"SEARCH and research proving vain," said Gerald, when every corner of
the bedroom had been turned out and the ring had not been found, "the
noble detective hero of our tale remarked that he would have other fish
to fry in half a jiff, and if the rest of you want to hear about last
night...."
"Let's keep it till we get to Mabel," said Kathleen heroically.
"The assignation was ten-thirty, wasn't it? Why shouldn't Gerald gas as
we go along? I don't suppose anything very much happened, anyhow." This,
of course, was Jimmy.
"That shows," remarked Gerald sweetly, "how much _you_ know. The
melancholy Mabel will await the tryst without success, as far as this
one is concerned. 'Fish, fish, other fish--other fish I fry!'" he
warbled to the tune of "Cherry Ripe," till Kathleen could have pinched
him.
Jimmy turned coldly away, remarking, "When you've quite done."
But Gerald went on singing--
"'Where the lips of Johnson smile,
There's the land of Cherry Isle.
Other fish, other fish,
Fish I fry.
Stately Johnson, come and buy!'"
"How can you," asked Kathleen, "be so aggravating?"
"I don't know," said Gerald, returning to prose. "Want of sleep or
intoxication--of success, I mean. Come where no one can hear us.
"Oh, come to some island where no one can hear,
And beware of the keyhole that's glued to an ear,"
he whispered, opened the door suddenly, and there, sure enough, was
Eliza, stooping without. She flicked feebly at the wainscot with a
duster, but concealment was vain.
"You know what listeners never hear," said Jimmy severely.
"I didn't, then--so there!" said Eliza, whose listening ears were
crimson. So they passed out, and up the High Street, to sit on the
churchyard wall and dangle their legs. And all the way Gerald's lips
were shut into a thin, obstinate line.
"_Now_," said Kathleen. "Oh, Jerry, don't be a goat! I'm simply dying to
hear what happened."
"That's better," said Gerald, and he told his story. As he told it some
of the white mystery and magic of the moonlit gardens got into his voice
and his words, so that when he told of the statues that came alive, and
the great beast that was alive through all its stone, Kathleen thrilled
responsive, clutching his arm, and even Jimmy ceased to kick the wall
with his boot heels, and listened open-mouthed.
Then came the thrilling tale of the burglars, and the warning letter
flung into the peaceful company of Mabel, her aunt, and the
bread-and-butter pudding. Gerald told the story with the greatest
enjoyment and such fulness of detail that the church clock chimed
half-past eleven as he said, "Having done all that human agency could
do, and further help being despaired of, our gallant young detective----
Hullo, there's Mabel!"
There was. The tail-board of a cart shed her almost at their feet.
"I couldn't wait any longer," she explained, "when you didn't come. And
I got a lift. Has anything more happened? The burglars had gone when
Bates got to the strong-room."
"You don't mean to say all that wheeze is _real_?" Jimmy asked.
"Of course it's real," said Kathleen. "Go on, Jerry. He's just got to
where he threw the stone into your bread-and-butter pudding, Mabel. Go
on."
Mabel climbed on to the wall. "You've got visible again quicker than I
did," she said.
Gerald nodded and resumed:
"Our story must be told in as few words as possible, owing to the
fish-frying taking place at twelve, and it's past the half-hour now.
Having left his missive to do its warning work, Gerald de Sherlock
Holmes sped back, wrapped in invisibility, to the spot where by the
light of their dark-lanterns the burglars were still--still burgling
with the utmost punctuality and despatch. I didn't see any sense in
running into danger, so I just waited outside the passage where the
steps are--you know?"
Mabel nodded.
"Presently they came out, very cautiously, of course, and looked about
them. They didn't see me--so deeming themselves unobserved they passed
in silent Indian file along the passage--one of the sacks of silver
grazed my front part--and out into the night."
"But which way?"
"Through the little looking-glass room where you looked at yourself when
you were invisible. The hero followed swiftly on his invisible
tennis-shoes. The three miscreants instantly sought the shelter of the
groves and passed stealthily among the rhododendrons and across the
park, and"--his voice dropped and he looked straight before him at the
pinky convolvulus netting a heap of stones beyond the white dust of the
road--"the stone things that come alive, they kept looking out from
between bushes and under trees--and _I_ saw them all right, but they
didn't see me. They saw the burglars though, right enough; but the
burglars couldn't see them. Rum, wasn't it?"
"The stone things?" Mabel had to have them explained to her.
"_I_ never saw them come alive," she said, "and I've been in the gardens
in the evening as often as often."
"_I_ saw them," said Gerald stiffly.
"I know, I know," Mabel hastened to put herself right with him: "what I
mean to say is I shouldn't wonder if they're only visible when you're
_in_visible--the liveness of them, I mean, not the stoniness."
Gerald understood, and I'm sure I hope you do.
"I shouldn't wonder if you're right," he said. "The castle garden's
enchanted right enough; but what I should like to know is _how_ and why.
I say, come on, I've got to catch Johnson before twelve. We'll walk as
far as the market and then we'll have to run for it."
"But go on with the adventure," said Mabel. "You can talk as we go. Oh,
do--it is so awfully thrilling!"
This pleased Gerald, of course.
"Well, I just followed, you know, like in a dream, and they got out the
cavy way--you know, where we got in--and I jolly well thought I'd lost
them; I had to wait till they'd moved off down the road so that they
shouldn't hear me rattling the stones, and I had to tear to catch them
up. I took my shoes off--I expect my stockings are done for. And I
followed and followed and followed and they went through the place where
the poor people live, and right down to the river. And---- I say, we
must run for it."
So the story stopped and the running began.
They caught Johnson in his own back-yard washing at a bench against his
own back-door.
"Look here, Johnson," Gerald said, "what'll you give me if I put you up
to winning that fifty pounds reward?"
"Halves," said Johnson promptly, "and a clout 'longside your head if you
was coming any of your nonsense over me."
"It's _not_ nonsense," said Gerald very impressively. "If you'll let us
in I'll tell you all about it. And when you've caught the burglars and
got the swag back you just give me a quid for luck. I won't ask for
more."
"Come along in, then," said Johnson, "if the young ladies'll excuse the
towel. But I bet you _do_ want something more off of me. Else why not
claim the reward yourself?"
"Great is the wisdom of Johnson--he speaks winged words." The children
were all in the cottage now, and the door was shut. "I want you never to
let on who told you. Let them think it was your own unaided pluck and
farsightedness."
"Sit you down," said Johnson, "and if you're kidding you'd best send the
little gells home afore I begin on you."
[Illustration: "LOOK HERE, JOHNSON," GERALD SAID, "WHAT'LL YOU GIVE ME
IF I PUT YOU UP TO WINNING THAT FIFTY POUNDS REWARD?"]
"I am not kidding," replied Gerald loftily, "never less. And any one but
a policeman would see why I don't want any one to know it was me. I
found it out at dead of night, in a place where I wasn't supposed to be;
and there'd be a beastly row if they found out at home about me being
out nearly all night. _Now_ do you see, my bright-eyed daisy?"
Johnson was now too interested, as Jimmy said afterwards, to mind what
silly names he was called. He said he did see--and asked to see more.
"Well, don't you ask any questions, then. I'll tell you all it's good
for you to know. Last night about eleven I was at Yalding Towers. No--it
doesn't matter how I got there or what I got there for--and there was a
window open and I got in, and there was a light. And it was in the
strong-room, and there were three men, putting silver in a bag."
"Was it you give the warning, and they sent for the police?" Johnson was
leaning eagerly forward, a hand on each knee.
"Yes, that was me. You can let them think it was you, if you like. You
were off duty, weren't you?"
"I was," said Johnson, "in the arms of Murphy----"
"Well, the police didn't come quick enough. But _I_ was there--a lonely
detective. And I followed them."
"You did?"
"And I saw them hide the booty and I know the other stuff from Houghton
Court's in the same place, and I heard them arrange about when to take
it away."
"Come and show me where," said Johnson, jumping up so quickly that his
Windsor arm-chair fell over backwards, with a crack, on the red-brick
floor.
"Not so," said Gerald calmly; "if you go near the spot before the
appointed time you'll find the silver, but you'll never catch the
thieves."
"You're right there." The policeman picked up his chair and sat down in
it again. "Well?"
"Well, there's to be a motor to meet them in the lane beyond the
boat-house by Sadler's Rents at one o'clock to-night. They'll get the
things out at half-past twelve and take them along in a boat. So now's
your chance to fill your pockets with chink and cover yourself with
honour and glory."
"So help me!"--Johnson was pensive and doubtful still--"so help me! you
_couldn't_ have made all this up out of your head."
"Oh yes, I could. But I didn't. Now look here. It's the chance of your
lifetime, Johnson! A quid for me, and a still tongue for you, and the
job's done. Do you agree?"
"Oh, _I_ agree right enough," said Johnson. "I _agree_. But if you're
coming any of your larks----"
"Can't you _see_ he isn't?" Kathleen put in impatiently. "He's not a
liar--we none of us are."
"If you're not on, say so," said Gerald, "and I'll find another
policeman with more sense."
"I could split about you being out all night," said Johnson.
"But you wouldn't be so ungentlemanly," said Mabel brightly. "Don't you
be so unbelieving, when we're trying to do you a good turn."
"If I were you," Gerald advised, "I'd go to the place where the silver
is, with two other men. You could make a nice little ambush in the
wood-yard--it's close there. And I'd have two or three more men up trees
in the lane to wait for the motor-car."
"You ought to have been in the force, you ought," said Johnson
admiringly; "but s'pose it _was_ a hoax!"
"Well, then you'd have made an ass of yourself--I don't suppose it ud be
the first time," said Jimmy.
"Are you on?" said Gerald in haste. "Hold your jaw, Jimmy, you idiot!"
"_Yes_," said Johnson.
"Then when you're on duty you go down to the wood-yard, and the place
where you see me blow my nose is _the_ place. The sacks are tied with
string to the posts under the water. You just stalk by in your dignified
beauty and make a note of the spot. That's where glory waits you, and
when Fame elates you and you're a sergeant, please remember me."
Johnson said he was blessed. He said it more than once, and then
remarked that he was on, and added that he must be off that instant
minute.
Johnson's cottage lies just out of the town beyond the blacksmith's
forge and the children had come to it through the wood. They went back
the same way, and then down through the town, and through its narrow,
unsavoury streets to the towing-path by the timber yard. Here they ran
along the trunks of the big trees, peeped into the saw-pit, and--the men
were away at dinner and this was a favourite play place of every boy
within miles--made themselves a see-saw with a fresh cut, sweet-smelling
pine plank and an elm-root.
"What a ripping place!" said Mabel, breathless on the see-saw's end. "I
believe I like this better than pretending games or even magic."
"So do I," said Jimmy. "Jerry, don't keep sniffing so--you'll have no
nose left."
"I can't help it," Gerald answered: "I daren't use my hankey for fear
Johnson's on the look-out somewhere unseen. I wish I'd thought of some
other signal." Sniff! "No, nor I shouldn't want to now if I hadn't got
not to. That's what's so rum. The moment I got down here and remembered
what I'd said about the signal I began to have a cold--and---- Thank
goodness! here he is."
The children, with a fine air of unconcern, abandoned the see-saw.
"Follow my leader!" Gerald cried, and ran along a barked oak trunk, the
others following. In and out and round about ran the file of children,
over heaps of logs, under the jutting ends of piled planks, and just as
the policeman's heavy boots trod the towing-path Gerald halted at the
end of a little landing-stage of rotten boards, with a rickety
handrail, cried "Pax!" and blew his nose with loud fervour.
"Morning," he said immediately.
"Morning," said Johnson. "Got a cold, aint you?"
"Ah! I shouldn't have a cold if I'd got boots like yours," returned
Gerald admiringly. "Look at them. Any one ud know your fairy footstep a
mile off. How do you ever get near enough to any one to arrest them?" He
skipped off the landing-stage, whispered as he passed Johnson, "Courage,
promptitude, and despatch. That's the place," and was off again, the
active leader of an active procession.
"We've brought a friend home to dinner," said Kathleen, when Eliza
opened the door. "Where's Mademoiselle?"
"Gone to see Yalding Towers. To-day's show day, you know. An' just you
hurry over your dinners. It's my afternoon out, and my gentleman friend
don't like it if he's kept waiting."
"All right, we'll eat like lightning," Gerald promised. "Set another
place, there's an angel."
They kept their word. The dinner--it was minced veal and potatoes and
rice-pudding, perhaps the dullest food in the world--was over in a
quarter of an hour.
"And now," said Mabel, when Eliza and a jug of hot water had disappeared
up the stairs together, "where's the ring? I ought to put it back."
[Illustration: GERALD HALTED AT THE END OF A LITTLE LANDING-STAGE OF
ROTTEN BOARDS.]
"I haven't had a turn yet," said Jimmy. "When we find it Cathy and I
ought to have turns same as you and Gerald did."
"When you find it----?" Mabel's pale face turned paler between her dark
locks.
"I'm very sorry--we're all very sorry," began Kathleen, and then the
story of the losing had to be told.
"You couldn't have looked properly," Mabel protested. "It can't have
vanished."
"You don't know what it can do--no more do we. It's no use getting your
quills up, fair lady. Perhaps vanishing itself is just what it does do.
You see, it came off my hand in the bed. We looked everywhere."
"Would you mind if _I_ looked?" Mabel's eyes implored her little
hostess. "You see, if it's lost it's my fault. It's almost the same as
stealing. That Johnson would say it was just the same. I know he would."
"Let's all look again," said Mabel, jumping up. "We _were_ rather in a
hurry this morning."
So they looked, and they looked. In the bed, under the bed, under the
carpet, under the furniture. They shook the curtains, they explored the
corners, and found dust and flue, but no ring. They looked, and they
looked. Everywhere they looked. Jimmy even looked fixedly at the
ceiling, as though he thought the ring might have bounced up there and
stuck. But it hadn't.
"Then," said Mabel at last, "your housemaid must have stolen it. That's
all. I shall tell her I think so."
And she would have done it too, but at that moment the front door banged
and they knew that Eliza had gone forth in all the glory of her best
things to meet her "gentleman friend."
"It's no use"--Mabel was almost in tears; "look here--will you leave me
alone? Perhaps you others looking distracts me. And I'll go over every
inch of the room by myself."
"Respecting the emotion of their guest, the kindly charcoal-burners
withdrew," said Gerald. And they closed the door softly from the outside
on Mabel and her search.
They waited for her, of course--politeness demanded it, and besides,
they had to stay at home to let Mademoiselle in; though it was a
dazzling day, and Jimmy had just remembered that Gerald's pockets were
full of the money earned at the fair, and that nothing had yet been
bought with that money, except a few buns in which he had had no share.
And of course they waited impatiently.
It seemed about an hour, and was really quite ten minutes, before they
heard the bedroom door open and Mabel's feet on the stairs.
"She hasn't found it," Gerald said.
"How do you know?" Jimmy asked.
"The way she walks," said Gerald. You can, in fact, almost always tell
whether the thing has been found that people have gone to look for by
the sound of their feet as they return. Mabel's feet said "No go," as
plain as they could speak. And her face confirmed the cheerless news.
A sudden and violent knocking at the back door prevented any one from
having to be polite about how sorry they were, or fanciful about being
sure the ring would turn up soon.
All the servants except Eliza were away on their holidays, so the
children went together to open the door, because, as Gerald said, if it
was the baker they could buy a cake from him and eat it for dessert.
"That kind of dinner sort of _needs_ dessert," he said.
But it was not the baker. When they opened the door they saw in the
paved court where the pump is, and the dust-bin, and the water-butt, a
young man, with his hat very much on one side, his mouth open under his
fair bristly moustache, and his eyes as nearly round as human eyes can
be. He wore a suit of a bright mustard colour, a blue necktie, and a
goldish watch-chain across his waistcoat. His body was thrown back and
his right arm stretched out towards the door, and his expression was
that of a person who is being dragged somewhere against his will. He
looked so strange that Kathleen tried to shut the door in his face,
murmuring, "Escaped insane." But the door would not close. There was
something in the way.
"Leave go of me!" said the young man.
"Ho yus! I'll leave go of you!" It was the voice of Eliza--but no Eliza
could be seen.
"Who's got hold of you?" asked Kathleen.
"_She_ has, miss," replied the unhappy stranger.
"Who's she?" asked Kathleen, to gain time, as she afterwards explained,
for she now knew well enough that what was keeping the door open was
Eliza's unseen foot.
"My fyongsay, miss. At least it sounds like her voice, and it feels like
her bones, but something's come over me, miss, an' I can't see her."
"That's what he keeps on saying," said Eliza's voice. "E's my gentleman
friend; is 'e gone dotty, or is it me?"
"Both, I shouldn't wonder," said Jimmy.
"Now," said Eliza, "you call yourself a man; you look me in the face and
say you can't see me."
"Well--I can't," said the wretched gentleman friend.
"If _I'd_ stolen a ring," said Gerald, looking at the sky, "I should go
indoors and be quiet, not stand at the back door and make an exhibition
of myself."
"Not much exhibition about her," whispered Jimmy; "good old ring!"
"I haven't stolen _any_thing," said the gentleman friend. "Here, you
leave me be. It's my eyes has gone wrong. Leave go of me, d'ye hear?"
Suddenly his hand dropped and he staggered back against the water-butt.
Eliza had "left go" of him. She pushed past the children, shoving them
aside with her invisible elbows. Gerald caught her by the arm with one
hand, felt for her ear with the other, and whispered. "You stand still
and don't say a word. If you do----well, what's to stop me from sending
for the police?"
[Illustration: HE STAGGERED BACK AGAINST THE WATER-BUTT.]
Eliza did not know what there was to stop him. So she did as she was
told, and stood invisible and silent, save for a sort of blowing,
snorting noise peculiar to her when she was out of breath.
The mustard-coloured young man had recovered his balance, and stood
looking at the children with eyes, if possible, rounder than before.
"What _is_ it?" he gasped feebly. "What's up? What's it all about?"
"If you don't know, I'm afraid we can't tell you," said Gerald politely.
"Have I been talking very strange-like?" he asked, taking off his hat
and passing his hand over his forehead.
"Very," said Mabel.
"I hope I haven't said anything that wasn't good manners," he said
anxiously.
"Not at all," said Kathleen. "You only said your _fiancee_ had hold of
your hand, and that you couldn't see her."
"No more I can."
"No more can we," said Mabel.
"But I couldn't have dreamed it, and then come along here making a penny
show of myself like this, could I?"
"You know best," said Gerald courteously.
"But," the mustard-coloured victim almost screamed, "do you mean to tell
me...."
"I don't mean to tell you anything," said Gerald quite truly, "but I'll
give you a bit of advice. You go home and lie down a bit and put a wet
rag on your head. You'll be all right to-morrow."
"But I haven't----"
"_I_ should," said Mabel; "the sun's very hot, you know."
"I feel all right now," he said, "but--well, I can only say I'm sorry,
that's all I can say. I've never been taken like this before, miss. I'm
not subject to it--don't you think that. But I could have sworn
Eliza---- Aint she gone out to meet me?"
"Eliza's indoors," said Mabel. "She can't come out to meet anybody
to-day."
"You won't tell her about me carrying on this way, will you, miss? It
might set her against me if she thought I was liable to fits, which I
never was from a child."
"We won't tell Eliza anything about you."
"And you'll overlook the liberty?"
"Of course. We know you couldn't help it," said Kathleen. "You go home
and lie down. I'm sure you must need it. Good-afternoon."
"Good-afternoon, I'm sure, miss," he said dreamily. "All the same I can
feel the print of her finger-bones on my hand while I'm saying it. And
you won't let it get round to my boss--my employer I mean? Fits of all
sorts are against a man in any trade."
"No, no, no, it's all right--_goodbye_," said every one. And a silence
fell as he went slowly round the water-butt and the green yard-gate shut
behind him. The silence was broken by Eliza.
"Give me up!" she said. "Give me up to break my heart in a prison cell!"
There was a sudden splash, and a round wet drop lay on the doorstep.
"Thunder shower," said Jimmy; but it was a tear from Eliza.
"Give me up," she went on, "give me up"--splash--"but don't let me be
took here in the town where I'm known and respected"--splash. "I'll walk
ten miles to be took by a strange police--not Johnson as keeps company
with my own cousin"--splash. "But I do thank you for one thing. You
didn't tell Elf as I'd stolen the ring. And I didn't"--splash--"I only
sort of borrowed it, it being my day out, and my gentleman friend such a
toff, like you can see for yourselves."
The children had watched, spellbound, the interesting tears that became
visible as they rolled off the invisible nose of the miserable Eliza.
Now Gerald roused himself, and spoke.
"It's no use your talking," he said. "We can't see you!"
"That's what _he_ said," said Eliza's voice, "but----"
"You can't see yourself," Gerald, went on. "Where's your hand?"
Eliza, no doubt, tried to see it, and of course failed; for instantly,
with a shriek that might have brought the police if there had been any
about, she went into a violent fit of hysterics. The children did what
they could, everything that they had read of in books as suitable to
such occasions, but it is extremely difficult to do the right thing with
an invisible housemaid in strong hysterics and her best clothes. That
was why the best hat was found, later on, to be completely ruined, and
why the best blue dress was never quite itself again. And as they were
burning bits of the feather dusting-brush as nearly under Eliza's nose
as they could guess, a sudden spurt of flame and a horrible smell, as
the flame died between the quick hands of Gerald, showed but too plainly
that Eliza's feather boa had tried to help.
It did help. Eliza "came to" with a deep sob and said, "Don't burn me
real ostrich stole; I'm better now."
They helped her up and she sat down on the bottom step, and the children
explained to her very carefully and quite kindly that she really was
invisible, and that if you steal--or even borrow--rings you can never be
sure what will happen to you.
"But 'ave I got to go on stopping like this," she moaned, when they had
fetched the little mahogany looking-glass from its nail over the kitchen
sink, and convinced her that she was really invisible, "for ever and
ever? An' we was to a bin married come Easter. No one won't marry a gell
as 'e can't see. It aint likely."
"No, not for ever and ever," said Mabel kindly, "but you've got to go
through with it--like measles. I expect you'll be all right to-morrow."
"To-night, _I_ think," said Gerald.
"We'll help you all we can, and not tell any one," said Kathleen.
"Not even the police," said Jimmy.
"Now let's get Mademoiselle's tea ready," said Gerald.
"And ours," said Jimmy.
"No," said Gerald, "we'll have our tea _out_. We'll have a picnic and
we'll take Eliza. I'll go out and get the cakes."
"_I_ shan't eat no cake, Master Jerry," said Eliza's voice, "so don't
you think it. You'd see it going down inside my chest. It wouldn't be
what I should call nice of me to have cake showing through me in the
open air. Oh, it's a dreadful judgment--just for a borrow!"
They reassured her, set the tea, deputed Kathleen to let in
Mademoiselle--who came home tired and a little sad, it seemed--waited
for her and Gerald and the cakes, and started off for Yalding Towers.
"Picnic parties aren't allowed," said Mabel.
"Ours will be," said Gerald briefly. "Now, Eliza, you catch on to
Kathleen's arm and I'll walk behind to conceal your shadow. My aunt!
take your hat off. It makes your shadow look like I don't know what.
People will think we're the county lunatic asylum turned loose."
It was then that the hat, becoming visible in Kathleen's hand, showed
how little of the sprinkled water had gone where it was meant to go--on
Eliza's face.
"Me best 'at," said Eliza, and there was a silence with sniffs in it.
"Look here," said Mabel, "you cheer up. Just you think this is all a
dream. It's just the kind of thing you might dream if your conscience
had got pains in it about the ring."
"But will I wake up again?"
"Oh yes, you'll wake up again. Now we're going to bandage your eyes and
take you through a very small door, and don't you resist, or we'll bring
a policeman into the dream like a shot."
I have not time to describe Eliza's entrance into the cave. She went
head first: the girls propelled and the boys received her. If Gerald had
not thought of tying her hands some one would certainly have been
scratched. As it was Mabel's hand was scraped between the cold rock and
a passionate boot-heel. Nor will I tell you all that she said as they
led her along the fern-bordered gully and through the arch into the
wonderland of Italian scenery. She had but little language left when
they removed her bandage under a weeping willow where a statue of Diana,
bow in hand, stood poised on one toe, a most unsuitable attitude for
archery, I have always thought.
"Now," said Gerald, "it's all over--nothing but niceness now and cake
and things."
"It's time we did have our tea," said Jimmy. And it was.
Eliza, once convinced that her chest, though invisible, was not
transparent, and that her companions could not by looking through it
count how many buns she had eaten, made an excellent meal. So did the
others. If you want really to enjoy your tea, have minced veal and
potatoes and rice-pudding for dinner, with several hours of excitement
to follow, and take your tea late.
The soft, cool green and grey of the garden were changing--the green
grew golden, the shadows black, and the lake where the swans were
mirrored upside down, under the Temple of Phoebus, was bathed in rosy
light from the little fluffy clouds that lay opposite the sunset.
"It _is_ pretty," said Eliza, "just like a picture-postcard, aint
it?--the tuppenny kind."
"I ought to be getting home," said Mabel.
"I can't go home like this. I'd stay and be a savage and live in that
white hut if it had any walls and doors," said Eliza.
"She means the Temple of Dionysus," said Mabel, pointing to it.
The sun set suddenly behind the line of black fir-trees on the top of
the slope, and the white temple, that had been pink, turned grey.
"It would be a very nice place to live in even as it is," said Kathleen.
"Draughty," said Eliza, "and law, what a lot of steps to clean! What
they make houses for without no walls to 'em? Who'd live in----" She
broke off, stared, and added: "What's that?"
"What?"
"That white thing coming down the steps. Why, it's a young man in
statooary."
"The statues do come alive here, after sunset," said Gerald in very
matter-of-fact tones.
"I see they do." Eliza did not seem at all surprised or alarmed.
"There's another of 'em. Look at them little wings to his feet like
pigeons."
"I expect that's Mercury," said Gerald.
"It's 'Hermes' under the statue that's got wings on its feet," said
Mabel, "but----"
"_I_ don't see any statues," said Jimmy. "What are you punching me for?"
"Don't you see?" Gerald whispered; but he need not have been so
troubled, for all Eliza's attention was with her wandering eyes that
followed hither and thither the quick movements of unseen statues.
"Don't you see? The statues come alive when the sun goes down--and you
can't see them unless you're invisible--and _I_--if you _do_ see them
you're not frightened--unless you _touch_ them."
"Let's get her to touch one and see," said Jimmy.
"'E's lep' into the water," said Eliza in a rapt voice. "My, can't he
swim neither! And the one with the pigeons' wings is flying all over the
lake having larks with 'im. I do call that pretty. It's like cupids as
you see on wedding-cakes. And here's another of 'em, a little chap with
long ears and a baby deer galloping alongside! An' look at the lady with
the biby, throwing it up and catching it like as if it was a ball. I
wonder she ain't afraid. But it's pretty to see 'em."
[Illustration: "'E'S LEP' INTO THE WATER," SAID ELIZA IN A RAPT VOICE.
"MY, CAN'T HE SWIM NEITHER!"]
The broad park lay stretched before the children in growing greyness and
a stillness that deepened. Amid the thickening shadows they could see
the statues gleam white and motionless. But Eliza saw other things. She
watched in silence presently, and they watched silently, and the evening
fell like a veil that grew heavier and blacker. And it was night. And
the moon came up above the trees.
"Oh," cried Eliza suddenly, "here's the dear little boy with the
deer--he's coming right for me, bless his heart!"
Next moment she was screaming, and her screams grew fainter and there
was the sound of swift boots on gravel.
"Come on!" cried Gerald; "she touched it, and then she was frightened.
Just like I was. Run! she'll send every one in the town mad if she gets
there like that. Just a voice and boots! Run! Run!"
They ran. But Eliza had the start of them. Also when she ran on the
grass they could not hear her footsteps and had to wait for the sound of
leather on far-away gravel. Also she was driven by fear, and fear drives
fast.
She went, it seemed, the nearest way, invisibly through the waxing
moonlight, seeing she only knew what amid the glades and groves.
"I'll stop here; see you to-morrow," gasped Mabel, as the loud pursuers
followed Eliza's clatter across the terrace. "She's gone through the
stable yard."
"The back way," Gerald panted as they turned the corner of their own
street, and he and Jimmy swung in past the water-butt.
An unseen but agitated presence seemed to be fumbling with the locked
back-door. The church clock struck the half-hour.
"Half-past nine," Gerald had just breath to say. "Pull at the ring.
Perhaps it'll come off now."
He spoke to the bare doorstep. But it was Eliza, dishevelled,
breathless, her hair coming down, her collar crooked, her dress twisted
and disordered, who suddenly held out a hand--a hand that they could
see; and in the hand, plainly visible in the moonlight, the dark circle
of the magic ring.
* * * * *
"'Alf a mo!" said Eliza's gentleman friend next morning. He was waiting
for her when she opened the door with pail and hearthstone in her hand.
"Sorry you couldn't come out yesterday."
"So'm I." Eliza swept the wet flannel along the top step. "What did you
do?"
[Illustration: IT WAS ELIZA, DISHEVELLED, BREATHLESS, HER HAIR COMING
DOWN, HER COLLAR CROOKED, HER DRESS TWISTED AND DISORDERED, WHO SUDDENLY
HELD OUT A HAND.]
"I 'ad a bit of a headache," said the gentleman friend. "I laid down
most of the afternoon. What were you up to?"
"Oh, nothing pertickler," said Eliza.
* * * * *
"Then it was all a dream," she said, when he was gone; "but it'll be a
lesson to me not to meddle with anybody's old ring again in a hurry."
"So they didn't tell 'er about me behaving like I did," said he as he
went--"sun, I suppose--like our Army in India. I hope I aint going to be
liable to it, that's all!"