Mervynlaughed.
"No--no. He's no poacher whatever he is?"
"And what might he be? Tell me that," and the old countryman's littleeyes blinked with satisfaction over what he considered his ownshrewdness.
"Don't know, I didn't ask him and he hasn't told me--yet. It's a badhabit to get into--asking people questions about themselves and theirprivate affairs, Joe. It's a thing I don't do."
The ancient slowly shook his head--pityingly, contemptuously. Hethought his master little removed from a fool.
"Folks as gets on the ice, middle of Plane Pond--middle of the night,and don't say nothin' as to how they gets there and what they be after,bean't up to no good. That's what _I_ say, muster." And the speakernodded profoundly.
"You're a rare clever 'un, Joe," and Mervyn laughed banteringly. "Nowthere'd be no great difficulty in any one, especially a stranger, losinghis way in country like this, and that in the teeth of a howling sleetstorm. Taking a short cut, you know, and thinking to cross the iceinstead of taking all the way round? That needn't prove he was up to nogood. Eh?"
But to this the old fellow condescended no reply. He didn't take kindlyto banter, slow witted people don't as a rule. He spat on his palms,picked up the handles of the barrow he had come to fetch and moved offwith it. His master followed him, chatting desultorily. Three or fourpigs in a stye grunted shrilly as the human clement suggested morningaliment. To this was added the cacklings and flutterings of theoccupants of a fowl roost, expectant of like solid advantage.
"Mus' Reynolds he bin around sure-ly," chuckled old Joe, looking down onthe numerous pad marks of a fox indented in the fresh snow. "Well,well, that there wire cageing's too tough for his milk teeth. He'll ha'gone away wi' an empty belly I rackon."
"That reminds me, Joe, that I could peck a bit myself," laughed Mervyn,turning towards the house. It was getting quite late too, he decided,looking at his watch. It would do no harm now to awaken his guest.
He passed in through the back, listened a moment, then softly turned thehandle of the living-room door. The room was still in semi-darkness.On the couch lay the long, shadowy figure of the stranger.
"Feel like turning out?" said Mervyn genially, but not in so loud a toneas to startle the other. But no answer came. Then stepping to thewindow, he raised the blind.
The room was now flooded with light--the light of a radiant, cloudless,frosty winter day. Still the recumbent form never moved. Bending overit Mervyn dropped a hand on one shoulder. But--still no response.
With a quick, strange impulse that accelerated his own heartbeats heturned down the blanket and rug, which had been drawn over the head ofthe sleeper. The latter had removed his coat and waistcoat, otherwisehe was fully dressed. But his face wore a half-startled, half-puzzledexpression, and the lips were slightly parted--and then, bending downfor a closer glance, Mervyn's countenance became if possible morewhite--certainly more ghastly--than the one lying there beneath hisgaze, as well it might.
For his unknown and unexpected guest, the man whom he had rescued fromthe frozen death in the black midnight depths of Plane Pond, was nowlying there in front of him stone dead.
CHAPTER FOUR.
THE PENTACLE.
Yes--stone dead. There could be no possible mistake about it. Mervyntouched the face. It was icy cold. But how on earth could this havebefallen? The man had seemed as well as any one could be when he hadbidden him good-night and retired to his own room. Certainly he hadappeared none the worse for his immersion. Quite himself after hishearty supper and generous liquid refreshment, he had sat and chattedand smoked in the enjoyment of perfect comfort for an hour or so. Theroom was still warm, the ashes of the glowing fire not yet dead in thegrate. Heavens, what a thing to happen! Well, it had happened, and thenext thing was to send Joe with the pony and cart into Clancehurst--incidentally five miles distant--for a doctor.
To that end he moved towards the door. But before he reached itsomething caused him to turn. Ever so faint a sound had fallen upon hisear. Something had fallen--had fallen from the couch where the dead manlay--had fallen with ever so faint a clink. It lay on the ground--asmall object--and it shone. He picked it up--and then as he stood therein the winter sunlight holding it in his fingers, John Seward Mervynfelt the hair upon him rise, and his flesh creep, and his face growrather more ghastly and livid than that of the dead man lying there.For one dazed moment he stood gazing at the thing, then went over to themantelpiece and dropped it into one of the queer old vases of quaintware that stood thereon.
"Good God!" he ejaculated. "That--and now!"
Outside he could hear the movements of his old retainer. The latter hadcome into the kitchen, which adjoined this room, and could be heardfussing about and grumbling in very audible tones.
"Why, what be it, Mus' Mervyn?" he exclaimed, startled at the perturbedapparition presented by his master. "Look as if you'd seed a ghoast,sure-ly."
"Well, I've seen the next thing to it, and that's a dead man," was theanswer; and even amid his own perturbation, the speaker's sense ofhumour could not resist watching the effect the announcement was boundto have upon his ancient servitor. But upon the mind of the stolidcountryman the statement had just no effect at all.
"Thass better," came the almost unconcerned reply. "We'm all bound todie come the day; but them things what goes a-creepin' about at night,and what you can't always see, like in this 'ere 'ouse some nights--whythey're a deal wuss. And--who's the dead 'un, sir?"
"Why the stranger I pulled out of the pond last night. I left himcomfortably tucked up on the couch in the room there, and now thismorning he's as dead as a stone."
"Talking o' he," said the countryman, whom the tragical side seemed toimpress not in the least. "I bin over to th' ice to get that ladderout, but it's that hard froze in, and that heavy I can't move it.You'll have to lend a hand, Muster."
"And a devilish good thing you can't move it, Joe. Why don't you see,lying just where it was it'll furnish a very important item ofevidence."
Now old Joe's stolidity did undergo a shock. That last word conveyed anunpleasant suggestiveness of the atmosphere of courts, and of theatmosphere of courts the rustic mind stands in holy terror.
"There'll be an inquess then, a crowner's inquess?" he said, with suddenawe. "Lor sakes, Mus' Mervyn they can't bring in as _we_ had to do withit?"
"Of course not, you old juggins. But don't you see--the first thingthey'll ask was how he got here and where he came from, and all that.Well, the position of the ladder--left exactly where it was, youunderstand--will confirm my explanation as to how he got here. So it'sdevilish important that it should be left there. Now, do you see?"
Joe did see--and saw something else, or thought he did. For now hislittle rustic cunning suggested to his little rustic mind that hismaster seemed rather over anxious to supply material for explanation.
"Well, _I_ didn't see the gemmun," he answered, with a note of sulkinessunderlying his tone. "You'll mind I said so, Mus' Mervyn. I didn't seehe."
"No, but you've got to now, so come along and look at him. After thatyou must hitch up the pony and cart, and get along to Clancehurst, andtell Dr Sandys and the Police Inspector to come along here at once.And--look. There are the strange gentleman's clothes, hanging up onthat clothes-horse to dry. I didn't change mine--wasn't wet enough."
The clothes were hung in front of the kitchen fire now roaring andcrackling merrily. Joe eyed them with surly disgust. He was becomingmore and more imbued with a horrid suspicion that he would be involvedin a charge of murdering the stranger--whom as yet he had not evenseen--and in the result, duly hanged in Clancehurst gaol; incidentallythat edifice was not of sufficient county importance to be used forcapital executions, but of this, of course, he was ignorant.
"Well, come along," said his master, turning. But Joe didn't move.
"Beggin' pardon, sur," he said, "but I'd rather not. I said I didn'tsee he, and I don't want to now."
 
; "Oh, that's it is it? Well you'd better. They'll be asking all sortsof questions--and we are the only two people in the house. You'll haveto give evidence in any case, and you'll do it all the better for havingseen all there is to be seen. So, don't be a fool. I only want you tosee just how the man was when I found him. Of course he won't betouched or moved or anything until the doctor comes."
The old man gave way, although reluctantly, and followed his master intothe chamber of death.
"Who