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Page 64
"Hallo!" said Bill, in surprise, looking up from the fourth
volume of "The Life and Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge." "Have
they finished?"
"Finished what?"
"The pond," said Bill, wondering why he was reading Coleridge on
such a fine afternoon. Desperately he tried to think of a good
reason .... verifying a quotation--an argument with Antony--that
would do. But what quotation?
"Oh, no. They're still at it. Where's Gillingham?"
'The Ancient Mariner'--water, water, everywhere--or was that
something else? And where was Gillingham? Water, water
everywhere . . .
"Tony? Oh, he's about somewhere. We're just going down to the
village. They aren't finding anything at the pond, are they?"
"No. But they like doing it. Something off their minds when
they can say they've done it."
Bill, deep in his book, looked up and said "Yes," and went back
to it again. He was just getting to the place.
"What's the book?" said Cayley, coming up to him. Out of the
corner of his eye he glanced at the shelf of sermons as he came.
Bill saw that glance and wondered. Was there anything there to
give away the secret?
"I was just looking up a quotation," he drawled. "Tony and I had
a bet about it. You know that thing about--er water, water
everywhere, and--er--not a drop to drink." (But what on earth,
he wondered to himself, were they betting about?)
"'Nor any drop to drink,' to be accurate."
Bill looked at him in surprise. Then a happy smile came on his
face.
"Quite sure?" he said.
"Of course."
"Then you've saved me a lot of trouble. That's, what the bet was
about." He closed the book with a slam, put it back in its
shelf, and began to feel for his pipe and tobacco. "I was a fool
to bet with Tony," he added. "He always knows that sort of
thing."
So far, so good. But here was Cayley still in the library, and
there was Antony, all unsuspecting, in the passage. When Antony
came back he would not be surprised to find the door closed,
because the whole object of his going had been to see if he could
open it easily from the inside. At any moment, then, the
bookshelf might swing back and show Antony's head in the gap. A
nice surprise for Cayley!
"Come with us?" he said casually, as he struck a match. He
pulled vigorously at the flame as he waited for the answer,
hoping to hide his anxiety, for if Cayley assented, he was done.
"I've got to go into Stanton."
Bill blew out a great cloud of smoke with an expiration which
covered also a heartfelt sigh of relief.
"Oh, a pity. You're driving, I suppose?"
"Yes. The car will be here directly. There's a letter I must
write first." He sat down at a writing table, and took out a
sheet of notepaper.
He was facing the secret door; if it opened he would see it. At
any moment now it might open.
Bill dropped into a chair and thought. Antony must be warned.
Obviously. But how? How did one signal to anybody? By code.
Morse code. Did Antony know it? Did Bill know it himself, if it
came to that? He had picked up a bit in the Army not enough to
send a message, of course. But a message was impossible, anyhow;
Cayley would hear him tapping it out. It wouldn't do to send
more than a single letter. What letters did he know? And what
letter would convey anything to Antony? .... He pulled at his
pipe, his eyes wandering from Cayley at his desk to the Reverend
Theodore Ussher in his shelf. What letter?
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