"The wheels go round without a sound—"
"The wheels go round without a sound—"
"The wheels go round without a sound—"
The two women had dropped their work and stood peering at me, the pair of them quaking.
"He's seen it—he's seen it!" gasped the farmer's wife.
"A hearse?" cried Mr. Noy once more, and this time almost in a scream. "When? where?"
"On Blackadon Down, sir," answered Mr. Menhennick. "'Tis an old story that the moor's haunted, and folks have been putting it round that the thing's been seen two or three times lately. But there—'tis nothing to pay any heed to."
"Oh, isn't it!"
"You understand, sir, 'tisn't arealhearse—"
"Oh, isn't it!" repeated Mr. Noy in scorn.
"Andyou, sir—" He had almost caught and shaken me by the collar, but remembered my hurt just in time. "And do you, sir, sit there and tell me that you've known this all along, and yet—oh, you numskull!" He flung up two protesting hands.
"But even if it's a real hearse—" I began.
"That's the kind most frequently met, I believe. And 'the wheels go round without a sound.' Yes, theywould—on Blackadon turf! Any more questions? No? Then I'll take my turn with a few." He wheeled round upon the farmer. "Ever seen it yourself?"
"No, sir."
"Has anyone here seen it?"
No; but the maidservant's father had seen it, three weeks ago—the very night that Squire Granville's house was tried—
Mr. Noy was almost capering. "Splendid!" he cried. "Splendid! That will sharpen his temper if it don't his wits. The Squire's house was tried, you say?" He turned on the farmer again. "Hullo, my friend! I understood there were no law-breakers in this parish?"
"'Tisn't known for certain that the house was tried," the farmer explained. "'Tis thought that some of the lads was giving the old boy a scare, he having been extra sharp on the poaching this year. All that's known is, he heard some person trying his shutters, and let fly out of his bedroom window with a gun; and what you can build on that I don't see."
"You shall though." He began to cross-examine the girl. "At what time that night did your father see the hearse?"
"I believe, sir, 'twas soon after eleven. He has a cow, sir, in calf, and went round to the chall to make sure she was all right—"
Mr. Noy nodded. "And the hearse was passing—in what direction?"
"Towards the church town, sir; or, as you may say, towards St. Neot parish."
"Inland, that is?"
"Yes, sir. But later on that same night Reub Clyma, up to Taphouse, saw it too; and this time 'twas moving fast and making towards Polperro."
"Fits like a puzzle. Is Polperro a seaport town?" he asked the farmer.
"A sort of fishing town, sir."
"Your nearest? Good. And you reach it by a road running north and south across the coach-road? Good. Now if you wanted to drive to Polperro you could do so across the downs for some distance, eh? before striking this road. Good again. How far?"
"You'll excuse me, but I don't know that I rightly take your meaning."
"Then we'll go slower. Suppose that you wished to drive towards Polperro over turf, never minding the jolts, and not to strike into the hard road until you were compelled. How far could you contrive to travel in this way?"
Farmer Menhennick found a seat and sat scratching his head. "Three miles, maybe," he decided at length.
"And what sort of road is this when you strike it?"
"Turnpike."
"Indeed? And where's the pike?"
"At Cann's Gate."
"That tells me nothing, I'm afraid; but we'll put the question in another form. Suppose that we are forced at length to leave the turf and fields and strike into the road for Polperro. Now where would this happen? Some way beyond the turnpike, I imagine."
"Indeed no, sir: it would be a mile on this side of the pike, or threequarters at the least."
"You are sure?"
"Sure as I sit here. Why the road goes down a coombe; and before you get near the turnpike, the coombe narrowsso." The farmer illustrated the V by placing his hands at an angle.
Mr. Noy found his snuff-box, took a heavy pinch, inhaled it, and closed his box with a snap. Then he faced the farmer's wife with a low bow.
"Madam," said he, "you may put this young gentleman to bed, and the sooner the better. He has lost a large sum of money, which I am fairly confident I can recover for him without his help; and your parish—which is also mine—has lost its character, and this also I propose to recover. But to that end I must require your excellent husband to fetch out his trap and drive me with all speed to Squire Granville's." He paused, and added, "We are in luck to-night undoubtedly; but I fear I can promise him no such luck as to meet a hearse and headless driver on the way.… One moment, Mr. Menhennick! Have you such things as pen, ink and paper, and a farm-boy able to ride?"
"Certainly I have, sir."
"Then while you are harnessing your nag, I'll drop a line to the riding-officer at Polperro; and if after receipt of it he allows a single fishing-boat to leave the harbour, he'll be sorry—that's all. Now, sir—Eh? Why are you hesitating?"
"Well, indeed, your reverence knows best; and if you force me to drive over to Squire Granville's, why then I must. But I warn you, sir, that he hunts to-morrow; and if, begging your pardon, you knew the old varmint's temper on a hunting day in the morning—"
"Hunts, does he? D'ye mean that he keeps a pack of hounds?"
"Why, of course, sir!"
Farmer Menhennick's accent was pathetically reproachful.
"God forgive me! And I didn't know it—I, your rector! Your rebuke is just, Mr. Menhennick. And this Church of England of ours—I say it with shame—is full of scandals. Where do they meet to-day?"
"Four-barrow Hill, your reverence."
"Oh, no, they don't. On that point you really must allow me to correct you. If they meet at all, it will be at—what d'ye call it?— Cann's Gate."
And so they did. The Granville Hounds are, or were, a famous pack; but the great and golden day in their annals remains one on which they killed never a fox; a day's hunting from which they trailed homewards behind a hearse driven in triumph by a very small clergyman without a head (for Mr. Noy had donned the very suit worn by Satan's understudy, even to its high stock-collar pierced with eye-holes). That hearse contained my chest of treasure; and that procession is remembered in the parishes of Talland, Pelynt, Lanreath, and Braddock to this day.
I did not see it, alas! Bed claimed the invalid, and Mrs. Menhennick soothed him with her ministering attentions. But Parson Noy reported the day's doings to me in a voice reasonably affected by deep potations at the "Punch Bowl Inn," Lanreath.
"My son, it was glorious! First of all we ran the turnpike-man to earth, and frightened him into turning King's evidence. He was at the bottom of the mischief, of course; and the hearse we found—where d'ye think? Close behind his house, sir, in a haystack—a haystack so neatly hollowed that it beat belief—with a movable screen of hay, which the rogues replaced when the coach was stowed! We found everything inside—masks, mourners' hatbands, the whole bag of tricks; everything, barring your treasure, and that the preventive men dug out of the hold of an innocent-looking lugger on the point to sail for Guernsey. Four of the rascals, too, they routed up, that were stowed under decks and sleeping like angels."
"And the coachman? And the guard?"
"Squire Granville has posted off half a dozen constables towards Falmouth; but I'll lay odds that precious pair are on shipboard before this and heading out to sea. I'm sorry, too, for they were the wickedest villains of the piece; but they'll be sorry before they have finished waiting at Guernsey. One can't expect everything; and Providence has been mighty kind to us."
"To me, at all events."
"And to me, and to my parish."
"Yes, to be sure," said I; "the parish is well rid of such a bogey."
"I wasn't thinking of that," said he dryly. "I've recovered my sermon."