“Eh, what?”
“Well, what do you know about that?”
“I’ll be switched!”
“I’ll be damned!”
The American girl gave Ludlow a particular look. “It hardly needed the new psychology to give us the right lead. I’m amazed, really I am, that no one has thought of it before. Why, what activities did the Parson engage in? His plots were just the sort of thing that an artless—and artful—child would plan to frighten a grown person.”
“Or a grown person to frighten a child,” appended Aire.
“Yes, I think so, but there could be no such intention here, of course. As soon as I got my wits about me the night Mr. Bannerlee arrived, I suspected some juvenile escapade. The details unfolded to fit the theory. There was the little battle-axe from low on the wall, whereas the big ones hung out of reach. That later night, who but a small boy could have crawled underneath the arch of the bridge in the park when the Doctor and Mr. Bannerlee were so brisk on his trail? Then there was the book: hardly anyone but a lad nowadays would take much interest in a work as naïve as ‘Twm Shon Catti.’ A boy, however, might be much struck with it, and it probably fired Toby to emulation of Twm—a bloodyish emulation. There was his cloak, too—that was rather puerile, although it was a neat dodge all the same.”
“Where does the neat dodge come in?” I asked.
“Why, to add to his stature. A tiny Parson Lolly would be in danger of being identified with a boy, if there happened to be a boy in the neighbourhood. That was the reason for the exceedingly large and flowing garb. He must have had strapped to his shoulders one of those contrivances that magicians use to ‘produce’ objects, an apparatus that could be folded or extended by pressure on some spring. No wonder Millicent and I saw no head on him! That sort of stunt is as old as conjuring, I believe, and the appliance probably came from the exhaustless variety of old Watts’ attics.”
The American girl leaned back in her chair, settling her head against the leather and closing her eyes, as if grateful for a chance to rest. The accumulation of details which she had picked out left no doubt whatever that the houseful of us had been hoaxed and flummoxed by a child, that Aidenn Vale was Cock Lane repeated on a twentieth century scale.