"the devon maid" was a tumbledown inn, and the center of denleigh village, which lay, more or less concealed, among the folds of fertile hills. down the valley prattled a shallow stream, and the comparatively few cottages, forming the secluded hamlet, were placed confusedly on either side, each having its own tiny garden. a broad stone bridge, of cyclopean build, spanned the brook in one low arch. across this ran the highway, which gave access to the interior world, for it dipped down one hill and, after passing over the bridge, ascended the other on its way inland to even more remote villages. near the bridge in question stood the two-story inn, built of rugged stone, hewn into huge blocks, and roofed with curved red tiles, the whole overgrown with ivy and wisteria and many-colored roses. with three narrow windows above and two narrow windows with a moderately wide door below, the house looked sullen and secretive. one could have an adventure at such a hostel: it breathed the spirit of romance, and cut-throat, trapdoor romance at that.
before the inn stood a horse trough, in front of the door, the two rude benches under the windows. but those who frequented the devon maid preferred to take their beer mugs and bovine conversation on to the bridge. it was their rialto, whereon they met in the cool of the evening to discuss the doings of their small world, and such news as might filter into the isolated villages through carriers and tourists and newspapers. the population of denleigh consisted almost wholly of agricultural laborers and their wives, a slow-thinking lot, with infinitely more muscle than brains. both men and women were of great stature, and even their children looked bulky and overgrown for their age. it seemed as though the children of anak had gathered to design a new tower of babel.
the room in which haskins and macandrew sat at dinner was small, with a low ceiling, and one inefficient window smothered with curtains. it was crowded with early victorian furniture of the most cumbersome and inelegant description. table and chairs, sofa and sideboard, bookcase and desk were all of solid mahogany, deposited on a flowery kidderminster carpet, somewhat worn. antimacassars adorned the horsehair chairs, wax fruit under a glass shade embellished the sideboard, and green glass ornaments, with dangling prisms, appeared on either side of the black marble clock which disfigured the mantelpiece. on the faded pattern of a prussian blue wall-paper were steel engravings representing "the death of nelson" and the "meeting of wellington and blucher after waterloo," together with colored hunting scenes and illustrations from "the book of beauty," and "the keepsake." there were also samplers, and a fender-stool, and a canary in a gilt cage, and a cupboard of inferior china, and two screens of worsted-work representing parrots and macaws. the apartment was stuffy and unwholesome, and more like a curiosity-shop than a place to dine in.
the young men had changed to easy smoking suits, and were doing full justice to an admirable meal, consisting of roast beef with vegetables, superfine apple pie, devonshire cream, and first-rate stilton. they drank cider out of compliment to the county, and knew that when eating was at an end two fragrant cups of coffee would add to the enjoyment of their after-dinner pipes. and this satisfactory state of things was presided over by a stout and genial waiter, who was as black as the dress clothes he wore in honor of the guests.
a bull in a china-shop would not have seemed much more out of keeping than was this negro in the heart of the devon hills. how he had drifted into such a locality heaven only knows, but he appeared exotic and strange, like some tropical bird which had flown from equatorial regions to make a nest in cool, gray, misty england. adonis geary was the incongruous name of the man, and he was at once landlord and waiter. save that he possessed but one eye there was nothing unpleasant in his looks, and from his constant smiling and ready service he appeared to be of an amiable disposition. for over fifteen years--so he told his guests--he had owned the inn, and also had married a six-foot girl from barnstaple, who was as meek as she was tall. this oddly-matched pair had five or six coffee-colored children, who tumbled about the small house and made it lively. the ménage was unusual, to say least of it, and like the inn itself. the presence of the negro hinted at romance and mystery.
as yet haskins had said nothing about the phonograph. some instinct told him to be silent about the discovery of the cylinder before this suave son of ham, although he had absolutely no reason to mistrust the man. all the same he intended to use geary's wits to obtain a jekle & co. phonograph in such a way as would not arouse suspicion concerning the particular use he intended to put it to. yet why suspicions should be aroused by frankness gerald could not say, for, on the face of it, there was nothing to point out that the cylinder was dangerous. nevertheless haskins' sixth sense made him hold his tongue and impose secrecy upon tod. consequently macandrew held his peace while gerald cautiously approached his aim of getting the machine. it seemed incredible that a phonograph of the special make required should be found in that unpretentious inn, or even in the village itself, seeing how buried both were. still haskins argued from the discovery of the roller, so marked, that a jekle & co. phonograph was to be had in the district. being a novelist, gerald had already spun a web of romance round the adventure, and was conducting the same to a close with constructive skill. tod watched the progress of this real and tangible romance with careless interest. he thought that it was all moonshine and would end in smoke. "the story of a mare's nest," tod called it with fine irony, and giggled when haskins stalked mr. adonis geary.
"there is very little to do in the evening here," began gerald, finishing the last of his cheese, and addressing the landlord-waiter.
"very little, sah," replied mr. geary, who spoke moderately good anglo-saxon, yet betrayed his negro origin in an occasional word, and by a guttural intonation, "but you can walk to silbury with the odder jemplem, for howlin' fun, sah."
"howling fun in a country town? my eyes," muttered tod, still eating.
"dere's walking and de bicycle and fishin' and----"
"yes! yes! yes!" broke in gerald artfully, "but i mean evening amusement--indoor doings. what you call----"
"parlor tricks," interpolated macandrew.
"exactly! well, mr. geary, have you a piano, or a harmonium?"
"dere's a harmonium in de chapel whar i preach," explained adonis doubtfully, "but de instrument of de lawd no good for debble's singing."
"i have no intention of going to the devil for my amusement," said gerald tartly, while tod choked over his cider. "have you any cards?"
"dem's de debble's pictures, sah."
"then pass along a concertina," remarked tod, pushing back his chair with a sigh of repletion, "or even a jew's harp, or a----"
"why not say a phonograph, while you're about it, macandrew?" said haskins, with feigned crossness, "we're as likely to find the one as the other in this place at the back-of-beyond."
"with great respect, mr. haskins, sah," said geary, falling into the trap promptly, "dere's my wife's phonograph. my wife hannah let you hab dat phonograph to hear de godly hymns."
"just what i want to hear," said gerald untruthfully, "but what on earth made you get a phonograph?"
geary smiled expansively, displaying magnificent teeth. "dere was a traveler who came dis way wid phonographs, and he stop here. he so pleased wid my wife hannah's cooking dat he gave her de phonograph, and den sell many, many, many all round--all round," and the landlord stretched his arms to embrace the globe.
"what kind of a phonograph is it?" asked gerald, with a triumphant look at tod to bid him watch how romance was working golden threads into the gray fabric of the commonplace. "i don't want to hear a bad one."
before geary could reply there sounded through the window an up-to-date note from the outer world. the "toot! toot! toot!" of a motor horn brought the young men to their feet and to the window, which looked out on to the bridge. a motor car draws the attention of the grown-up as much as a military band attracts the notice of a child. mr. geary departed with dignified haste to see what new and aristocratic visitor was coming, and--since tod's bulky form filled in the whole small window--gerald followed at his leisure. the coming of the motor car stirred up the same bustle in this lonely inn as did the mail coach in the days of old. even mrs. geary emerged from the back-kitchen to view the spectacle with three small children clinging to her lengthy skirts, like the lilliputians to gulliver's coat-tails.
"toot! toot! toot!" the horn sounded cheerfully and close at hand. a magnificent hadrian, scarlet as the sunset, swung down the long descent and hummed across the bridge with a powerful drone. there were two men in front, disguised in the orthodox goggles and caps and shapeless coats, but the body of the car was empty, save for a large portmanteau and some small parcels done up in brown paper. the rustics crowded round the car, to comment thereon, and to misname it "a steam-engine," while the foremost man, who was handling the steering-gear, slipped from his seat to stretch himself and to salute geary.
"hello, adonis, is that you?" he said, nodding brusquely. "i want a wash and a glass of brandy. then i'm off again. i must reach leegarth before sundown."
"come dis way, major," said the landlord obsequiously. he seemed to know the traveler extremely well, and from his concluding remark gerald was positive that he did. "dere's a lil' glass of your own pertic'ler brandy, major. dis way, sah. glad to see you, major."
"major!" from the title, and the tone of the arrival's voice, haskins had an idea that he also knew the owner of the motor car. when the goggles were shoved up over the cap, and the high collar of the coat was loosened, suspicion became certainty. "major rebb," said haskins, advancing a step. "i guessed it was you."
"oh--haskins," drawled the newcomer, and gerald could have sworn that not only did he start, but that he darted an inquiring look at the negro landlord. it was geary who replied:
"dis jemplem and his friend, dey stop wid me for one, two week, major."
the major recovered himself. "yes, of course; what am i thinking about, haskins? mrs. crosbie told me that you and macandrew were on a walking tour in devonshire. why are you stationary here of all places?"
"why not here, as well as anywhere else?" replied gerald carelessly, "we struck this inn--tod and i, that is--and intended only to stop a night or so, but the food is so good, and the fishing so capital, and the expenses so small, that we decided to remain. we're off in a couple of days. tod goes back to london, and i make for st. ives to write a new book. but you, major? what are you doing in this galley?"
"i have come down to see a relative at leegarth--an elderly aunt!" tod sniggered at the window. from what he knew of major rebb--and he knew a great deal from club gossip--that retired officer was not the man to waste his time in looking after elderly relatives, unless,----
"how much money has she got?" asked tod impudently.
rebb laughed, for tod was a licensed jester, and said things without reproof for which other men would have been kicked. "enough to make it worth my while to come down here," said rebb coolly, "but i won't give the business into your hands, tod, so there will be no pickings."
"i'm jolly well sure of that, when you're about," retorted macandrew, in a soft voice.
"dis way, sah," cried geary, like a parrot, "dis way, major."
"you know adonis then?" said rebb, entering the inn followed by haskins; "he's a decent sort, isn't he? i have put up here sometimes for a night. where's the brandy, adonis? hurry up; and give my man a glass of beer."
gerald had unconsciously led the way to the sitting-room occupied by himself and tod. here rebb sat down, drawing off his gloves, while the brandy was brought. he was a tall, thin, upright man, eminently well-bred and somewhat stiff. his closely clipped hair and well-trimmed moustache were so dark, and his complexion was of such a deep olive color, that people declared that he had in him a touch of the tar-brush. and the scandal was emphasized by the significant fact that major rebb had commanded a west indian regiment in jamaica before retiring from the army. but whether tainted by the african or not, he certainly was a handsome man, and wonderfully well-preserved for his fifty years. mrs. crosbie, to whom rebb had alluded when first addressing haskins, was a wealthy widow who greatly admired the fascinating major. report hinted at a match between them, and report said that mrs. crosbie might do worse, for rebb was well-off and much respected by the outside world. those--of whom tod was one--who knew more than the major approved of declared that rebb's character was not without blemish, and that he gambled both on the turf and on the green table. but no one could positively say that the man was a rascal. he had the vices of his generation. that was all.
while rebb drank his brandy he told haskins and macandrew the latest club gossip, and stated--not without a roguish glance at tod--that mrs. pelham odin wanted charity to marry a titled fool, who had lately come into much money. tod was very indignant at this, and said many things which rebb had heard before, since the little man's infatuation was an open secret. in the middle of his eloquence the major went off to wash his hands and face, and haskins dragged his friend out to see the start of the car. in five minutes rebb was in his place and his chauffeur swung up alongside.
"good-night, you fellows," cried the major amiably. "i'll see you in london. night, adonis," and then the car spun round the curve to mount the hill on its way to leegarth, wherever that might be. tod yawned and sauntered back into the inn, hinting that he would go to bed soon.
"funny thing that we should meet rebb, here," said gerald.
tod raised his thick red eyebrows. "upon my soul i don't see it," he remarked, "you don't want the whole country to yourself."
"he seemed to be startled when he saw me, and he knows geary well."
"he admitted that he knew geary, and as to being startled, he well might be, dropping across a pal in these wilds."
"i am not a pal of rebb's," said gerald stiffly. "i don't like him, and i'm very sorry that such a jolly little woman as mrs. crosbie should think of marrying him. there's something queer about him."
"bosh!" said tod, lightly whiffing away his friend's suspicions, which indeed had little foundation. "rebb is no worse, nor no better, than any other man. we all have turned-down pages in our life's book, which we should like no one to read."
"that's quite a high flight of oratory for you," said haskins dryly.
"oh i can gas as well as most, when necessary," retorted the other, "but you are asinine, seeing a bird in every bush."
"h'm!" murmured gerald, unconvinced. "all the same, i shall keep my eye on major rebb."
"and so take a lot of trouble for nothing. so long as he does not cross your path i don't see why you should worry. hello!" tod had entered the sitting-room by this time. "here's the phonograph." he examined it narrowly in the failing light. "and jekle & co. at that. by gum!"
"what do you say now?" cried haskins, pleased that his surmise had proved correct. "i'll bet that we are on the verge of discovering a mystery. wait until we hear a few hymns, and then we can experiment with our river record."
"but why bother about the hymns?" grumbled macandrew, who by this time was quite as curious as haskins himself.
gerald glanced at the door, and closed it. "i don't want the nigger to think that anything unusual has happened."
"more suspicion," said tod, and glanced in his turn, but at the window, "you needn't fash yourself, as we say in scotland. there's geary walking down to the village."
it was indeed the negro strolling with a crony along the brookside, and when he had sauntered out of earshot haskins did not worry about the hymn tunes. he slipped the cylinder record on to the machine, and set the thing going. then, for the next minute, he and tod listened in amazement to a message from fairyland.
"this to the wide world," babbled the machine in the sweetest and most melodious of voices. "this to the fairy prince, who will come and waken me from dreams. come, dear prince, to the pixy's house, and watch that the jealous ogress, who guards me, does not see you. i cannot read, i cannot write; but i talk my message to you, dear prince. to the stream i commit the message on this first day of april in this year five. may the river bear the message to you, dear prince. come to me! come to me! come to me! and waken your princess to life with a kiss."
the machine still continued to work, but the voice became abruptly silent. there was no more of the message, so when the point of the phonograph reached the end of the inscribed wax gerald removed it. when it was again in his pocket he turned toward the amazed tod. "what do you think of that?" he demanded triumphantly.
"i think that the date explains the whole thing," said tod grimly. "see: the first of april. five! that means, nineteen hundred and five, which is this very year. some one's having a joke."
"i don't believe it," said haskins, and began to scribble in his pocketbook what the machine had said. he had a good memory, and reproduced the message from the fairy princess very correctly. later he determined to verify the same, but meanwhile kept the precious roller in his pocket and asserted his determination to search for the pixy's house.
"what bosh!" grumbled tod, disdainfully. "maybe there's no such place. but if you will be a lunatic, ask geary about the matter."
"no," said gerald decidedly. "i shall not say a word to geary, and i must ask you to say nothing either. this is the first piece of romance which has come my way, and i don't want it spoiled by sharing it with other people."
"my way," echoed macandrew, staring. "i like that. you forget that i found the cylinder, my son. i am the person who is supposed to have received the letter."
"toddy, you are not a turk or a mormon, so this delicious princess, who speaks like a silver bell, is not for you. keep to charity bird, and allow me a chance of finding a wife."
"o lord! jerry, you ain't serious?"
"yes and no! after all i am young, and--as the cook said--of that 'appy disposition that i can love any one. why shouldn't i seek in some fairy woods for the sleeping beauty?"
"sleeping!" sniggered tod, lighting his pipe, "then she must have written that silly message in her sleep. or perhaps she talks in it," he added, recollecting that the message was a spoken one. "a nice wife to have, upon my word. you won't get a wink of sleep."
"toddy, you are of the earth, earthy, and an unimaginative beast. romance doesn't appeal to you. i shall search for the pixy's house!"
"in what direction?" jeered macandrew.
"up the stream. this princess is apparently imprisoned in the house and must have flung the cylinder therefrom into the water. ergo, the pixy's house must be near the water. i shall go to exeter and bring back a canoe. then i shall explore and find----"
"a mare's nest! don't be an ass. it's all bosh."
"it's romance! romance! romance! but not a word, toddy, either to any one here, or to any one in london. promise!"
"oh, i promise. but----"
"silence! you profane the mysteries of fairyland. i shall explore and learn the end of this adventure. and you, tod macandrew?"
"i'll see what's the best lunatic asylum for you to occupy," said tod caustically.
