A Further Mystery

: The Mystery Of The Green Ray

"Well," said Hilderman, as we caught them up, "what about lunch? After

his journey I daresay Mr. Burnham has an appetite, not to mention his

excursion into the realm of detective fiction."



"We lunched at Mallaig," I explained, "with Mr. Garnesk before we saw

him off."



"Oh, did you?" he asked, with evident surprise. "I didn't see you at

the hotel."



"We went to the M rine," I replied, "to save ourselves a climb up the

hill."



"We had a snack at Mallaig too," the American continued, "intending to

lunch here. Are you sure you couldn't manage something?"



"It would have to be a very slight something," Dennis put in. "But I

daresay we could manage that."



"Good!" said Hilderman. "Come along, then, and let's see what we can

do."



We strolled into the drawing-room through the inevitable verandah,

and though Hilderman was the tenant of the furnished house he had

contrived to impart a suggestion of his own personality to the room.

The furniture was arranged in a delightfully lazy manner that almost

made you yawn. The walls were hung with photographic enlargements of

some of the most beautiful spots in the neighbourhood. I remembered

what Myra had told me as to his being an enthusiastic photographer, so

I asked him about them.



"Did you take these, Mr. Hilderman?"



"Yes," he answered. "These are just a few of the best. I have many

others which I should like you to see some time. I always leave the

enlarging to keep me alive during the winter months. These are a few

odd ones I enlarged for decorative purposes."



"They are beautiful," I said enthusiastically, for they were real

beauties, more like drawings in monochrome than photographs. "And

you certainly seem to have got about the neighbourhood since your

arrival."



"Yes," he laughed, "I don't miss much when I get out with my camera.

Most of these were taken during the first month of my stay here."



"These snow scenes from the Cuchulins are simply gorgeous, and surely

this is the Kingie Pool on the Garry?"



"Right first time," he admitted, evidently pleased to see his work

admired. I thought of Garnesk's suspicion that our American friend was

engaged on detective work of some kind, and it struck me that with his

camera and his obvious talent he had an excellent excuse for going

almost anywhere, supposing he were called upon at any time to explain

his presence in some outlandish spot.



"You must have kept yourself exceedingly busy," I remarked in

conclusion.



After the meal we adjourned to the hut above the falls. Hilderman

certainly had some right to be proud of his view. It was magnificent.

We stood outside the door and gazed out to sea, north, south and west,

for some minutes.



"You have the same uninterrupted view from inside," said Hilderman, as

we mounted the three steps to the door. He held the door open, and I

stepped in first, followed by Dennis and Fuller. The window extended

the whole length of the room, and folded inwards and upwards, in the

same way as some greenhouse windows do. Suddenly I laughed aloud.



"What's the joke?" asked Hilderman.



"This," I said, pointing to a large carbon transparency of a mountain

under snow, which hung in the window on the north side. "You've no

idea how this has been annoying us over at Invermalluch."



"How?" asked Dennis.



"It swings about in the breeze," I replied, "and it reflects the light

and catches everybody's eye. It's a very beautiful photograph, Mr.

Hilderman, but, like many human beings, it's exceedingly unpopular

owing to the position it holds."



"A thousand apologies, Mr. Ewart," said the American. "It shall be

removed at once."



"Oh, not at all!" I protested. "Surely you are entitled to hang a

positive of a photograph in your window without receiving a protest

from neighbours who live nearly three miles away."



"That's Invermalluch Lodge, then, across the water," Dennis asked.



"Yes," I replied, and we forgot about the transparency, which remained

in undisputed possession of a pitch to which it was certainly

entitled. We sat and smoked, and looked out at the mountains of Skye

and the wonderful panorama of sea and loch, with an occasional glance

at the gurgling waterfall at our feet, and presently I picked up a

copy of an illustrated paper which was lying at my hand. I turned the

pages idly, and threw a cursory glance at the photographs of the

week's brides, and the latest efforts of the theatrical press agents,

and I noticed, without thinking anything of the fact, that one page

had been roughly torn out. I was about to remark that probably the

most interesting or amusing picture in the whole paper had been

accidentally destroyed, when Fuller leaned across Dennis, and took the

paper out of my hands.



"Don't insult Mr. Hilderman's precious view by reading the paper in

his smoking-room, Mr Ewart," he said, with a loud laugh. "As a

Highlander you should have more tact than that."



Hilderman turned round, and looked from one to other of us.



"What paper is he reading? I didn't know there was one here."



I explained what paper it was, adding, "I quite admit that it was a

waste of time when I ought to be admiring your unrivalled view, Mr.

Hilderman. I offer you my sincere apologies."



Hilderman threw a quick glance at Mr. Fuller.



"Better give it him back, Fuller," he said. "There is nothing more

annoying than to have a paper snatched away from you when you're

half-way through it."



Shortly after that Fuller declared that he must be leaving, and asked

Hilderman rather pointedly whether he felt like a trip to Loch Duich.

I determined to step in with an idea of my own.



"I was going to make a suggestion myself, Mr. Hilderman," I began,

"but it doesn't matter if you are engaged."



"Well, I don't know that I'm particularly keen to come with you this

afternoon, Fuller," he remarked. "What was your suggestion, Mr.

Ewart?"



"I was wondering whether you would come over to Invermalluch with

Burnham and me and--er--have a look round with us?"



"Well, if Fuller doesn't think it exceedingly rude of me, I should

like to," the American replied, "especially as Mr. Burnham will be

leaving you to-morrow, or the day after at latest."



"Incidentally, I don't know how we shall get back without you," I

pointed out. "You see, we sent the motor-boat on."



"By Jove, so you did!" Hilderman exclaimed. "Well, that settles it,

Fuller."



"I could take them on the Fiona and put them ashore," his companion

persisted. Hilderman gave Fuller a look which seemed to clinch the

matter, however, for the little man beamed at me through his

spectacles, and explained that if he took us in his yacht it would be

killing two birds with one stone.



"Still, of course, my dear fellow," he concluded, "you must please

yourselves entirely."



So we saw him safely on board the Fiona, and then started for

Invermalluch in Hilderman's magnificent Wolseley launch.



"Fuller knows me," he explained, by way of apology. "I go up with him

sometimes as often as three times a week, but I gathered that you

asked me with a view to discussing the mystery of the green flash, or

whatever you call it."



"You're quite right; I did," I replied. "I simply want you to come and

have a look at the river, and see what you can make of it."



"Anything I can do, you know, Mr. Ewart," he assured me, "I shall be

delighted to do. If you think it will be of any assistance to you if I

explore the river with you--well, I'm ready now."



From that we proceeded to give him, at his request, minute details of

Garnesk's conclusions on the matter, and I am afraid I departed from

the truth with a ready abandon and a certain relish of which I ought

to have been most heartily ashamed.



When we stepped ashore at Invermalluch Hilderman looked back across

the water.



"If I'd waited for Fuller," he laughed, "I should have been stuck

there yet. He's let the water go off the boil or something."



We went up to the house and had tea on the verandah, for the General

had taken Myra up Loch Hourn in the motor-boat. After tea we got to

business.



"Now that I've had a very refreshing cup of tea," the American

remarked, "I feel rather like the mouse who said 'Now bring out your

cat' when he had consumed half a teaspoonful of beer! Now show me the

river."



"I don't want to sound at all panicky," I said, "but I think I ought

to warn you that our experiences at the particular spot we are going

to have--well, shall we say they have provided a striking contrast

from the routine of our daily life?"



"I'm not at all afraid of the river, Mr. Ewart," he replied lightly.

"I should be the last person to doubt the statements of yourself and

Miss McLeod and the General, but I am inclined to think the river has

no active part in the proceedings."



"You hold the view that it was the merest coincidence that Miss McLeod

and the General both had terrible and strange experiences at the same

spot?" asked Dennis.



"It seems to be the only sensible view to hold," Hilderman declared

emphatically. "I must say I think Miss McLeod's blindness might have

happened in her own room or anywhere else, and the General's strange

experience seems to me to be the delusion of overwrought nerves. I

confess there is only one thing I don't understand, and that is the

disappearance of the dog. That's got me beaten, unless it was that

crofter."



"We intend to go to the Saddle to-morrow and make a few

investigations. I was going by myself," I added cautiously, "but I

think I can persuade Burnham to stay and go with me."



"I certainly should stay for that, Mr. Burnham," Hilderman advised.

"One more day can't make much difference."



"I'll think it over," said Dennis, careful not to commit himself

rashly.



We came to the Dead Man's Pool, and crossed over the river, and began

to walk up the other side.



"This is about the right time for a manifestation of the mystery," I

remarked lightly, though I was far from laughing about the whole

thing.



"Well," said Hilderman, "if we are to see the green flash in operation

I hope it will be in a gentle mood, and not pull our teeth out one by

one or anything of that sort." Evidently he had little sympathy with

our fear of the green ray and the awe with which we approached the

neighbourhood of the river.



"Are we going to the right place?" Dennis asked. "I mean the identical

spot?"



"That lozenge-shaped thing up there is the Chemist's Rock," I replied,

"and the other important place is Dead Man's Pool, which we have just

left."



"Miss McLeod went blind on the Chemist's Rock, didn't she?" Dennis

inquired.



"Yes," I replied, with a shudder. "She was fishing from it."



"Then suppose we go back to the pool," he suggested. We agreed readily

enough, for I had no desire to hang about the fateful rock, and

Hilderman for his part seemed to have no faith in the idea at all. I

fancy he thought it would make no difference to us in what part of the

river we might be, only provided we didn't fall in. So Dennis led the

way back, and he was the first to pick his way to the middle of the

stream. Hilderman and I were some distance behind. Suddenly we stopped

stock-still, and looked at him. He had begun to cough and splutter,

and he seemed rooted to the small stone he was standing on in the

middle of the stream. In a flash I understood, and with a cry I

bounded after him, Hilderman following at my heels.



"It's all right, Ewart," cried Hilderman behind me. "He's only choked,

or something of that sort. He'll be all right in a minute."



Dennis had crossed to the centre of the stream by a way of his own,

and we ran down to the stepping-stones by which we had come, in order

to save the time which we should have been compelled to waste in

feeling for a foothold as we went. Every second was of importance, and

I fully expected to see Dennis topple unconscious into the pool below

before I should be able to save him. I knew what it was exactly; he

was going through my own horrible experience of "drowning on dry

land," to quote Garnesk's vigorous phrase. Imagine my astonishment,

therefore, when I reached Dennis's side with only a slight difficulty

in breathing. There was no sign, or at least very little, of the air

which was "heavier than water." Hilderman plunged along behind me,

and we reached the stone on which my friend was standing almost

simultaneously. Dennis held an arm pointing up the river, his face

transfixed with an expression of horrified amazement. Suddenly

Hilderman gave a hoarse, shrill shout, breaking almost into a scream.



"Shut your eyes!" he yelled. "Shut your eyes! Oh, for heaven's sake,

shut your eyes!"



But I never thought of following his advice. Dennis's immovable arm,

pointing like an inanimate signpost up the river, fascinated me.

Slowly I raised my eyes in that direction. Then I stepped back with a

startled cry, lost my footing, slipped, and fell on my face among the

rocks.



The river had disappeared!