Their haggard white faces were turned on me. I felt my cheeks flush. “I think you are alarming our fellow-guests without good reason. Why, granting, as you believe, I did drop the paper in the fire, and supposing there were the least connection between the writer and the crime—which seems improbable—the mere fact that the Book at this moment belongs to Crofts’ library doesn’t indicate that one of you discovered the parchment during some visit here and filled an idle hour doing its contents into an obsolete style of English. None of you, as far as I know, are Celtic experts.”
“Emphatically!” declared Lord Ludlow, fixing a reproachful gaze on the American girl. “Miss, you are confusing a wild shot in the dark with the reasoning process. This piece of translator’s work, probably done by someone outside this Valley and quite unknown to us, can have no connection with any atrocity committed here. You are far afield, and I do not think you will help us much unless, as I said, you lift us from the plane of a wranglers’ tea-party.”
“You may be right,” she confessed. “I shan’t try to convince you. But it was a tempting lead. And surely it’s not true to say there’s no connection between the parchment story and events which have occurred this week.” Elbows on table, she rested her head on her hands, speaking very thoughtfully. “For instance, in the old story Hughes related after lunch that day he called this place the castle on the mill-site. An old, old map in the library gives Aidenn Vale as ‘Cwm Melin,’ which means ‘Mill Valley,’ I’ve learned, and that is what the Vale was called in the manuscript; do you remember? The parchment explains, too, what was meant by the ‘spanning and roofing of the waters,’ one of Mr. Maryvale’s mystifying utterances. It referred simply to the fact that when Sir Pharamond built his second castle here, he roofed in the Water; I suppose the present stream beyond the towers is a deflected one and the channel where Sir Brooke was found is the original course. That may seem far-fetched, but the proof is that Doctor Aire took from Sir Brooke’s forehead a splinter of the petrified wood of the mill-wheel itself. When Sir Brooke was carried down the subterranean stream, his body must have collided with the edge of the mill-wheel, and passed on. Mr. Bannerlee, in his expedition to the cellar, must have actually seen the casing of the wheel, all overgrown with hideous fungi. So there are connections, of a sort.”
“Quite interesting in the abstract,” said Ludlow tartly. “We are looking for something, however, which has a tangible link with a crime of violence. May I suggest that if you have nothing more to offer us, this meeting adjourns?”
She had not lifted her head; her fists ground into her forehead. “I shall try to satisfy you, sir, again with Mr. Bannerlee’s assistance. I think you will recall that there was a sentence in the parchment to the effect that Sir Pharamond disposed of his enemies ‘with no more trouble than snuffing a night-light.’ Now, within five minutes after reaching the House, Mr. Bannerlee discovered a curious thing. Looking through the armoury window, he saw you, Ludlow. And what were you doing there? You were snuffing a candle that stood in the old bracket on the wall!”
Ludlow’s chair was flung back. He was on his feet, putty-faced, staring at her in utter consternation.
“Are you accusing me?”
Before she could answer, our attention swung to the other end of the Hall. From somewhere in that semi-darkness came a muffled rasping sound, as of some huge beast that purred.
Crofts was on his feet now, with eyes that strained to overcome the gloom. He called, “What’s that?”
Aire strode half-way to the fireplace, turning his head this way and that. “There is something moving in the wall this time. Only where?”