‘Yes, perhaps you’re right,’ said Giles gloomily. ‘It would almost seem as though this town goes witchcraft-mad every once in a while. Luke told me that even the old philosopher Johannes was not spared from their hunting and meddling. Just because he studies the science of alchemy he had to be brought before the judges. Even harmless old Johannes.’
‘Johannes! That’s an idea,’ cried Anne. ‘He, at least, would not give us away. And he would be interested, too. He does not smell the Devil in everything new. Let’s take the shell to him!’
The philosopher Johannes lived up in the hills behind the town. The children had visited him once before—by accident. They had been hunting blackberries and lost their way. They blundered upon a tiny cabin. At first they had been frightened by the angry red face that popped out of the window. But presently when the angry red face had heard their sad story it invited them to come in, while the road home could be explained to them. And, finally, they had gone away with no feeling of fear in their hearts for this man who lived alone in the hills.
Now, without hesitation, they made plans for a second visit to him. They would have to go home and get lunch first. The clock in the church tower was striking noon as they broke into a run.
Elsbeth, the old cook, quickly provided them with a light meal, and they were on their way out again ten minutes after they arrived.
The trip was a long one, with a good deal of climbing. It took them two hours of hard travel before they stood before the door of the philosopher’s little home. Giles knocked gently. The door was opened, just a crack, through which one eye looked forth suspiciously.
‘May we come in and see you about something?’ asked Anne. ‘We will not stay very long.’
‘Is anyone else with you?’ asked the old man.
‘No,’ said Anne. ‘We are alone.’
The door was opened wide, the children passed in and it was closed again—and locked—behind them.