While the Light Lasts (10 page)

I

‘I like that song,' I said appreciatively, as Fenella finished.

‘You should do,' said Fenella. ‘It's about our ancestor,
yours and mine. Uncle Myles's grandfather. He made a fortune out of smuggling and hid it somewhere, and no one ever knew where.'

Ancestry is Fenella's strong point. She takes an interest in all her forebears. My tendencies are strictly modern. The difficult present and the uncertain future absorb all my energy. But I like hearing Fenella singing old Manx ballads.

Fenella is very charming. She is my first cousin and also, from time to time, my fiancée. In moods of financial optimism we are engaged. When a corresponding wave of pessimism sweeps over us and we realize that we shall not be able to marry for at least ten years, we break it off.

‘Didn't anyone ever try to find the treasure?' I inquired.

‘Of course. But they never did.'

‘Perhaps they didn't look scientifically.'

‘Uncle Myles had a jolly good try,' said Fenella. ‘He said anyone with intelligence ought to be able to solve a little problem like that.'

That sounded to me very like our Uncle Myles, a cranky and eccentric old gentleman, who lived in the Isle of Man, and who was much given to didactic pronouncements.

It was at that moment that the post came–and the letter!

‘Good Heavens,' cried Fenella. ‘Talk of the devil–I mean angels–Uncle Myles is dead!'

Both she and I had only seen our eccentric relative on two occasions, so we could neither of us pretend to a very deep grief. The letter was from a firm of lawyers in Douglas, and it informed us that under the will of Mr Myles Mylecharane, deceased, Fenella and I were joint inheritors of his estate, which consisted of a house near Douglas, and an infinitesimal income. Enclosed was a sealed envelope, which Mr Mylecharane had directed should be forwarded to Fenella at his death. This letter we opened and read its surprising contents. I reproduce it in full, since it was a truly characteristic document.

As we reached the signature, Fenella made a leap from my side.

‘What is it?' I cried.

Fenella was rapidly turning the pages of an ABC.

‘We must get to the Isle of Man as soon as possible,' she cried. ‘How dare he say we were good and innocent and stupid? I'll show him! Juan, we're going to find all four of these “chests” and get married and live happily ever afterwards, with Rolls-Royces and footmen and marble baths. But we
must
get to the Isle of Man at once.'

II

It was twenty-four hours later. We had arrived in Douglas, interviewed the lawyers, and were now at Maughold House facing Mrs Skillicorn, our late
Uncle's housekeeper, a somewhat formidable woman who nevertheless relented a little before Fenella's eagerness.

‘Queer ways he had,' she said. ‘Liked to set everyone puzzling and contriving.'

‘But the clues,' cried Fenella. ‘The clues?'

Deliberately, as she did everything, Mrs Skillicorn left the room. She returned after an absence of some minutes and held out a folded piece of paper.

We unfolded it eagerly. It contained a doggerel rhyme in my Uncle's crabbed handwriting.
^†

‘Oh!' said Fenella, blankly.

‘Oh!' said I, with much the same intonation.

Mrs Skillicorn smiled on us with gloomy relish.

‘Not much sense to it, is there?' she said helpfully.

‘It–I don't see how to begin,' said Fenella, piteously.

‘Beginning,' I said, with a cheerfulness I did not feel, ‘is always the difficulty. Once we get going–'

Mrs Skillicorn smiled more grimly than ever. She was a depressing woman.

‘Can't you help us?' asked Fenella, coaxingly.

‘I know nothing about the silly business. Didn't confide in me, your uncle didn't. I have told him to put his money in the bank, and no nonsense. I never knew what he was up to.'

‘He never went out with any chests–or anything of that kind?'

‘That he didn't.'

‘You don't know when he hid the stuff–whether it was lately or long ago?'

Mrs Skillicorn shook her head.

‘Well,' I said, trying to rally. ‘There are two possibilities. Either the treasure is hidden here, in the actual grounds, or else it may be hidden anywhere on the Island. It depends on the bulk, of course.'

A sudden brain-wave occurred to Fenella.

‘You haven't noticed anything missing?' she said. ‘Among my Uncle's things, I mean?'

‘Why, now, it's odd your saying that–'

‘You have, then?'

‘As I say, it's odd your saying that. Snuffboxes–there's at least four of them I can't lay my hand on anywhere.'

‘Four of them!' cried Fenella, ‘that must be it! We're on the track. Let's go out in the garden and look about.'

‘There's nothing there,' said Mrs Skillicorn. ‘I'd
know if there were. Your Uncle couldn't have buried anything in the garden without my knowing about it.'

‘Points of the compass are mentioned,' I said. ‘The first thing we need is a map of the Island.'

‘There's one of that desk,' said Mrs Skillicorn.

Fenella unfolded it eagerly. Something fluttered out as she did so. I caught it.

‘Hullo,' I said. ‘This looks like a further clue.'

We both went over it eagerly.

It appeared to be a rude kind of map. There was a cross on it and a circle and a pointing arrow, and
directions were roughly indicated, but it was hardly illuminating. We studied it in silence.
^†

‘It's not very illuminating, is it?' said Fenella.

‘Naturally it wants puzzling over,' I said. ‘We can't expect it to leap to the eye.'

Mrs Skillicorn interrupted with a suggestion of supper, to which we agreed thankfully.

‘And could we have some coffee?' said Fenella. ‘Lots of it–very black.'

Mrs Skillicorn provided us with an excellent meal, and at its conclusion a large jug of coffee made its appearance.

‘And now,' said Fenella, ‘we must get down to it.'

‘The first thing,' I said, ‘is direction. This seems to point clearly to the north-east of the Island.'

‘It seems so. Let's look at the map.'

We studied the map attentively.

‘It all depends on how you take the thing,' said Fenella. ‘Does the cross represent the treasure? Or is it something like a church? There really ought to be rules!'

‘That would make it too easy.'

‘I suppose it would. Why are there little lines one side of the circle and not the other.'

‘I don't know.'

‘Are there any more maps anywhere?'

We were sitting in the library. There were several excellent maps. There were also various guide books descriptive of the Island. There was a book on folklore. There was a book on the history of the Island. We read them all.

And at last we formed a possible theory.

‘It does seem to fit,' said Fenella at last. ‘I mean the two together is a likely conjunction which doesn't seem to occur anywhere else.'

‘It's worth trying, anyhow,' I said. ‘I don't think we can do anything more tonight. Tomorrow, first thing, we'll hire a car and go off and try our luck.'

‘It's tomorrow now,' said Fenella. ‘Half-past two! Just fancy!'

III

Early morning saw us on the road. We had hired a car for a week, arranging to drive it ourselves. Fenella's spirits rose as we sped along the excellent road, mile after mile.

‘If only it wasn't for the other two, what fun this would be,' she said. ‘This is where the Derby was originally run, wasn't it? Before it was changed to Epsom. How queer that is to think of!'

I drew her attention to a farmhouse.

‘That must be where there is said to be a secret passage running under the sea to that island.'

‘What fun! I love secret passages, don't you? Oh! Juan, we're getting quite near now. I'm terribly excited. If we should be right!'

Five minutes later we abandoned the car.

‘Everything's in the right position,' said Fenella, tremulously.

We walked on.

‘Six of them–that's right. Now between these two. Have you got the compass?'

Five minutes later, we were standing facing each other, an incredulous joy on our faces–and on my outstretched palm lay an antique snuffbox.

We had been successful!

On our return to Maughold House, Mrs Skillicorn met us with the information that two gentlemen had arrived. One had departed again, but the other was in the library.

A tall, fair man, with a florid face, rose smilingly from an armchair as we entered the room.

‘Mr Faraker and Miss Mylecharane? Delighted to meet you. I am your distant cousin, Dr Fayll. Amusing game all this, isn't it?'

His manner was urbane and pleasant, but I took an immediate dislike to him. I felt that in some way the man was dangerous. His pleasant manner was,
somehow,
too
pleasant, and his eyes never met yours fairly.

‘I'm afraid we've got bad news for you,' I said. ‘Miss Mylecharane and myself have already discovered the first “treasure”.'

He took it very well.

‘Too bad–too bad. Posts from here must be odd. Barford and I started at once.'