“Well, I suppose each of us has his favourite corner of earth. There, do you see how deep the river has cut its way into the rock?”
They had left the road by a foot-path, which led down steeply through a wood of fir-trees and waist-deep bracken to the river bank. They were now looking up a deep gully, it almost seemed a funnel, of rock; both sides falling sheer from the tumbled boulders and fern-tufts of the hillside. Before them was a narrow path which had been worn or cut out of the rock-face, some five or six feet above the brawling stream, just clear of the foam that sprang from its sudden waterfalls. There was no habitation in view; the roaring of the water drowned the voice unless you shouted; the sun, so nearly at its zenith, could not reach the foot of the rocks, and the gorge itself looked gloomy and a little eerie from the contrast. “Let’s go along the path a bit,” said Brinkman; “one gets the effect of it better when one’s right in the middle of it. The path,” he explained, “goes all the way along, and it’s the regular way by which people go up when they mean to fish the Long Pool. I’ll go first, shall I?”
For a second Bredon hesitated. The man had so obviously been making conversation all the way, had so obviously been anxious to bring him to this particular spot, that he suddenly conceived the idea of hostile design. A slight push, disguised as an effort to steady you round a corner, might easily throw you off the path into the stream; they were alone, and neither rock nor stream, in such an event, would readily give up its secret. Then he felt the impossibility of manufacturing any excuse for refusing the invitation, Brinkman, too, was a good foot smaller than himself. “All right,” he said, “I’ll follow on.” He added a mental determination to follow at a safe distance.
About twenty yards from the entrance, they stopped at a resting-place where the rock-path widened out till it was some five feet in breadth. Behind it was a smooth face of rock six or seven feet in height, a fresh narrow ledge separating it from the next step in that giant’s stairway. “Curious, isn’t it,” said Brinkman, “the way these rocks are piled against one another? Look at that ledge that runs along, over there to the right, almost like the rack in a railway carriage! What accident made that, or was it some forgotten human design?” It looked, indeed, as if it might have been meant for the larder-shelf of some outlaw who had hidden there in days gone by. A piece of white paper—some sandwich paper doubtless, that had fallen from above—tried to complete the illusion. “Yes,” said Bredon, “you expect to see a notice saying it’s for light articles only. By Jove, this is a place!” Forgetting his tremors, he passed by Brinkman, and went exploring further along the gorge. Brinkman followed slowly, almost reluctantly. There was no more conversation till they reached the end of the gorge and climbed up an easy path on to the highroad.
Now, surely, if there were going to be any confidential disclosures, they would come. To Bredon’s surprise his companion now seemed to have grown moody and uncommunicative; whatever openings were tried he not only failed to follow them up but seemed, by his monosyllabic answers, to be discouraging all approach. Bredon abandoned the effort at last, and returned to the Load of Mischief thoroughly dissatisfied with himself, and more completely mystified than ever.
Chapter XV.
A Scrap of Paper
Leyland met him immediately on his return. He had heard from Angela that Bredon had gone out for a walk with Brinkman, and at Brinkman’s invitation; something too of the abruptness and the eagerness with which the invitation was issued. Clearly, he was anxious to get first news about Brinkman’s disclosures. There was still half an hour or so to waste before luncheon; and Bredon, taking a leaf out of his wife’s book, suggested the ale-house bench as a suitable place for talking things over.
“Well?” asked Leyland. “I never dared to hope that Brinkman would react so quickly. What did he say? Or rather, what can you tell me of what he said?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. He just took me for a walk to the gorge and back.”
“I say, old thing, are you playing quite fair? I mean, if Brinkman only consented to talk to you in confidence, by all means say so, and I’ll have to be content.”