‘We both may have erred in our idea of “instinct.” May it not be that a mongoose may have merely the instinct to attack, that nature does not allow or provide him with the fine reasoning powers to discriminate who he is to attack?’
‘Good! Of course that may be so. But then, on the other hand, should we not satisfy ourselves why he does wish to attack anything? If for centuries in all parts of the world this particular animal is known to attack only one kind of other animal, are we not justified in assuming that when a case strange
to us comes before us, if one of the first class attacks a hitherto unclassed animal, he recognises in that animal some quality which it has in common with the hitherto classed animal?’
‘That is a good argument, sir, ’ Adam went on, ‘but a dangerous one. If we followed it out with pure logic it would lead us to believe that Lady Arabella is a snake. And I doubt if we – either of us – are prepared to go so far.’
‘So far as I am concerned I am to follow blindly the lead of logic. But before doing so we have a duty to fulfil.’
‘What is that duty, sir?’
‘The first of all duties, truth. We must be sure before going to such an end that there is no point as yet unconsidered which would account for the unknown thing which puzzles us.’
‘As how?’
‘Well, suppose the instinct works on some physical basis – sight, for instance, or smell. If there were anything in recent juxtaposition to the accused which would look like the cause or would carry the scent, surely that would supply the missing cause.’
‘Of course!’ Adam spoke with conviction.
Sir Nathaniel went on:
‘Now, from what you tell me, your Christy Minstrel friend had just come from the direction of Diana’s Grove carrying the dead snakes, which the mongoose had killed the previous morning. Might not the scent have been carried that way?’
‘Of course it might, probably was. I never thought of that. Look here, sir, I really think it will be prudent of us not to draw final conclusions till we know more. At any rate that episode has a suggestive hint for us – one which we can follow up without saying anything to anybody. Then we shall be in a safer position for going on.’
‘Good and sensible!’ Sir Nathaniel spoke approvingly; and so it was tacitly arranged between the two to wait.
But whilst they were sitting in silence an idea struck Adam, and he thought it wise to make it known to the elder man.
‘Two things I want to ask you, if I may. One is a sort of corollary to the other.’ Sir Nathaniel listened. He went on: ‘Is there any possible way of even guessing approximately how
long a scent will remain? You see, this is a natural scent, and may derive from a place where it has been effective for thousands of years. Then, does a scent of any kind carry with it any form or quality of another kind, either good or evil? I ask you because one ancient name of the house lived in by the lady who was attacked by the mongoose was “The Lair of the White Worm.” If any of these things be so, our possibilities of knowledge and our difficulties have multiplied indefinitely. They may even change in kind. We may get into even moral entanglements; before we know it we may be even in the midst of a bedrock struggle between good and evil.’
Sir Nathaniel, after a pause, asked:
‘Is that the question you wished to ask me?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Sir Nathaniel smiled gravely.
‘I don’t see on what the corollary rests. With regard to the first question – or the first part, though, so far as I know, there are no fixed periods with which a scent may be active – I think we may take it that that period does not run into thousands of years. As to whether any moral change accompanies a physical one, I can only say that I have met no argument of proof or even no assertion of the fact. At the same time, we must remember that “good” and “evil” are terms so wide as to take in the whole scheme of creation and all that is implied by them and by their mutual action and reaction. Generally, I would say that in the scheme of a First Cause
1
anything is possible. So long as the inherent forces or tendencies of any one thing are veiled from us we must expect mystery. This hides from us more than we at first conceive, and as time goes on and
some
light gets into the darker places, we are able to understand that there are other darknesses. And so on, until the time shall come when the full light of understanding beats upon us.’
‘Then I presume, sir, ’ said Adam, ‘that it would be at least wise of us to leave these questions alone till we know more.’
‘Most certainly. To listen and remember should be our guiding principle in such an inquiry.’
‘There is one other question on which I should like to ask your opinion. It is the last of my general questions – for the
present. Suppose that there are any permanent forces appertaining to the past, what we may call “survivals, ” do these belong to good as well as to evil? For instance, if the scent of the primæval monster can so remain in proportion to the original strength, can the same be true of things of good import?’
Sir Nathaniel thought a while, then he answered:
‘We must be careful from the beginning not to confuse the physical and the moral, to differentiate the two and to keep them differentiated. I can see that already you have switched on the moral entirely, so perhaps we had better follow it up first. On the side of the moral we have certain justification for belief in the utterances of revealed religion. For instance, “the effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much”
2
is altogether for good. We have nothing of a similar kind on the side of evil. But if we accept this dictum we need have no more fear of “mysteries”: these become thenceforth merely obstacles.’
Adam waited in silence, which was intended to be, and was, respectful. Then he suddenly changed to another phase of the subject.
‘And now, sir, may I turn for a few minutes to purely practical things, or rather to matters of historical fact?’
Sir Nathaniel bowed acquiescence. He went on:
‘We have already spoken of the history, so far as it is known, of some of the places round us – “Castra Regis, ” “Diana’s Grove” and “The Lair of the White Worm.” I would like to ask if there is anything not necessarily of evil import about any of the places?’
‘Which?’ asked Sir Nathaniel shrewdly.
‘Well, for instance, this house and Mercy Farm?’
‘Here we turn, ’ said Sir Nathaniel, ‘to the other side, the light side of things. Let us take Mercy Farm first. You have no objection?’
‘Thank you, sir.’ The young man’s comment was complete and illuminative.
‘Perhaps we had better remember the history of that particular place. The details may later on help us in coming to some useful, or at all events interesting, conclusion.
‘When Augustine was sent by Pope Gregory to Christianise
England in the time of the Romans, he was received and protected by Ethelbert, King of Kent, whose wife, daughter of Charibert, King of Paris, was a Christian, and did much for Augustine. She founded a nunnery in memory of Columba, which was named
Sedes misericordiæ
, the House of Mercy, and, as the region was Mercian, the two names became inextricably involved. As Columba is the Latin for dove, the dove became a sort of signification of the nunnery.
3
She seized on the idea and made the newly-founded nunnery a house of doves. Someone sent her a freshly-discovered dove, a sort of carrier, but which had in the white feathers of its head and neck the form of a religious cowl. And so in especial the bird became the symbol of the nuns of Mercy. The nunnery flourished for more than a century, when, in the time of Penda,
4
who was the reactionary of heathendom, it fell into decay. In the meantime the doves, which, protected by religious feeling, had increased mightily, were known in all Catholic communities. When King Offa ruled in Mercia about a hundred and fifty years later, he restored Christianity,
5
and under its protection the nunnery of St Columba was restored and its doves flourished again. In process of time this religious house again fell into desuetude; but before it disappeared it had achieved a great name for good works, and in especial for the piety of its members. I think I see now where your argument leads. I do not know if you started it, having thought it out to the full. But in any case I will venture an opinion; that if deeds and prayers and hopes and earnest thinking leave anywhere any moral effect, Mercy Farm and all around it have almost the right to be considered holy ground.’
‘Thank you, sir, ’ said Adam earnestly, and was silent. Again Sir Nathaniel understood.
Adam Salton, though he made little talk, did not let the grass grow under his feet in any matter which he had undertaken, or in which he was interested. He had agreed with Sir Nathaniel that they should not
do
anything with regard to the mystery of Lady Arabella’s fear of the mongoose, but he steadily pursued his course in being
prepared
to do whenever the opportunity might come. He was in his own mind perpetually casting about for information or clues which might lead to such. Baffled by the killing of the mongoose, he looked around for another line to follow. He did not intend to give up the idea of there being a link between the woman and the animal, but he was already preparing a second string to his bow. His new idea was to use the faculties of Oolanga, so far as he could, in the service of discovery. His first move was to send Davenport to Liverpool to try to find the steward of the
West African
, who had told him about Oolanga, and then to get him to try to induce (by bribery or other means) the nigger to come to the Brow. So soon as he himself would have speech of the Voodoo-man he would be able to learn from him something useful. Davenport went away in the early morning, and was successful in both his missions, for he had to get Ross to send another mongoose, and also the one reserved for sending when told; he was able to tell Adam that he had seen the steward, who already told him a lot he wanted to know, and had also arranged to have Oolanga brought to Lesser Hill the following day. At this point Adam saw his way sufficiently clear to adumbrate to Davenport with fair exactness what he wished him to find out. He had come to the conclusion that it would be better – certainly at
first – not himself to appear in the matter, with which Davenport was fully competent to deal. It would be time for himself to take a personal part when matters had advanced a little further.
That evening, when Davenport arrived, he had a long interview with Adam, in which he told what he had learned, partly from the ship steward, partly from the other Africans in the ship’s service, and partly from Oolanga’s own boasting. If what the nigger said was in any wise true, the man had a rare gift which might be useful in the quest they were after. He could, as it were, ‘smell death.’ If any one was dead, if any one had died, or if a place had been used in connection with death, he seemed to know the broad fact by intuition. Adam made up his mind that to test this faculty with regard to several places would be his first task. Naturally he was anxious for this, and the time passed slowly. The only comfort was the arrival the next morning of a strong packing case, locked, from Ross, the key being in the custody of Davenport. In the case were two smaller boxes, both locked. One of them contained a mongoose to replace that killed by Lady Arabella; the other was the reserved mongoose which had already killed the king-cobra in Nepaul. When both the animals had been safely put under lock and key in the place arranged for them, he felt that he might breathe more freely. Of course no one was allowed to know the secret of their existence in the house, except himself and Davenport. He arranged that Davenport should take Oolanga round the neighbourhood for a walk, stopping at each of the places which he designated. Having gone all along the Brow, he was to return the same way and induce him to touch on the same subjects in talking with Adam, who was to meet them as if by chance at the farthest part – that beyond Mercy Farm. Davenport was never to lose sight of him and was to bring him back to Liverpool safely, and leave him on board the ship, where he was to wait till his master should send for him.
The incidents of the day were just what Adam expected. At Mercy Farm, at Diana’s Grove, at Castra Regis, and a few other spots, he stopped and, opening his wide nostrils as if to sniff boldly, said that he smelled death. It was not always in the same
form. At Mercy Farm he said there were many small deaths. At Diana’s Grove his bearing was different. There was a distinct sense of enjoyment about him, especially when he spoke of many great deaths long ago. Here, too, he sniffed in a strange way, like a bloodhound at check, and looked puzzled. He said no word in either praise or disparagement, but in the centre of the Grove where, hidden amongst ancient oak stumps, was a block of granite slightly hollowed on the top, he bent low and placed his forehead on the ground. This was the only place where he showed distinct reverence. At the Castle, though he spoke of much death, he showed no sign of respect. There was evidently something about Diana’s Grove which both interested and baffled him. Before leaving he moved all over the place unsatisfied, and in one spot where, close to the edge of the Brow, was a deep hollow, he appeared to be afraid. After returning several times to this place, he suddenly turned and ran in a panic of fear to the higher ground, crossing as he did so the outcropping rock. Then he seemed to breathe more freely, and even recovered some of his jaunty impudence.
All this seemed to satisfy Adam’s expectations. He went back to Lesser Hill with a serene and settled calm upon him.
When he went back to the house, Adam met Sir Nathaniel, who followed him into his study, saying as he closed the door behind him:
‘By the way, I forgot to ask you details about one thing. When that extraordinary staring episode of Mr Caswall went on, how did Lilla take it – how did she bear herself?’
‘She looked frightened, and trembled just as I have seen a pigeon with a hawk, or a bird with a serpent.’