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Page 26
I stared at him, and I suppose my expression was an angry one.
"Surely you don't misunderstand me?" he said. "A cultured English girl
of that type cannot possibly have lived with these people without
learning something of the matters which are puzzling us so badly. Am I
asking too much?"
"I see what you mean," I said, slowly. "No, I suppose you are right,
Harley."
"Good," he muttered. "I will leave that side of the enquiry in your
very capable hands, Knox."
He paused, and began to stare about him.
"From this point," said he, "we have an unobstructed view of the
tower."
We turned and stood looking up at the unsightly gray structure, with
its geometrical rows of windows and the minaret-like gallery at the
top.
"Of course"--I broke a silence of some moments duration--"the entire
scheme of Cray's Folly is peculiar, but the rooms, except for a
uniformity which is monotonous, and an unimaginative scheme of
decoration which makes them all seem alike, are airy and well lighted,
eminently sane and substantial. The tower, however, is quite
inexcusable, unless the idea was to enable the occupant to look over
the tops of the trees in all directions."
"Yes," agreed Harley, "it is an ugly landmark. But yonder up the slope
I can see the corner of what seems to be a very picturesque house of
some kind."
"I caught a glimpse of it earlier to-day," I replied. "Yes, from this
point a little more of it is visible. Apparently quite an old place."
I paused, staring up the hillside, but Harley, hands locked behind him
and chin lowered reflectively, was pacing on. I joined him, and we
proceeded for some little distance in silence, passing a gardener who
touched his cap respectfully and to whom I thought at first my
companion was about to address some remark. Harley passed on, however,
still occupied, it seemed, with his reflections, and coming to a gravel
path which, bordering one side of the lawns, led down from terrace to
terrace into the valley, turned, and began to descend.
"Let us go and interview the swans," he murmured absently.
CHAPTER VII
AT THE LAVENDER ARMS
In certain moods Paul Harley was impossible as a companion, and I, who
knew him well, had learned to leave him to his own devices at such
times. These moods invariably corresponded with his meeting some
problem to the heart of which the lance of his keen wit failed to
penetrate. His humour might not display itself in the spoken word, he
merely became oblivious of everything and everybody around him. People
might talk to him and he scarce noted their presence, familiar faces
appear and he would see them not. Outwardly he remained the observant
Harley who could see further into a mystery than any other in England,
but his observation was entirely introspective; although he moved amid
the hustle of life he was spiritually alone, communing with the
solitude which dwells in every man's heart.
Presently, then, as we came to the lake at the foot of the sloping
lawns, where water lilies were growing and quite a number of swans had
their habitation, I detected the fact that I had ceased to exist so far
as Harley was concerned. Knowing this mood of old, I pursued my way
alone, pressing on across the valley and making for a swing gate which
seemed to open upon a public footpath. Coming to this gate I turned and
looked back.
Paul Harley was standing where I had left him by the edge of the lake,
staring as if hypnotized at the slowly moving swans. But I would have
been prepared to wager that he saw neither swans nor lake, but mentally
was far from the spot, deep in some complex maze of reflection through
which no ordinary mind could hope to follow him.
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