Concerns An Illustrated Paper

: The Mystery Of The Green Ray

The river had disappeared!



In front of us was a great green wall of solid rock, which seemed to

tower into the sky above us, and to stretch away for miles to right

and left. The curious part about it was that the rock was undoubtedly

solid. The shrubs that grew upon it, the great crevices and clefts,

were all real. I knew--though I had a hard struggle to make myself

believe--that it was all a marvellous a d indescribable delusion, for

there could be no cliff where only a few seconds before there had been

a mighty, rushing torrent.



And yet I could have planted finger and foot on the ledges of that

solid precipice and climbed to the invisible summit. Hilderman was

muttering to himself beneath his breath, but I was too dazed, my brain

was too numbed to make any sense out of the confused mumble of words

which came from him. Dennis held my arm in a vice-like grip that

stopped the circulation, and almost made me cry out with the pain.



Hilderman staggered, his arm over his eyes, across the stepping-stones

to the side of the stream. I found my voice at last.



"Dennis!" I shouted at the top of my voice, though why I should have

shouted I can never explain, for my friend was standing just beside

me. "Dennis, come away, man. Get out of this!"



I exerted my strength to the uttermost, but Dennis was immovable,

rooted to the spot by the strange, snake-like fascination of the

nightmare. Then, as suddenly as it had arisen, the rock disappeared

again, and there before our startled gaze was a peacefully flowing

river. Dennis turned to me with a face as white as a sheet.



"The place is haunted," he said, with a somewhat hysterical laugh.



"Let's get away from it and sit down, and think it over," I urged,

pulling him away. We made for the side of the river and sat down, at

a very safe distance from the bank. I rolled up my sleeve, and had a

look at my arm.



"Great Scott!" Dennis exclaimed, as I dangled the pinched and purple

limb painfully. "What on earth did that?"



"I'm afraid it was your own delicate touch and dainty caress that did

it, old man. You seized hold of me as if you hadn't seen me for years,

and I owed you a thousand pounds."



"Ron, my dear fellow," he said penitently, "I'm most awfully sorry.

Why didn't you shout?"



I burst out laughing.



"I entered a protest in vigorous terms, but you were otherwise engaged

at the moment, and, anyway, don't look so scared about it, old man;

it'll be quite all right in a minute."



Poor Dennis was quite upset at the evidence I bore of his absorption

in the miracle, and we postponed our discussion while he massaged the

injured arm in order to restore the flow of blood.



"Where's Hilderman?" I asked presently, and though we looked

everywhere for the American he was nowhere to be seen.



"He didn't look the sort to funk like that," said Dennis thoughtfully.



"I should have been prepared to bet he was quite brave," I concurred.

"Well, anyway," I added, "the main point is, what do you think of our

entertainment? You've come a long way for it, but I hope you are not

disappointed now you've seen it. It's original, isn't it?"



"By heaven, Ron!" he cried, "you're right. It is original. It is even

a more unholy, indescribable mystery than I expected, and I never

accused you of exaggerating it, even in my own mind."



"I'm glad that both you and Hilderman have had ocular demonstration

of it," I remarked. "It is so much more convincing, and will help

you to go into the matter without any feeling that we are out on a

hare-brained shadow-chase."



"We're certainly not that, anyhow," Dennis agreed emphatically. "It is

a real mystery, Ronald, my boy. A real danger, as well, I'm afraid.

But we'll stick at it till the end."



"Thanks, old fellow," I said simply, and then I added, "I wonder what

can have become of Hilderman?"



"Gad!" cried Dennis, in sudden alarm. "He can't have fallen into the

river by any chance?"



We jumped to our feet and looked about us.



"No," I said presently, "he hasn't fallen into the river." And I

pointed a finger out to sea. The Baltimore II., churning a frantic

way across to Glasnabinnie, seemed to divide the intervening water in

one great white slash.



"I wonder," said Dennis quietly, "is that funk, or isn't it?"



We watched the diminishing craft for a minute or two in silence, and

finally decided to keep an open mind on the subject until we might

have an opportunity to see Hilderman and hear his own explanation.



"Talking about explanations, what about the left-handed schoolmaster

with the red-headed wife, or whatever it was?" I asked.



"That was a bit of luck," said Dennis modestly, "and I will admit, if

you like, that we owe that to Garnesk."



"Garnesk wasn't there," I protested.



"No," my friend admitted, "he wasn't there at the time, but he put

me on the look-out for a left-handed sailor. I was very much

impressed with his deductions about the man who stole Miss McLeod's

dog, and I determined to be on the look-out for a left-handed man. I

also admit that I carefully watched everyone we met, especially the

fishermen at Mallaig, to see if I could detect the sort of man I wanted.

I was rewarded when we were pulled out to the Fiona by those

two men of Fuller's. One of them was red-headed, you remember? Well,

that man was left-handed. It was very easy to observe that by the way

he held his oar and generally handled things. Of course I was very

bucked about it, so I paid very close attention to him. He wore a

wedding-ring--ergo, he was married. It is not conclusive, of course,

but a fairly safe guess when you're playing at toy detectives. So when

I found the knife I looked for some sign that it belonged to him, and

found it. It was all quite simple."



"I daresay it will be when you explain it, but you haven't in the

least explained it yet," I pointed out. "How about the schoolmaster

and all that, and what made you think the knife belonged to him."



"Simply because he was very probably--working on the law of

averages--the only left-handed man among the crew, and that knife

belonged to a left-handed man."



"But my dear old fellow," I cried, "you don't seriously mean to tell

me that you can say whether a man is left-handed or not by looking at

marks on the handle of his knife?"



"Not on the handle," Dennis explained; "on the blade. Have you got a

knife on you?"



I produced my pen-knife.



"I'll trust you with it," I declared confidently. "I've never held any

secrets from you, Den."



Dennis opened the knife and laid it in the palm of his hand. I stood

still and watched him.



"You've sharpened pencils with this knife and the pencils have left

their mark. If you hold the knife as you would when sharpening a

pencil and look down on the blade there are no pencil marks visible.

Now turn the knife over and you will find the marks on the other side

of the blade."



"Half a minute," I said eagerly, "let's have a look. The knife is in

position for sharpening a pencil and the back of the knife is pointing

to my chest. The marks are underneath." I took a pencil from my pocket

and tried it. "Yes, I've got you, Dennis. It's quite clear. If I held

the knife with the point to my right instead of to my left, as I

should do in sharpening with my left hand, the marks appear on the

other side of the blade. It is not quite conclusive, Den, but it's

jolly cute."



"Not when you're looking for it," he said. "I was struck by the fact

that the knife which, by its size and weight, was a seaman's handy

tool, had also been used for the repeated sharpening of a blue pencil.

When I saw those indications I went through the motion and came to the

conclusion that the marks were on the wrong side. Then I tried with my

left hand and accounted for it. The blue pencil made me suspicious. I

have no knowledge of a yacht-hand's duties, but surely sharpening blue

pencils is not one of them. Then the knife had also been carried in

the same pocket as a piece of white chalk. The only sort of person I

could think of who would carry a piece of chalk loose in his pocket

and use a blue pencil continuously was a schoolmaster. So I stated

definitely--there's nothing like bluff--that the knife belonged to the

left-handed man, who quite obviously had red hair, who appeared to

wear the insignia of the married state, and who--again according to

the law of averages--had at least one child. I naturally slumped the

schoolmaster idea in with it, and there you have the whole thing in a

nutshell. But it was Garnesk who set me looking for left-handed clues,

and if I hadn't been looking for it, it would never have entered my

head."



"But look here," I suggested, "some people sharpen pencils by pointing

the pencil to them. Wouldn't that produce the same effect?"



"Yes," he admitted, "I thought of that. But the marks would have been

very much fainter, because there would have been much less pressure. I

put that idea aside."



"Good!" I exclaimed. "I should much prefer to swallow your theory

whole, Dennis, but it struck me that might be a possible source of

error, which, of course, might have led us on to a false trail. And,

I say, those questions you asked about the time he stayed in port and

the hotel. Were those all bluff? Or had you some sort of idea at the

back of them?"



"I had a very definite idea at the back of them," Dennis replied. "I

thought perhaps the white chalk which was deposited in the blade-pocket,

and was even noticeable on the handle, might be due to billiard chalk.

But, of course, I didn't mention billiards, because it would have given

my line of reasoning away. I thought it was better to spring it on them

with a bump."



"Which you certainly did," I laughed. "As a matter of fact, I thought

you were simply having a game with us all. But now that you've told me

the details, Den, do you remember what happened when you did spring it

on them?"



"Well, of course I do," he replied. "But even so, I hardly know what

to make of it. I should like to feel confidently that Fuller is the

man we are after. But we must remember that both he and Hilderman

might very easily have thought I really had discovered something from

the knife and been exceedingly surprised without having any guilty

connection with the discovery."



"H'm," I muttered, "I prefer to suspect Fuller."



"Oh, I do too," Dennis agreed. "It is safer to suspect everybody in a

case like this. But why are you so emphatic?"



"Well," I explained, "we have a few little things to go on. Myra

diagnosed that Sholto was taken on a yacht by Garnesk's left-handed

man in sea-boots. Then you produce a left-handed member of a yacht's

crew out of an old pocket-knife, and Fuller jumps out of his skin when

you mention it. That seems to be something to go on, and then there

was that incident in the smoking-room."



"When you were reading the paper?" he asked. "I couldn't make that

out. Did you notice anything suspicious about it?"



"Of course I was in a suspicious mood," I admitted, "but it struck me

as a singularly rude thing to do to snatch the paper out of my hand

like that. His remark about Hilderman's precious view was very weak.

I think there was something behind it."



"What?" asked Dennis.



"It may have been that there was a letter, or something in the way of

a paper, which he didn't want me to see laid inside the paper; but

there was another curious point about it. There was a page torn out. I

had just noticed this and was on the point of making some silly remark

about it when Fuller leaned right across you and took the thing from

me, as you saw."



"If the page he didn't want you to see was torn out, there was no

chance of your seeing it," Dennis argued, logically enough.



"No," I agreed, "but after your exhibition, if he had anything to

conceal he may have been afraid of my even seeing that the page was

torn out."



"What do you imagine the missing page can possibly have contained?"



"I don't know," I answered, and thought hard for a minute. "By Jove,

Den!" I cried suddenly, "I believe I've got it. This takes us back to

Garnesk's idea of a wireless invention causing all the trouble. We

think we have reason to believe that Fuller may have stolen the dog.

We also think we have reason to believe that one of his yacht-hands is

what you called 'a mathematical master.' Now, suppose the paper had

got hold of this and printed an illustration of the mysterious

invention or perhaps a photograph of the mysterious inventor?"



"And the inventor, knowing that we should accuse him of blinding Miss

McLeod and making off with her dog, the moment we could identify him,

tears out the offending illustration in case either we or anyone else

in the neighbourhood should see it? He admitted, by the way, that he

never went into port if he could help it."



"Well, anyway," I said, "we'll have a look for the paper and find the

missing page."



"You noticed the date?" Dennis asked, anxiously.



"Oh! it was this week's issue," I replied.



"Do they take it at the house?" he inquired, again with a note of

anxiety.



"Not that I know of, but we'll rake one up somewhere, don't you fret.

And, I say, this is a fine way to welcome a visitor; you haven't even

said how-do to your host and hostess. I'm most awfully sorry."



"Don't be an ass, Ronnie," said Dennis, cheerfully. "With the utmost

respect, as you barrister chaps would say, I hadn't noticed your

departure from the requirements of conventional hospitality. I

wouldn't have missed this for all the world and a bit of Bond Street."



So then we hurried to the house with a nervous energy, which spoke

eloquently to our state of suppressed excitement.



"All the same," Den muttered dolefully, as we hurried down the stable

path, "it's going to be what the Americans would call 'some' wireless

invention that can plant a grown-up mountain in the middle of an

innocent river in the twinkling of an eyelash."



"It is, indeed, old fellow," I agreed, "but don't let us worry about

that. We'll get in and see Myra and the General, and then have a look

round for the Pictures--the paper you were looking at."



We found Myra sitting on the verandah and wondering what on earth had

kept us, and if we had changed our minds and gone straight back south

with Garnesk.



"I'm most awfully sorry, darling," I apologised. "It's all my fault,

of course. We went to Glasnabinnie, and since then I've been showing

Dennis the river and generally forgetting my duties as deputy host."



"What did you go to the river for?" Myra asked, suspiciously.



"Oh! just to have a look round, you know, dear. It's a very nice

river," I replied, airily.



"Ronnie, dear, please," she said gently, laying her hand on my arm and

turning her veiled and shaded face to mine, "please don't joke about

it. I can't bear to think of you running risks there."



I looked at my beautiful, blind darling, and a pang shot through me.



"God knows I'm not joking about it, dearest," I said sadly.



"I know you weren't really, Ronnie. But, please, oh! please, keep away

from the river."



"Very well, dear," I promised, "I will, unless an urgent duty takes me

there. We must solve this mystery somehow, and it may mean my going to

the river. But I promise not to run any unnecessary risks."



"I'll keep an eye on him and see that he takes care of himself, Miss

McLeod," said Dennis, coming to the rescue.



"Thank you, Mr. Burnham," the girl replied, "but you know it applies

to you as well. You must look after yourself also."



"By the way, dear," I asked, changing the subject, "have you a copy of

this week's Pictures?"



"I'm afraid not," she answered. "Must it be the Pictures? I've just

been looking at another illustrated paper."



"Looking at what?" I cried, jumping to my feet. "Darling, who's

talking about running risks?"



"Oh, it's all right, dear," she assured me. "I got Mary to bring my

dark-room lamp down to the den and just glanced at the pictures by the

red light. But I won't do it again, if it alarms you, dear. All the

same, I'm quite sure I could see by daylight."



"You promised Garnesk you wouldn't till you heard from him, darling,"

I urged. "It might be very dangerous, so please don't for my sake."



"Very well, then," Myra sighed, "I'll try to be good. But I hope he'll

write soon."



"Where do you think we could get a copy of the paper?" I asked

shortly.



"If it's frightfully important, dear, you might get one in Glenelg,

and, failing that, Doctor Whitehouse would lend you his. I know he

takes it in. Why are you so keen about it?"



"We'll go into the den and tell you everything in a minute or two,

dear," I promised. "Is there any objection to my sending Angus in to

the doctor?"



"None whatever," Myra declared, "he can go now if you like."



So after I had despatched Angus into the village with strict

instructions not to come back without a copy of the paper if he valued

his life, we all adjourned to Myra's den, and my friend and I told her

in detail everything that had happened. About an hour and a half later

Angus returned with the paper. I took it from him with a hurried word

of thanks and nervously turned over the pages.



"Ah! here's a page I didn't see," I exclaimed excitedly, but the only

thing on the whole page was a photograph of a new dancer appearing in

London. Without waiting for me to do so, Dennis leaned over me and

turned the page over with a quick jerk of the wrist.



"Phew!" I exclaimed involuntarily, and Dennis gave a long, low

whistle.



"Oh! what is it? Tell me!" pleaded Myra, anxiously.



"It's a photograph of our friend Fuller," I replied slowly, in a voice

that shook with excitement. "And he's wearing court dress, and

underneath the photograph are the words 'Baron Hugo von Guernstein,

Secretary of the Military Intelligence Department of the Imperial

German General Staff.'"