‘Oh, I wouldn’t touch the thing, sir,’ the field mouse said. ‘Oh no, you mustn’t think of doing that. Nobody’s done that: even the Owl wouldn’t dare do a thing like that: why, the Fox wouldn’t.’
‘Do blow it, Kay,’ Peter said. ‘Just for a lark.’
‘Oh, don’t, don’t!’ the mouse said. ‘You don’t know what they are. Of course, they’re awfully Good People; very beautiful and very good and very, very clever and wise, but that’s why I wouldn’t like to hurt their feelings.’
‘Oh, if they’re beautiful and good and clever and wise,’ Kay said, ‘their feelings wouldn’t be hurt.’
‘Oh, but you don’t know,’ the field mouse said. ‘Remember I’m not saying anything against them.’
They could see that the mouse was in a twitter with terror, but Kay picked up the horn, put it to his lips and blew. He had had a little practice in the blowing of horns. He had an old hunting-horn that had belonged to his father and sometimes the Police Inspector had let him try an old coach-horn, so that he could blow without fear of splitting his lips. He blew once and a strange noise as sweet as the winter singing of the storm-cock came from the ivory. With a little tinkle and clack all the frames fell from the portraits on the walls. The little mouse shrieked with terror and got underneath the table.
Kay blew a second time. This time the note was louder and stronger: it was like the first calling of the cuckoo when he comes in April. The children heard a sort of gasp of breath from the portraits on the walls and all the figures of the portraits turned their heads and looked at Kay.
‘Oh, Kay, they’re looking at you,’ Susan said.
‘Never mind,’ Kay said. The mouse had by this time got his head underneath the carpet.
Kay blew a third blast, and at this all the lights in the room burned out a thousand-fold more brightly, and the blast of the horn became like the song of all the birds in June singing together, with a noise of the little silver bells that had hung on the sleeves of Herne the Hunter. And at this all the beautiful people in the portraits stepped down into the room. The air became fragrant as though all the flowers and spices of the world had come suddenly together there. The glorious creatures formed in two lines. The portraits over the door by which they had entered the room were those of a King and a Queen. As the children turned, they saw this King and Queen advancing through the company towards the throne. They took their seats upon the throne and all the company burst out into singing. The children stared in amazement, for they had never seen people so beautiful as these: all were exquisitely lovely and so delicate and so swift. Some were winged, but all could move with the speed of thought, and they were clad in the colours of the dewdrops in the sun. And as they sang, countless other marvellous people of the sort thronged in through the doors and at once they fell to dancing to music so beautiful, so moving, that to listen to it was almost too great a joy. Some beautiful little men moved up to Jemima and Susan and asked them to dance; beautiful princesses caught Kay and Peter by the hand and swept them into the dance; and as they danced they all seemed to understand what it is that makes the planets dance about the sun and the great stars keep their place in the constellations as they move for ever in the heavens. Kay, as he danced, could not help the thought that the field mouse might be a little out of it, but as he came round a second time he saw that someone had placed the field mouse in a corner near the band, where he was eating what looked like wedding-cake with Hundreds and Thousands on it. When the dance ended seven exquisite little fiery horses came into the room and galloped round and round; and all those who cared could run after the horses, leap on their backs and dance upon them as they galloped, and leap from horse to horse. Kay couldn’t resist these beautiful galloping horses. He leapt into the ring with them and found that he could spring upon their backs and leap from horse to horse. Then, presently, the horses trotted out of the room and were gone. Then out of the ceiling little coloured flowers began to fall, and these the Fairies caught as they fell and put to their lips. Kay did as they did: a little white violet fell into his hand and when he put it to his lips it was as though all the honey and every sweetmeat that he had ever tasted were pressed into his mouth at once. A joy thrilled through him such as he had never before known. Then the King of the Fairies said, ‘Friends, the long enchantment has been brought to an end. What can we do to Kay, who has ended it for us?’
As the Fairies didn’t answer, the Queen of the Fairies said, ‘We will grant him the power to come again into Fairyland on one day in every year.’
At this moment Kay heard again that heavy tread which had so disturbed him at lunch. ‘Kay’s enemies,’ the King of the Fairies said. At once the lights went out: the Fairies vanished. Groping in the dark the children found each other. The field mouse, with chattering teeth, was saying to them, ‘Well, it ended all right, but I was never so scared, not even that time with the sparrowhawk.’
He groped his way to the trapdoor, which he opened; and they slid back into his dining-room, where they heard the voice of a man saying, ‘Well, it’s no good waiting any longer. Wherever they’ve gone they’ve got right away from us. Now, it’s my belief that they’ve been in the mill the whole time.’
‘How could they have been in the mill?’ another man said. ‘In all this mud their footprints would have shown. Inside the mill in all that flour their footprints would have shown, too. They’ve beaten us, but how they beat us I’m blessed if I can think.’
‘I can’t think,’ another said.
‘Abner won’t be too pleased,’ another said, ‘when he hears the result of today. I told you one of the aeroplanes had better keep up in the air to observe.’
‘Oh, you told us a lot, didn’t you?’ another voice said.
‘Blessed if I haven’t got pins and needles all over me, crouching there by that bridge,’ one of the men said, as they moved off.
‘And I have,’ another said.
‘It isn’t pins and needles,’ Susan said; ‘the Fairies are pricking them. Look there.’
Indeed, down at the tree foot the children saw countless little Fairies jabbing and tweaking the men. They looked like little fireflies darting to and from the great dark figures.
‘Blest if we haven’t all got rheumatics waiting like this,’ a man growled. ‘Come on. We’ll get home before we’re paralysed.’
After this, the men hurried away.
‘I say,’ Kay said, ‘it’s quite dark. Whatever time is it? I say, mouse, I’m awfully sorry that we’ve stayed so long.’ By his watch, it was half-past six.
When they had said goodbye, the field mouse opened the front door at the foot of the elm. The children joined hands, Kay pressed the button of his Box and they resumed their shapes and fished out the boats from the hollow of the elm tree roots. ‘Come along,’ Kay said. ‘We’d better hurry.’
As they came into the garden of Seekings they saw that the house was lit up at every window: the doors were wide open. ‘Good heavens!’ Kay said, ‘look at this!’ While they had been away the study and hall had been turned topsy-turvy: the carpets taken up and rolled back; every drawer and cupboard ransacked; every book moved on the shelves. The house had been thoroughly searched. Susan and Jemima cried out that their rooms had been turned topsy-turvy, by someone who had smoked strong shag tobacco. While they were marvelling, Ellen and Jane came back. They said that they had been called away to look to Ellen’s mother who was said to be very ill, but when they reached her mother they found her never better.
‘Well, while you’ve been away a gang’s ransacked the house,’ Kay said. ‘Do look at what they’ve done. They don’t seem to have taken much.’
‘Oh, Master Kay,’ Ellen said, ‘whatever shall we do? Whatever will your guardian think?’
‘This is more of Abner’s Routine,’ Kay thought. ‘I must go and find the Inspector,’ he said.
The Inspector was soon there with his notebook. ‘Ah,’ he said, looking at the study, ‘they’ve been in.’
While the Inspec
tor began to examine the house for clues and fingerprints, Kay went to his room. That, too, reeked of strong plug tobacco. ‘I know who has been in here,’ he said. ‘Those Wolves of the Gulf have been in; that’s the plug tobacco they were smoking in the cellar there.’
Hanging on the bedpost of Peter’s bed was a dirty red bonnet or Cap of Liberty such as the pirates had worn at their carouse. It was very old and greasy. Inside it was stitched a piece of card with the legend:
R CHOPPS KAP
HANS ORF
This MEENS U.
The Inspector went rapidly through the house and examined doorhandles for fingerprints through a strong lens. ‘Yes,’ he repeated, after the examination, ‘they’ve been in. Smart London men, Master Kay: old hands. They’ve all worn gloves. I’ll just ask what the maids say about it.’
Ellen and Cook said that at about half-past three a car had come from the Rupert’s Arms with the word that a telephone message had come from Ellen’s mother at Naunton Crucis to come at once as she was dangerously ill. So she and Cook had gone and had found, on arrival, that the mother was well. ‘Well, that may be a clue,’ the Inspector said. ‘We may be able to trace where the telephone message came from, but it’s none too rosy.’
‘And Maria hasn’t come back,’ Kay said.
‘Ah, that reminds me,’ the Inspector said. ‘I’ve got a message for you about that. Your young friend, Miss Jones, was at St Griswold’s looking at the glass with some clerical gentlemen and Father Boddledale. Then they had lunch at the Bear’s Paw, and after that Father Boddledale says he and his young men said goodbye and came away, and Miss Jones was to come by a later bus. What happened to her since we don’t yet know, but she was seen at the Bear’s Paw long after Father Boddledale had gone. But you leave the matter in the hands of the Law, Master Kay. The Law is said sometimes to be slow, but it never sleeps. While you are snug in your bed, Master Kay, the Law is up and about taking thought for you, and your Miss Maria won’t be long missing, you take my word for it.’
Presently the Police had made all their examinations and had questioned everybody remotely connected with Seekings. They went away. Kay longed for his guardian to be back: even to have a word from her would have been much in this time of trouble, but there was no word from her. But as Ellen said, ‘The posts are all upset for Christmas.’
After supper that night, as the four children were sitting round the study fire, the hall door opened and somebody came in. ‘I wonder is that my guardian,’ Kay said. He went into the hall and there was little Maria. ‘I say, Maria, I am glad to see you,’ he said. ‘Where on earth have you been?’
‘I don’t know where I’ve been,’ Maria said. ‘I’ve been scrobbled just like a greenhorn. I knew what it would be, not taking a pistol. Well, I pity them if I ever get near them again. They won’t scrobble Maria Jones a second time.’
‘But what on earth happened to you?’ Peter said. ‘You aren’t usually the one to get scrobbled. Who scrobbled you?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I went with those clergymen people and looked at the stained glass: then we had lunch. It was the only good part of the proceedings: I’m very partial to duck patty. Then, presently, they went out: said they’d got to go. Well, it was beastly wet, as you know, so I thought I’d take a taxi to the bus: telephoned for a taxi from the Bear’s Paw: taxi came: I got into it: “Drive me to Market Square, please,” I said. Presently I saw it was going a different way, so I said, “Market Square!” The driver said, “The road’s up, miss: got to go this way,” and at that he put on speed and a sort of cast iron curtain came down over all the windows. There I was, shut up in a black box, going about fifty miles an hour, right out of Tatchester. I beat on the shutters, but they were cast iron and I might have spared my strength; and the car went faster and faster and at last, from the queer lurch it gave, I knew that it was up in the air.’
‘Oh, that’s rot,’ Peter said. ‘How can a car go up in the air? And a Tatchester taxi! Poor old crocks tied together with boot-lace!’
‘This wasn’t a taxi,’ Maria said. ‘I don’t know what it was: it was some marvellous invention, but it was an aeroplane or a car that became an aeroplane. And there we were, lurching through the air, going lickity-spit in absolute darkness – I hadn’t a ghost of a notion in which direction we were heading: we were making hardly any noise, too.’
‘It couldn’t have been an aeroplane, then,’ Peter said. ‘You must have an enormously powerful engine to go fast, with an enormous number of cylinders and an enormous number of explosions every second, so, of course, you have noise.’
‘I tell you,’ Maria said, ‘this was an aeroplane, and it was silent, and it was going lickity-spit.’
‘I say,’ Kay said, ‘you are in luck, Maria. And what happened then?’
‘Well, it would have been about a quarter to three when I got into the taxi,’ she said. ‘Presently I felt that the aeroplane was dipping down. Then it touched the ground and went bumping over grass for a while, then I heard it scraunch on gravel. Then I heard a sort of door clang to behind it, and I said to myself, “Now we’re in the garage.” Then there came a sort of sickening feeling, as though we were dropping down a well. The shutter went up on one side and the sort of door of the thing opened, and I saw a light.
‘Well, the light was along a little passage. It seemed to me that the car or taxi or aeroplane or whatever it was was in a small stone cellar. The door was open and, as I said, I could see into this little passage with the light at the end. I didn’t see anybody, but I got out of the aeroplane and I walked towards the light. I came into a small room with no window, but a sort of a little ventilator high up. The walls were rock: I touched them; and they had been whitewashed. It was lit from the ceiling about twelve feet up. I was no sooner in the room than a great iron door shot up behind me and there I was, shut in. Then rather high up on the wall an iron shutter slid to one side and there was an iron grille with what I took to be a lady’s face; and a very silky female voice said, “Miss Maria Jones, please forgive any inconvenience we may have caused you in bringing you here and, above all, don’t be afraid.” “I’m not used to being afraid,” I said; but all the same I was afraid. “We only brought you here,” the female said, “because we hope that you may be interested. We are rather in need of a dashing young associate at the moment and we wondered whether we might persuade you to become that.” “Oh,” I said, “what are you: a gang of crooks?” “Oh no,” she said, “a business community.” “Oh,” I said, “what business does your community do?” “Social service,” she said. “Setting straight injustices with the least possible inconvenience to all concerned.” “And how do you do it?” I asked. “Oh, sometimes in one way, sometimes in another,” she said. “You would soon learn if you would join us.” “Why d’you want me?” I asked. “Well, you are young,” she said, “and full of dash. It’s an interesting world for our younger agents: lots of motor cars, lots of aeroplanes. Life is one long, gay social whirl.” “And what is the work?” I asked. “Ah,” she said, “we shall discuss that if you expressed a willingness to become one of us.” “If your job were honest,” I said, “you’d say what it is. It can’t be nice, or it wouldn’t have you in it.” “If children are pert here,” she said, “we make them into dog-biscuit. Many a good watch-dog is barking now on insolent little chits like you.” So I said, “If ladies are pert to me I make them into cats’-meat. Many a good caterwaul have I fed on meat like you, cold.”
‘We should have become quite eloquent, but a black-bearded man’s face appeared at the bars and he said, “Now, ladies, ladies, ladies! The first word in business of any kind is unity. Do let us have unity. Without that we can never get anywhere. Now, Miss Jones, if we cannot have unity from you, let us have some information. When Mr Cole Hawlings gave his performance of Punch and Judy at Seekings, did he hand you a small black box?” “No,” I said, “he didn’t.” “Did he leave it with one of the others of your party there, or hide it in Seeking
s House?” “How on earth do I know?” I said. “That’s the point,” he answered. “Do you know?” “Well, I don’t know,” I said.
‘This time, by the light from the bars, I looked at my watch and found that it was four o’clock. “You need not look at your watch,” the woman said. “You will have lots and lots of time. If I were you, sir,” she added, “I would put this young person into the scrounger. D’you know what a scrounger is, my dear?” “Yes,” I said. “I don’t think you do,” she replied. “It’s a place that we put people into. It has a thing in it that goes round and round and round, which is the scrounger; and then, presently, of course, the thing scrounged becomes dog-biscuit.” At that the shutter went across the bars and the light went out. I was in absolute darkness and utter silence: I might have been fifty feet underneath the ground. I don’t know how long I was in that absolute blackness. I stood perfectly still for some little time because I was afraid that there might be a trapdoor which would let me down into some dungeon.’
‘I say,’ Peter said, ‘you’re making all this up.’
‘Am I?’ she said. ‘Let something of the sort happen to you and you’ll see whether you can make it up.
‘Presently, I couldn’t bear standing still. I thought that I might perhaps come to some door in the wall that would lead somewhere, so I groped to the wall and felt my way all round the room. I reckoned that it was fourteen feet by twelve feet: cold stone walls, cold stone floors; but not damp and the air neither chilly or foggy; it was well-ventilated. I had gone all round the room feeling the wall and there wasn’t so much as a knob or a crack. I had gone round once and was starting round in the opposite direction to make absolutely certain, when suddenly, down came something thick and warm and woolly right over my head and shoulders and I was pinioned. I couldn’t see, but I felt that the light went on and that horrible woman’s voice said, “All right, you needn’t kick and you needn’t try to bite and you can’t scratch. I only just want to know if you have got this box upon you.”
The Box of Delights Page 13