the trees of pride-第7部分

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t　come　from　it。

〃I　wonder；〃　he　proceeded；　〃whether　I　am　really　the　first　that　ever　burst　into　this　silent　tree。　　It　looks　like　it。　　Those〃

He　stopped　and　sat　on　his　branch　quite　motionless；　but　his　eyes　were　turned　on　a　branch　a　little　below　it；　and　they　were　brilliant　with　a　vigilance；　like　those　of　a　man　watching　a　snake。

What　he　was　looking　at　might；　at　first　sight；　have　been　a　large　white　fungus　spreading　on　the　smooth　and　monstrous　trunk；　but　it　was　not。

Leaning　down　dangerously　from　his　perch；　he　detached　it　from　the　twig　on　which　it　had　caught；　and　then　sat　holding　it　in　his　hand　and　gazing　at　it。　　It　was　Squire　Vane's　white　Panama　hat；　but　there　was　no　Squire　Vane　under　it。　　Paynter　felt　a　nameless　relief　in　the　very　fact　that　there　was　not。

There　in　the　clear　sunlight　and　sea　air；　for　an　instant；　all　the　tropical　terrors　of　his　own　idle　tale　surrounded　and　suffocated　him。　It　seemed　indeed　some　demon　tree　of　the　swamps；　a　vegetable　serpent　that　fed　on　men。　　Even　the　hideous　farce　in　the　fancy　of　digesting　a　whole　man　with　the　exception　of　his　hat；　seemed　only　to　simplify　the　nightmare。　And　he　found　himself　gazing　dully　at　one　leaf　of　the　tree；　which　happened　to　be　turned　toward　him；　so　that　the　odd　markings；　which　had　partly　made　the　legend；　really　looked　a　little　like　the　eye　in　a　peacock's　feather。　It　was　as　if　the　sleeping　tree　had　opened　one　eye　upon　him。

With　a　sharp　effort　he　steadied　himself　in　mind　and　posture　on　the　bough；　his　reason　returned；　and　he　began　to　descend　with　the　hat　in　his　teeth。　When　he　was　back　in　the　underworld　of　the　wood；　he　studied　the　hat　again　and　with　closer　attention。　　In　one　place　in　the　crown　there　was　a　hole　or　rent；　which　certainly　had　not　been　there　when　it　had　last　lain　on　the　table　under　the　garden　tree。　　He　sat　down；　lit　a　cigarette；　and　reflected　for　a　long　time。

A　wood；　even　a　small　wood；　is　not　an　easy　thing　to　search　minutely；　but　he　provided　himself　with　some　practical　tests　in　the　matter。　In　one　sense　the　very　density　of　the　thicket　was　a　help；　he　could　at　least　see　where　anyone　had　strayed　from　the　path；　by　broken　and　trampled　growths　of　every　kind。　　After　many　hours'　industry；　he　had　made　a　sort　of　new　map　of　the　place；　and　had　decided　beyond　doubt　that　some　person　or　persons　had　so　strayed；　for　some　purpose；　in　several　defined　directions。　There　was　a　way　burst　through　the　bushes；　making　a　short　cut　across　a　loop　of　the　wandering　path；　there　was　another　forking　out　from　it　as　an　alternative　way　into　the　central　space。　But　there　was　one　especially　which　was　unique；　and　which　seemed　to　him；　the　more　he　studied　it；　to　point　to　some　essential　of　the　mystery。

One　of　these　beaten　and　broken　tracks　went　from　the　space　under　the　peacock　trees　outward　into　the　wood　for　about　twenty　yards　and　then　stopped。　　Beyond　that　point　not　a　twig　was　broken　nor　a　leaf　disturbed。　　It　had　no　exit；　but　he　could　not　believe　that　it　had　no　goal。　　After　some　further　reflection；　he　knelt　down　and　began　to　cut　away　grass　and　clay　with　his　knife；　and　was　surprised　at　the　ease　with　which　they　detached　themselves。　In　a　few　moments　a　whole　section　of　the　soil　lifted　like　a　lid；　it　was　a　round　lid　and　presented　a　quaint　appearance；　like　a　flat　cap　with　green　feathers。　　For　though　the　disc　itself　was　made　of　wood；　there　was　a　layer　of　earth　on　it　with　the　live　grass　still　growing　there。　And　the　removal　of　the　round　lid　revealed　a　round　hole；　black　as　night　and　seemingly　bottomless。　　Paynter　understood　it　instantly。　It　was　rather　near　the　sea　for　a　well　to　be　sunk；　but　the　traveler　had　known　wells　sunk　even　nearer。　　He　rose　to　his　feet　with　the　great　knife　in　his　hand；　a　frown　on　his　face；　and　his　doubts　resolved。　He　no　longer　shrank　from　naming　what　he　knew。　　This　was　not　the　first　corpse　that　had　been　thrown　down　a　well；　here；　without　stone　or　epitaph；　was　the　grave　of　Squire　Vane。　　In　a　flash　all　the　mythological　follies　about　saints　and　peacocks　were　forgotten；　he　was　knocked　on　the　head；　as　with　a　stone　club；　by　the　human　common　sense　of　crime。

Cyprian　Paynter　stood　long　by　the　well　in　the　wood；　walked　round　it　in　meditation；　examined　its　rim　and　the　ring　of　grass　about　it；　searched　the　surrounding　soil　thoroughly；　came　back　and　stood　beside　the　well　once　more。　　His　researches　and　reflections　had　been　so　long　that　he　had　not　realized　that　the　day　had　passed　and　that　the　wood　and　the　world　round　it　were　beginning　already　to　be　steeped　in　the　enrichment　of　evening。　The　day　had　been　radiantly　calm；　the　sea　seemed　to　be　as　still　as　the　well；　and　the　well　was　as　still　as　a　mirror。　And　then；　quite　without　warning；　the　mirror　moved　of　itself　like　a　living　thing。

In　the　well；　in　the　wood；　the　water　leapt　and　gurgled；　with　a　grotesque　noise　like　something　swallowing；　and　then　settled　again　with　a　second　sound。　　Cyprian　could　not　see　into　the　well　clearly；　for　the　opening；　from　where　he　stood；　was　an　ellipse；　a　mere　slit；　and　half　masked　by　thistles　and　rank　grass　like　a　green　beard。　For　where　he　stood　now　was　three　yards　away　from　the　well；　and　he　had　not　yet　himself　realized　that　he　had　sprung　back　all　that　distance　from　the　brink　when　the　water　spoke。



III。　　THE　MYSTERY　OF　THE　WELL

Cyprian　Paynter　did　not　know　what　he　expected　to　see　rise　out　of　the　wellthe　corpse　of　the　murdered　man　or　merely　the　spirit　of　the　fountain。　　Anyhow；　neither　of　them　rose　out　of　it；　and　he　recognized　after　an　instant　that　this　was；　after　all；　perhaps　the　more　natural　course　of　things。　　Once　more　he　pulled　himself　together；　walked　to　the　edge　of　the　well　and　looked　down。　He　saw；　as　before；　a　dim　glimmer　of　water；　at　that　depth　no　brighter　than　ink；　he　fancied　he　still　heard　a　faint　convulsion　and　murmur；　but　it　gradually　subsided　to　an　utter　stillness。　Short　of　suicidally　diving　in；　there　was　nothing　to　be　done。　He　realized　that；　with　all　his　equipment；　he　had　not　even　brought　anything　like　a　rope　or　basket；　and　at　length　decided　to　return　for　them。　　As　he　retraced　his　steps　to　the　entrance；　he　recurred　to；　and　took　stock　of；　his　more　solid　discoveries。　Somebody　had　gone　into　the　wood；　killed　the　Squire　and　thrown　him　down　the　well；　but　he　did　not　admit　for　a　moment　that　it　was　his　friend　the　poet；　but　if　the　latter　had　actually　been　seen　coming　out　of　the　wood　the　matter　was　serious。　As　he　walked　the　rapidly　darkening　twilight　was　cloven　with　red　gleams；　that　made　him　almost　fancy　for　a　moment　that　some　fantastic　criminal　had　set　fire　to　the　tiny　forest　as　he　fled。　A　second　glance　showed　him　nothing　but　one　of　those　red　sunsets　in　which　such　serene　days　sometimes　close。

As　he　came　out　of　the　gloomy　gate　of　trees　into　the　full　glow　he　saw　a　dark　figure　standing　quite　still　in　the　dim　bracken；　on　the　spot　where　he　had　left　the　woodcutter。　　It　was　not　the　woodcutter。

It　was　topped　by　a　tall　black　hat　of　a　funeral　type；　and　the　whole　figure　stood　so　black　against　the　field　of　crimson　fire　that　edged　the　sky　line　that　he　could　not　for　an　instant　understand　or　recall　it。　When　he　did；　it　was　with　an　odd　change　in　the　whole　channel　of　his　thoughts。

〃Doctor　Brown！〃　he　cried。　　〃Why；　what　are　you　doing　up　here？〃

〃I　have　been　talking　to　poor　Martin；〃　answered　the　doctor；　and　made　a　rather　awkward　movement　with　his　hand　toward　the　road　down　to　the　village。　　Following　the　gesture；　Paynter　dimly　saw　another　dark　figure　walking　down　in　the　blood…red　distance。　He　also　saw　that　the　hand　motioning　was　really　black；　and　not　merely　in　shadow；　and；　coming　nearer；　found　the　doctor's　dress　was　really　funereal；　down　to　the　detail　of　the　dark　gloves。　It　gave　the　American　a　small　but　queer　shock；　as　if　this　were　actually　an　undertaker　come　up　to　bury　the　corpse　that　could　not　be　found。

〃Poor　Martin's　been　looking　for　his　chopper；〃　observed　Doctor　Brown；　〃but　I　told　him　I'd　picked　it　up　and　kept　it　for　him。　Between　ourselves；　I　hardly　think　he's　fit　to　be　trusted　with　it。〃　　Then；　seeing　the　glance　at　his　black　garb；　he　added：　〃I've　just　been　to　a　funeral。　　Did　you　know　there's　been　another　loss？　Poor　Jake　the　fisherman's　wife；　down　in　the　cottage　on　the　shore；　you　know。　　This　infernal　fever；　of　course。〃

As　they　both　turned；　facing　the　red　evening　light；　Paynter　instinctively　made　a　closer　study；　not　merely　of　the　doctor's　clothes；　but　of　the　doctor。　　Dr。　Burton　Brown　was　a；　tall；　alert　man；　neatly　dressed；　who　would　otherwise　have　had　an　almost　military　air　but　for　his　spectacles　and　an　almost　painful　intellectualism　in　his　lean　brown　face　and　bald　brow。　The　contrast　was　clinched　by　the　fact　that；　while　his　face　was　of　the　ascetic　type　generally　conceived　as　clean…shaven；　he　had　a　strip　of　dark　mustache　cut　too　short　for　him　to　bite；　and　yet　a　mouth　that　often　moved　as　if　trying　to　bite　it。　He　might　have　been　a　very　intelligent　army　surgeon；　but　he　had　more　the　look　of　an　engineer　or　one　of　those　services　that　combine　a　military　silence　with　a　more　than　military　science。　Paynter　had　always　respected　something　ruggedly　reliable　about　the　man；　and　after　a　little　hesitation　he　told　him　all　the　discoveries。

The　doctor　took　the　hat　of　the　dead　Squire　in　his　hand；　and　examined　it　with　frowning　care。　　He　put　one　finger　through　the　hole　in　the　crown　and　moved　it　meditatively。　And　Paynter　realized　how　fanciful　his　own　fatigue　must　have　made　him；　for　so　silly　a　thing　as　the　black　finger　waggling　through　the　rent　in　that　frayed　white　relic　unreasonably　displeased　him；　The　doctor　soon　made　the　same　discovery　with　professional　acuteness；　and　applied　it　much　further。　For　when　Paynter　began　to　tell　him　of　the　moving　water　in　the　well　he　looked　at　him　a　moment　through　his　spectacles；　and　then　said：

〃Did　you　have　any　lunch？〃

Paynter　for　the　first　time　realized　that　he　had；　as　a　fact；　worked　and　thought　furiously　all　day　without　food。

〃Please　don't　fancy　I　mean　you　had　too　much　lunch；〃　said　the　medical　man；　with　mournful　humor。　　〃On　the　contrary；　I　mean　you　had　too　little。　I　think　you　are　a　bit　knocked　out；　and　your　nerves　exaggerate　things。　Anyhow；　let　me　advise　you　not　to　do　any　more　to…night。　There's　nothing　to　be　done　without　ropes　or　some　sort　of　fishing　tackle；　if　with　that；　but　I　think　I　can　get　you　some　of　the　sort　of　grappling　irons　the　fishermen　use　for　dragging。　　Poor　Jake's　got　some；　I　know；　I'll　bring　them　rou