I
told him something of my recent adventures, saving for the last my
struggle with the monster in the grove.
He heard me through, whistling through his teeth at various points. At
the end of my narrative he muttered to himself:
"The hairy ones shall dance----"
"What was that, sir?" I broke in, without much courtesy.
"I was quoting from the prophet Isaiah. He was speaking of ruined
Babylon, not a strange transplanted bit of the tropics, but otherwise
it falls pat. Suggestive of a demon-festival. 'The hairy ones shall
dance there.'"
"Isaiah, you say? I used to be something of a Bible reader, but I'm
afraid I don't remember the passage."
He smiled sidewise at me. "But I'm translating direct from the
original, Mr.--Wills is the name, eh? The original Hebrew of the
prophet Isaiah, whoever he was. The classic-ridden compilers of the
King James Version have satyrs dancing, and the prosaic Revised Version
offers nothing more startling than goats. But Isaiah and the rest of
the ancient peoples knew that there were 'hairy ones.' Perhaps you
encountered one of that interesting breed tonight."
"I don't want to encounter it a second time," I confessed, and again I
shuddered.
"That is something we will talk over more fully. What do you think of
the Turkish bath accommodations you have just left behind?"
"To tell you the truth, I don't know what to think. Growing green stuff
and a tropical temperature, with snow outside----"
He waved the riddle away. "Easily and disappointingly explained, Mr.
Wills. Hot springs."