Danny must have walked about half a mile when he was brought up short by a flight of stone steps. Mounting these, he found himself face to face with a low door made of some hard, black wood, studded thickly with iron nails and bands, red with rust. There was a massive lock and two heavy bolts. The bolts were not across the door, and Danny stepped forward eagerly, hoping that he would be able to open it. But, try as he would, the door baffled all his efforts. Cold and weary and disappointed he had at last to give up the task. There was nothing for it but to go back.
After a long, dark walk he reached the end of the passage once more and hung the lantern up on its hook. Then, bracing himself for the effort, he plunged again into the black water.
The sun had just set in a glory of red and gold when Danny rose from the mill pool. The air of the summer evening was warm after the icy, tomb-like atmosphere of the passage. It was an infinite relief to see daylight again, and a comfort to hear the birds singing their goodnight songs, and to feel there were live things about. Wringing the water from his clothes, he set out for home at a brisk trot.
“Hullo, Danny,” said his Sixer the next morning, as the boys hurried to school, “where on earth were you last night? You didn’t half miss something. All us chaps were paddling down on the beach, in front of the ‘Blue Boar,’ when an artist-chap came up and started painting.”
“An artist?” said Danny, all interest at once, for, after being a detective, the next thing Danny wanted most in the world to be was an artist.
“Yes,” said Codding, “and he wasn’t half a decent chap either. He let us come as close as we liked and watch him. And he gave us old ends of pencils and crayons and bits of paper. He’s staying at the ‘Blue Boar,’ ’cos he wants to draw heaps of pictures round here. And he said we might come and see him again this evening.”
So, after tea, quite a little crowd of Cubs collected round the artist, who was as friendly as ever. After a time most of them drifted off, and Danny was left alone. The stranger, seeing his interest, gave him a nice, clean piece of paper and some old paints and let him have a try.
A week passed, and every evening he would run down and squat on the ground by the artist, drawing. And while they drew the artist asked him lots of questions about Dutton, and the people, and the country round. Danny, being a Wolf Cub, was delighted to answer them all, promptly and politely, and, if he did not know the necessary information, did his best to find it out for his new friend. When he was tired of drawing he would look at the sketch-books the artist kept in his satchel. The pictures were mostly of harbours and hills and fields. One day he came on one that puzzled him.
“What a funny one this is!” he said.
“Ah!” said the artist. “I’ll tell you why that one looks funny. It is because I was sitting right up on the top of a very high church tower when I drew that. And, looking down, all the country was spread round me like a map, and I looked down on the roofs of the houses and the tops of the trees.”