"I came to offer you my very warm sympathy with the grief you have so
lately experienced." "My grief? I'm afraid I must be very dull; but I really do not
understand." Already she felt at a disadvantage, and hesitated. "I mean about the old man who died so suddenly--your old . . . retainer." Caswall's face relaxed something of its puzzled concentration. "Oh, he was only a servant; and he had over-stayed his three-score and
ten years by something like twenty years. He must have been ninety!" "Still, as an old servant . . . " Caswall's words were not so cold as their inflection. "I never interfere with servants. He was kept on here merely because he
had been so long on the premises. I suppose the steward thought it might
make him unpopular if the old fellow had been dismissed." How on earth was she to proceed on such a task as hers if this was the
utmost geniality she could expect? So she at once tried another
tack--this time a personal one. "I am sorry I disturbed you. I am really not unconventional--though
certainly no slave to convention. Still there are limits . . . it is bad
enough to intrude in this way, and I do not know what you can say or
think of the time selected, for the intrusion." After all, Edgar Caswall was a gentleman by custom and habit, so he rose
to the occasion. "I can only say, Lady Arabella, that you are always welcome at any time
you may deign to honour my house with your presence." She smiled at him sweetly. "Thank you _so_ much. You _do_ put one at ease. My breach of convention
makes me glad rather than sorry. I feel that I can open my heart to you
about anything." Forthwith she proceeded to tell him about Oolanga and his strange
suspicions of her honesty. Caswall laughed and made her explain all the
details. His final comment was enlightening. "Let me give you a word of advice: If you have the slightest fault to
find with that infernal nigger, shoot him at sight. A swelled-headed
nigger, with a bee in his bonnet, is one of the worst difficulties in the
world to deal with. So better make a clean job of it, and wipe him out
at once!" "But what about the law, Mr. Caswall?" "Oh, the law doesn't concern itself much about dead niggers. A few more
or less do not matter. To my mind it's rather a relief!" "I'm afraid of you," was her only comment, made with a sweet smile and in
a soft voice. "All right," he said, "let us leave it at that. Anyhow, we shall be rid
of one of them!" "I don't love niggers any more than you do," she replied, "and I suppose
one mustn't be too particular where that sort of cleaning up is
concerned." Then she changed in voice and manner, and asked genially:
"And now tell me, am I forgiven?" "You are, dear lady--if there is anything to forgive." As he spoke, seeing that she had moved to go, he came to the door with
her, and in the most natural way accompanied her downstairs. He passed
through the hall with her and down the avenue. As he went back to the
house, she smiled to herself. "Well, that is all right. I don't think the morning has been altogether
thrown away." And she walked slowly back to Diana's Grove. Adam Salton followed the line of the Brow, and refreshed his memory as to
the various localities. He got home to Lesser Hill just as Sir Nathaniel
was beginning lunch. Mr. Salton had gone to Walsall to keep an early
appointment; so he was all alone. When the meal was over--seeing in
Adam's face that he had something to speak about--he followed into the
study and shut the door. When the two men had lighted their pipes, Sir Nathaniel began. "I have remembered an interesting fact about Diana's Grove--there is, I
have long understood, some strange mystery about that house. It may be
of some interest, or it may be trivial, in such a tangled skein as we are
trying to unravel." "Please tell me all you know or suspect. To begin, then, of what sort
is the mystery--physical, mental, moral, historical, scientific, occult? Any kind of hint will help me." "Quite right. I shall try to tell you what I think; but I have not put
my thoughts on the subject in sequence, so you must forgive me if due
order is not observed in my narration. I suppose you have seen the house
at Diana's Grove?" "The outside of it; but I have that in my mind's eye, and I can fit into
my memory whatever you may mention." "The house is very old--probably the first house of some sort that stood
there was in the time of the Romans. This was probably renewed--perhaps
several times at later periods. The house stands, or, rather, used to
stand here when Mercia was a kingdom--I do not suppose that the basement
can be later than the Norman Conquest. Some years ago, when I was
President of the Mercian Archaeological Society, I went all over it very
carefully. This was when it was purchased by Captain March. The house
had then been done up, so as to be suitable for the bride. The basement
is very strong,--almost as strong and as heavy as if it had been intended
as a fortress. There are a whole series of rooms deep underground. One
of them in particular struck me. The room itself is of considerable
size, but the masonry is more than massive. In the middle of the room is
a sunk well, built up to floor level and evidently going deep
underground. There is no windlass nor any trace of there ever having
been any--no rope--nothing. Now, we know that the Romans had wells of
immense depth, from which the water was lifted by the 'old rag rope';
that at Woodhull used to be nearly a thousand feet. Here, then, we have
simply an enormously deep well-hole. The door of the room was massive,
and was fastened with a lock nearly a foot square. It was evidently
intended for some kind of protection to someone or something; but no one
in those days had ever heard of anyone having been allowed even to see
the room. All this is _a propos_ of a suggestion on my part that the
well-hole was a way by which the White Worm (whatever it was) went and
came. At that time I would have had a search made--even excavation if
necessary--at my own expense, but all suggestions were met with a prompt
and explicit negative. So, of course, I took no further step in the
matter. Then it died out of recollection--even of mine." "Do you remember, sir," asked Adam, "what was the appearance of the room
where the well-hole was? Was there furniture--in fact, any sort of thing
in the room?" "The only thing I remember was a sort of green light--very clouded, very
dim--which came up from the well. Not a fixed light, but intermittent
and irregular--quite unlike anything I had ever seen." "Do you remember how you got into the well-room? Was there a separate
door from outside, or was there any interior room or passage which opened
into it?" "I think there must have been some room with a way into it. I remember
going up some steep steps; they must have been worn smooth by long use or
something of the kind, for I could hardly keep my feet as I went up. Once
I stumbled and nearly fell into the well-hole."