Castaways of the Flying Dutchman

takes over the village for his cement business? Surely you'll be out of house and home, won't you, Hetty?"

She tapped the tabletop with a stick-like finger. "D'you know what Smithers said, 'e said I could live there, in

the spare room, an' he'd deduct lodgin' out of me wages. There! What d'you think of that, eh?"

Ben played the gossipy maid like a fish on a line. "So it looks like he's got things well in hand. Does he talk

much about the new venture?"

Hetty looked this way and that, as if others were listening in on the conversation, then put a hand to the side of

her mouth and dropped her voice to a confidential half-whisper. "Just between me'n you, 'e never stops talkin' about it.

Now, I'm not one for gossipin' an' repeatin' things, but you should've 'eard the argument Mr. Smithers an' Maud Bowe

'ad this mornin' over breakfast. It was fearful, I tell you, fearful!"

Mrs. Winn caught the nod from Ben, so she immediately took over his role, leaning forward to Hetty like a

conspirator, whilst dismissing the boy. "Er, Ben, perhaps you'd better go and wash up for dinner." As Ben left the

room, he heard Mrs. Winn murmuring to the maid. "Oh, poor Hetty, you look so upset. Tell me all about it, dear."

It was seven-thirty that evening. Hetty had departed, taking with her a jar of homemade blackberry jam and Mrs.

Winn's condolences for the indignities she was forced to bear under the Smithers regime. Ben was sitting with Ned at

his feet, Mrs. Winn with Horatio at hers, all replete after a Sunday dinner of Winnie's roast lamb and vegetables,

followed by trifle with fresh cream. Ben waited, containing his curiosity until the old lady was ready to divulge what

Hetty Sullivan had told her earlier. Mrs. Winn allowed Horatio to leap up onto her lap, and she stroked him as she

related the maid's conversation.

"It's not good news, I'm afraid. Apparently Hetty heard every word. They were shouting and ranting at each

other. Smithers is confident of the Chapelvale takeover and kept ignoring Maud's argument that something urgent be

done about me. Apparently I'm the fly in their ointment. Smithers reckons the other villagers will fall into line; he can

bully them with his legal jargon, compulsory purchase orders, and talk of big-money London investment companies.

But he's finding it difficult to push me about—I'm the only one who is resisting him, you see!"

The strange boy's blue eyes showed their admiration of the plucky old lady, and he winked knowingly at her.

"And you intend fighting Smithers and the Londoners every inch of the way. Good for you, marm!"

Horatio jumped down from Mrs. Winn's lap. She shook her head wearily. "I don't let others see it, but I'm a bit

frightened really. I own this house and I can prove it, but the rest? Oh dear, it's all a bit up in the air. Captain Winn

knew more about it than me. What a pity he's not here to help. The almshouse is a big building—it takes up an entire

corner of the village square. It was always regarded as belonging to the Winn family, all the village land, too. I just

took it for granted.

Nobody ever asked me to produce title deeds, or confirmation of ownership. Not until Smithers and his London

acquaintances came along. If I want to carry on the fight, I need proper proof of ownership!"

Ben interrupted her. "What else did Hetty tell you she overheard?"

The old lady fiddled with her worn wedding ring. "Well, Maud Bowe told Smithers that they would lose the

contract if they don't have me moved out and the almshouse in their possession by the due date. Smithers blustered a

bit, but wasn't quite sure how to deal with the problem. Then Maud said that she had friends in London who could

take care of me."

Ben looked questioningly at her. "Friends?"

The old lady looked worried as she continued. "Aye, friends she called them. But Smithers knew what she was

talking about. He said that he'd have nothing to do with Maud's plan, said he was a man with a respectable family and

high standing in the village, and that he didn't want paid bullies coming here from London!"

This was an unexpected turn of events, though Ben was not surprised at the things big-city business firms would

come up with in achieving their aims. He tried not to let his concern show. "Oh, and what are these so-called big-city

friends supposed to do?"

The old lady fussed with her apron strings. "Frighten me out of my house, Maud said. Smithers told her that if it

came to light, he'd deny all knowledge of the whole thing. But she replied that it was only the same thing he had been

trying to do through his bullying son and the gang he has around him. That seemed to shut Smithers up."

Ben had a question to ask. "When are these 'big-city friends' supposed to arrive in Chapelvale, Miz Winn?"

She shrugged. "Hetty never said, but she did mention that the minute Wilf arrived home this afternoon, Maud

went up to her room to write a letter."

Ben pondered this for a moment. "Suppose it takes a letter two days to get to London from here. Give it another

day for these people to get themselves organized, and say the better part of a day for them to travel up here. Four days.

Say sometime next Thursday, late afternoon."

Mrs. Winn rose and started clearing dishes from the table. "What are we going to do, Ben?"

Gazing out of the window at the glorious summer evening, Ben patted his dog's head. "Leave this to us, Win-

nie!"

24.

WHEN JONATHAN PRESTON took down the shutters from the almshouse back windows, morning sunlight

flooded in. It was nice to have a bit of light and fresh air in the old place, he thought, taking the lamps down from the

beam and extinguishing them. A piece of floorboard timber, weighted down by two bricks, stood on the table; he

lifted them to one side. The old ship's carpenter smiled with satisfaction at the two pieces of paper he had rejoined

skillfully with fish glue and rice paper as a backing. He held it up to the light, looking at the four small holes,

murmuring to himself. "Good as new, writing's all joined up proper now.

"Lord, if it be thy will and pleasure,

Keep safe for the house of De Winn thy treasure."

He gazed at the paper awhile, then put it down, massaging the corners of his eyes with finger and thumb. "Wish

I knew what those four little holes mean!"

He was putting the kettle on for tea and cutting some bread and cheese, when Ben's face showed at the window.

"Morning, mate. Is it all right to come in? I've brought my friends along."

Jon straightened up, one hand on the small of his back. "Bring 'em in, lad, by all means!"

Amy and Ned climbed through the windowspace with Ben. Alex followed behind, a touch hesitant. When they

were introduced, the old seaman cut up the cheese rinds with his clasp knife, feeding them to the black Labrador and

scratching vigorously behind the dog's ears. "This dog o' yours, Ben, he's a fine animal. Aren't you, boy?"

Ned gazed adoringly at the old carpenter, passing a thought to Ben. "What a nice old cove. He certainly knows

how to treat a dog. Mmmmmm! Carry on, sir, more to the left, ah, that's it. Best ear scratcher I've met in many a year.

Mmmmmm!"

Ben nudged the dog with his foot. "Move over a bit, Ned, you're beating me to death with that tail of yours!" He

pointed to the rejoined paper on the table. "You've done a good job there, old friend. Found any more clues or bits of

information?"

Jon shook his head. "Nothing, lad, though I was just going to give this place a good cleanup to see what I might

come across. Would you and your pals like t'help me?"

Amy rolled up her sleeves. "Right, tell us what to do!"

Sweeping the floor was out of the question. It raised too much dust, but there was lots of old timber needed

stacking outside. Ben and Amy passed it out through the window, and Alex and Jon stacked it up against the outside

wall. They worked right through until midday, when they stopped to have a small lunch of the old seaman's bread and

cheese and a cup of tea. All four sat on the window ledge, surrounded by dust motes, which swirled in the air like tiny

golden specks. Jon appeared well satisfied with the job they had done thus far.

"Looks a lot better, don't it. Now that old floorboard plankin' is out of the way, I'll be able to move my table into

the corner."

The younger boy had lost his initial shyness about Jon and pointed to the table. "Look at that table's far leg.

You'll either have to fix it or find another one."

Jon stared at the leg in question, which up until then had been hidden behind a stack of wood. "Aye, so I will,

mate— there's a piece of it missin', see. 'Tis balanced on that tin biscuit box. Must've been like that since I arrived

here an' I've never noticed it. Let me see, now."

The old man took the two bricks he had used as weights. Standing on edge atop of one another they were the

depth of the tin. "Ben, Alex, hold that table up an' I'll wedge these under."

It was a heavy table, and the two boys gasped as they held it up. Amy pushed the tin out of the way whilst Jon

stuck the bricks in position. "All right, you two, let it down easy, careful now!"

Jon tested the table, it was solid and unmoving. "That's shipshape! Let's take a look at that rusty, old tin box,

Amy."

Amy placed the box on the table. "Feels like there's stuff inside!"

Jon traced the lip of the tin lid. "Rusted tight, hah! Villier's Afternoon Tea Wafers. Some years since I set eyes

on them. Only one way to find out what's inside, mates!" Jon had a useful-looking can opener on his clasp knife. He

punched it through the corroded metal and began vigorously working it along the edge. The tin was not as weak as it

first appeared to be, and the old seaman's opener caused a skreeking noise that made the three young people wince. He

stopped only when he had cut down three edges. "Papers!"

Covering his palm with the sleeve edge of his jersey, he wrenched the flap of tin back and shook out the

contents onto the table. Immediately the four began sorting through the papers. They were yellowed with age. Amy

studied one.

"Old back issues of the Chapelvale Chronicle! Look at this one, it's dated 1783. 'Pitt the Younger becomes

British Prime Minister.' 'American Independence to be recognized.' 'Monsieur Montgolfier is to fly in a balloon.' I'll

bet Mr. Braithwaite would be interested in these."

Jon piled them in a stack. He seemed disappointed. "Well, they're of little use to anyone else. Come on, lass,

let's take them over to him."

Being a historian, Mr. Braithwaite was delighted with the find. So eager was he to have the papers that he made

a grab at them, knocked them off the library desk, and sent them in a cascade across the parquet floor. "Er, oh dear, er,

I do beg your pardon, Mr. Preston. Very, er, clumsy of me, I'm sure!"

But the old carpenter was not listening, he was holding up a square of material which had fallen out from

between the folds of one edition of the Chronicle. "Look what I've found."

Alex recognized the thing instantly. "That's a needlework sampler, like children used to embroider their

alphabets on. What does it say?"

Amy knelt by Jon and read aloud the bit she could understand. " 'Evelyn De Winn. 1673.' Ben, it was sewn by

one of Winnie's family!" The embroidered writing was extremely neat, showing what a clever needlewoman Evelyn

De Winn had been, though it was hard to make out the rest of the letters, as a lot of them were strangely archaic, each

letter s being shaped like an f.

Mr. Braithwaite was suddenly transformed from a bumbling librarian into a scholar of Old English text. He took

up pen and paper excitedly. "Give it here, I'll translate for you. Amelia, sit there and write this down, please!"

There were no "ers," "ahs," or other hesitations from Mr. Braithwaite as he dictated in a clear, slow voice to her:

"Take the Commandments paces west,

away from the bless'd naming place,

to where the heavenly twins stand ever

gazing at Sol's dying face.

Turn as a third Gospelmaker would

to the house named for the rock,

'twixt here and there you must stop to drink,

your first reward to unlock."

Mr. Braithwaite scratched his fuzzy mane. "Hmm, 1670, a time of persecution for British Catholics and noncon-

formists. That was when the almshouse ceased to be St. Peter's and the new church was built on the hilltop. They

called it the Chapelvale Church, though secretly it was still known to the local Catholics as St. Peter's, hence its

present name."

Jon indicated the sampler. "Thankee, sir, you can keep this for your library archives, we'll make do with Amy's

translation."

The librarian was once again his former self. "Er, quite, er, that is, thank you, Mr., er, yes, very good!"

25.

BACK AT THE ALMSHOUSE ALL TIDYING UP was forgotten as they sat around the big oblong table and

studied the poem from the sampler and Amy read out the first line slowly." 'Take the Commandments paces west.'"

Jon shrugged his shoulders. "What's a Commandments pace?"

Ben had guessed, but he let Alex answer. "Must mean ten paces, because . . . there's ten Commandments!"

"True, true." The old man nodded approvingly. Ben winked at Alex. "Well done, pal."

" 'Away from the bless'd naming place,' " Amy went on.

Alex looked disappointed. "That's not so easy."

Amy reasoned, "Whatever a bless'd naming place is, we've got to take ten paces away from it. Naming place,

naming place. Any ideas, Ben?"

Ben looked stumped. "Naming place, let me see... Does it mean the name of a place, or a name like mine and

yours, Amy, Alex, Jon—"

The old ship's carpenter interrupted. "I remember when I was young, I hated my full title, Jonathan. Though my

ma used to say, 'Jonathan you were christened and Jonathan you shall stay.' You can't change your christening name!"

Ned had settled down for his afternoon nap beneath the table, when Ben disturbed him by banging on the table

as he gritted out in frustration, "The bless'd naming place, where is it?"

Recognition hit Alex like a slap in the face. "Christening! Naming place! It's where they baptize babies!" Amy

whooped delightedly and hugged him. "What a clever brother I've got, he's a genius!"

Crimson-faced, Alex shrugged off his sister's embrace. "Where was the naming place here, Jon, d'you know?"

Ned flashed his master a thought. "Right under this table, I think. Feels as if this bumpy chunk of stone's the

base of something bigger that was broken off." The Labrador shuffled lazily out to find another napping spot,

remarking, "Of course, I might be wrong, but it's worth a try."

Ben mentally answered his friend's idea. "Thanks, pal. Now let's see if I can discover it without giving away our

secret."

Jon was stroking his beard, looking this way and that.

"Hmm, baptismal font, every church has one, though I've never thought of a font being in this old place.

Hmmm."

Ben patted Ned as he lumbered by. He spoke aloud to the dog, so his three friends could hear.

"What's the matter, old boy, not comfy enough under there? Let's take a look." Dropping on all fours, he

crawled under the table. "Hahah!"

At the sound of Ben's exclamation, Amy crouched and stared under the table at him. "Something there?"

"I think so, it's a sort of raised square bit with a broken part sticking out the middle. Will that be it, Jon?"

The old ship's carpenter nodded to Alex. "It may be. It may be. Let's move this table. You take one side. Lass,

take care of the two bricks under the leg. Stay there, Ben!"

The table was moved, the boy stayed on all fours by the remnants of the baptismal font, looking up at Amy for

approval. Instead, it was the Labrador who received her hug.

"Good old Ned, it was due to you we found it, good boy!"

If a dog could ever smirk, Ned did. He flicked his tail toward his master. "Sorry about that, pal, but credit where

it's due, y'know. Nothing like a hug from a pretty girl, eh!"

But Ben was more intent on solving the mystery than bantering with Ned. He watched Jon trace the graven

lettering around the limestone base with his clasp knife blade, reading aloud. " 'In nomine Patris, et filius, et spiritus

sanctus.' In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit—I remember that from Sunday Mass when I was a

lad. This is it. This stub is probably the column of the font basin. How did the rhyme read, boy?"

"Take the Commandments paces west,

away from the bless'd naming place."

Alex walked over and stood by the font base. "Ten paces west from here. Anyone got a compass?" He met Jon's

slightly disapproving stare blankly. "How'r we supposed to know which way west is?"

The old ship's carpenter smiled. "I can tell you've never been to sea. Show him, lad."

Ben faced the open rear windows, warm with afternoon sunlight. "West's where the sun sets, over there."

Alex began measuring out ten paces solemnly in the right direction. Amy sat down on the floor beside her

strange friend, and whispered to him. "Jon said that as if you'd been to sea. Have you, Ben?"

He tried to shrug off the question. "The sea? Oh, for just a little bit, nothing much really."

She stared curiously into his clouded blue eyes. It started to race through his mind again—how could he tell her:

wind, waves, storm, the world of waters. A dumb boy and a half-starved dog, crouching in the galley of the Flying

Dutchman, with a captain (Vanderdecken) roaring oaths at the heavens as he tried battling his way around Cape Horn

in the teeth of winter gales. Murder on the high seas, an angel dropping to the deck, the numbing shock of being

plunged into an icy green maelstrom of ocean.

He was wrenched back to reality by Jon clapping a huge arm about his shoulders. "Are you all right, lad?"

The feeling ebbed. He shook himself. "Er, yes, mate, I'm fine. Bumped my head on that table when you moved

it. I'll be all right, it's nothing."

His dog had caught Ben's thoughts. To distract Amy he leapt on her and began licking her face.

She tried laughingly to push him off. "Hahaha, what've I done to deserve all this? Get off me, you great silly

dog!"

Ben shook a finger at her as he held Ned's collar. "Don't blame him, Amy, you started all the hugging off!"

Her brother called, "I'm about three feet from the window here. That's ten paces. What happens now?"

The old ship's carpenter took over. He paced out ten steps, going past Alex to arrive one pace outside the open

windows in the churchyard. "Your pace was shorter than the person who wrote the rhyme, mate. Mine is slightly

longer, I think. But it's somewhere about here."

They joined him outside in the late afternoon. Amy brought the translation with her, she read the next part.

"To where the heavenly twins stand ever

gazing at Sol's dying face."

Alex winked at Jon. "That's got nothing to do with going to sea, I'll bet. Come on, mate, let's see you solve this

one!" A real friendship was beginning to show between the hesitant boy and the old carpenter.

Jon ruffled Alex's hair as he looked around. "Give me a bit of time, matey, we'll crack it!"

The Labrador snickered as he passed Ben a thought. "The heavenly twins, that could be us!"

The boy struggled to hide a grin. "Heavenly? Not you, mate. Now stop fooling about and help us."

Amy sat on the windowsill. "Heavenly twins.... Maybe it's those two stars, you know, the sign of Gemini.

They're always called the heavenly twins!"

Jon gazed up at the sky, thinking aloud. "Only trouble with that is, it's daylight. How could the heavenly twins

watch Sol's dying face?"

The younger boy plucked a blade of grass and chewed on one end. "What's a Sol?"

Ben had heard the expression before, so he explained. "Sol is a name given to the sun. The sun sinks in the west,

you've heard the expression. The dying sun sank into the west. I've read it in books many a time."

Amy nodded. "Ben's right. So what we're looking for are two things. Heavenly twins standing ever gazing at

Sol's dying face." She walked out into the churchyard, grass rustling against her long skirt. Ben followed her.

Together they stopped, about halfway across, and leaned on one of the many crooked moss-grown gravestones,

staring at the back of the almshouse. Ben saw the twins straight away, but he waited a moment until Amy caught sight

of them. She leapt upright, pointing. "There they are, underneath the middle window: the twins!"

Two gracefully fluted columns of limestone formed the window edges. Beneath them, as if supporting the

columns with their wings, stood two carved stone angels, facing outward, their hands joined in prayer, faces looking

upward to heaven. Amy's voice caused a prowling jackdaw to take flight as she shouted shrilly, "The heavenly twins

standing ever gazing at Sol's dying face!"

Ned looked accusingly at his master, passing a thought. "You knew that, didn't you? Before Amy called out,

you'd guessed where the angels were. I must say, though, having seen a real angel, those two don't bear much

resemblance, huh!"

Ben raised his eyebrows. "Don't be hard on the stonemason, Ned, he'd probably never seen an angel."

" 'Turn as a third Gospelmaker would to the house named for the rock,' " Alex read out loud. "Now I'm really

stumped. I don't know any Gospelmakers."

The old carpenter drew a silver watch from his pocket and consulted it. "Well, we can all go home and think

about it.

You'll be wanted for dinner soon. I say we meet back here tomorrow, same time?"

Alex grumbled a bit; he was certain they were on to something, but Jon was right. Ben and his dog stood with

Amy on the other side of the wall, waiting while her brother bid his newfound friend good-bye. Alex held forth his

hand.

"See you tomorrow morning, then, Jon. Don't worry, we'll solve it. We're doing something to save Mrs. Winn's

village for her. Not like some of the dead and alive types around Chapel-vale, eh, mate?"

Alex's hand vanished inside the old carpenter's huge grasp. Jon's eyes crinkled into a fond smile as he shook it.

"Aye, mate, we won't go wrong with you helpin' us!"

Dinner had already been served at the Smithers house. Maud Bowe retired outside to the garden, where she sat,

perusing the illustrated pages of a book entitled Fashion Hints for the Lady about Town. Though she gave the

impression of enjoying her country stay, Maud was longing to be back among her friends in London. Young Wilf

slouched out into the garden, a heavy bandage and splint on his right arm, which was resting in a sling. He scowled at

Maud and slumped down into a cast-iron chair, drumming his heels hard against the legs. Maud glanced over the top

of her book at him.

"Wilfred, do you have to make that din?"

He drummed his steel-tipped boot heels louder, staring defiantly at her. "Name's not Wilfred, it's Wilf!"

Closing the book, she stared primly at him. "All right, then. Will you cease that infernal noise, Wilf?"

He stopped, smiled maliciously, and started drumming again. "I can do what I like 'round here. I live here, you

don't!"

"I'll tell your father!" "Go and tell him, I don't care."

Maud massaged the side of her forehead daintily. The noise was really getting to her. Finally she stamped her

foot.

"Why don't you go up to your room? I thought you were supposed to be injured. You should be in bed!"

Wilf was enjoying tormenting her and beat his heels faster. "Mother says I need fresh air. You go up to your

room!"

Maud knew she had lost the battle of wills. Before she retired to her room, she stood over Wilf, hissing nastily.

"Stupid village clod! Wilfred, Wilfred, Wilfred!"

Wilf continued drumming, grinning smugly at her.

"Miss Maudy toffee nose!"

She stalked off without another word, her thoughts racing. Maybe when her father's toughs came up from

London, she could find a reason for one of them to give Wilf an accidental cuff across the ear. They were good at

things like that.

When she had gone, Wilf produced pencil and paper from his sling and began laboriously writing, trying to use

his left hand. It was useless, Regina would write for him. This time he would fix Ben for good, without violence or

fighting. He sat waiting for his gang to visit.

26.

DUSK WAS TAKING THE PLACE OF DAYlight. Outside the lace-curtained windows, a nightingale's

melody was punctuated by an owlhoot, and dusty moths beat their wings on the windowpanes, in an effort to reach the

interior light.

It was just before Mrs. Winn's bedtime. She sat at the kitchen table with Ben, trying to help him with the riddle.

He had told her of the discoveries that he, Amy, Alex, and Jon had made so far. The old lady seemed tired and

despondent. "Do you really think any of this will help me and the village, Ben? Time's growing shorter by the day

now. This all sounds a bit airy-fairy, compared to the way Smithers and his London firm are forging ahead. I looked at

one of those clearance notices posted in the square. It's so official, so full of legal jargon. All 'wheretofore' and

'hereinafter' and 'clause B subsection D,' it made my head spin. Oh, I wish we could come back at them with

something more solid instead of a few ideas based on guesswork."

Ben saw the old lady was close to tears. She was plainly scared and worried by the entire situation. He took her

hand. "Stop fretting, Miz Winn, everything will turn out for the best, you'll see. Now come on, help me with this

problem. 'Turn as a third Gospelmaker would to the house named for the rock.' Does that mean anything to you?"

Mrs. Winn went to warm some milk. "There were four Gospelmakers: Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. They're

always referred to in that order, so Luke must be the third Gospelmaker. Does that make any sense?"

Ben watched her spooning cocoa and sugar into a jug. "Yes, yes. You're right! So which way would Luke turn,

north, south, east, west; left, right, backward, or forward?"

The black Labrador, who was lying with his chin on both front paws, chuckled. "That's a question—which way

would Luke look. Luke look, get it?" ...

Ben looked sternly at the dog. "This is no time for jokes. If you can't help, then take a nap."

Ned closed both eyes, thinking, "Luke looks left."

Ben answered the thought. "How d'you know that?"

The dog opened his eyes. "I can't explain it, but it sounds right, doesn't it? Luke looks left."

Ben said it aloud. "Luke looks left. What d'you think, Miz Winn?"

She paused from stirring warm milk into the mixture in the jug. "Hmm, Luke looks left.... Of course, L is for

left, R is for right. Luke starts with L, so that must be it. Well done, my boy!"

Ned snorted aloud and closed his eyes again. However, he soon opened them again when the old lady filled his

bowl with hot cocoa. She poured warm milk for Horatio.

"He's never been fond of cocoa, so I give him warm milk."

Ned threw out a thought as he slurped cocoa noisily. "Huh, foolish old feline!"

Mrs. Winn was far too tired to continue clue-solving. Ben took her arm and walked her through to the

downstairs room where she slept. When he returned to the kitchen, Ned was standing alert, watching the door. He

communicated a thought to his master.

"Keep quiet, mate. There's somebody outside!" The patter of receding footsteps sent Ben hurrying to the door.

He opened it in time to see the fat form of Tommo, scurrying through the gateway. A note had been fixed to the door

with a tack. After allowing Ned out to check the garden for other intruders, Ben took the note in and read it. Wilf's

hand was useless for writing, he had dictated it to Regina, but her spelling and grammar were no better than his. Ben

smiled as he perused the untidy pencil scrawl.

I carn't fight you cos my hand is dammiged, but I want to

talk too you. Be outside Evans's shop tomorrow night, ten

minnits before midnight.

W.S., Grange Gang Leader.

P.S. You better be their!

Ned trotted in from the garden, shaking his head. "No sign of anyone out there, Ben, what's in the note?"

The boy folded the paper and shoved it in his pocket. "Just another of Wilf's little games, tell you tomorrow.

What say we go to bed now, eh, pal?"

The Labrador wagged his tail lazily. "Good idea. Oh no, look who's at the window!"

It was Horatio. He had followed the dog outside and Ben, not knowing, shut the door on him. The cat stood

tapping the windowpane and meowing plaintively. Ben let him in by the window, and Horatio cleared the sink in one

smooth leap. Landing lightly on the floor, he glared accusingly at Ned.

Ben chuckled. "What's he saying?"

Ned translated the cat's thoughts. "The usual gobbledy-gook: sardines, milk, butterflies, mice, and so on. Says

he likes being out of a night, but prefers to finish his milk inside." The big dog drained his cocoa bowl.

"Sensible cat. Come on, Ned, bed for us. Good night, Horatio."

Ned followed his master upstairs, chuntering to himself. "Sensible cat, my paw! Great, foolish furball, more like

it!"

27.

EARLY-MORNING SHOPPERS WERE drifting into Chapelvale village square, and shopkeepers splashed

pails of water about, cleaning their section of walkway and entrance. A market gardener was delivering fresh

vegetables and flowers to the green-grocers; the gardener's horse clopped its metal-shod hoofs against the

cobblestones, causing sparks to fly.

Feeling slightly crestfallen, Ben arrived at the back of the almshouse only to find Alex and Amy already there

with the old seaman. Furthermore, Amy had already solved the "Luke to the left" problem. Ben did not show his

disappointment, telling himself that it was better for the villagers to help themselves anyway. He smiled at Amy.

"Clever bit of thinking that, L for Luke and L for left. I lay for ages trying to sort it out in bed last night—my

mind was a blank. Good job you solved it, Amy."

Jon sat down on the window ledge, stroking his beard. "Aye, our Amy's a bright girl, but it still don't solve

much. Turn to the left yourself, Ben. What do you see?"

Ben did as Jon bid him, looking off to the left in a straight line. "Hmm, nothing much, just the usual countryside,

trees, farmland, some fields, and the church on top of the hill."

Amy stood alongside him. "We're looking for the house named for the rock, though what that's supposed to be

goodness knows."

Alex had an idea. "Maybe there's a house or a cottage out there called Gibraltar; that's a rock. Sometimes people

name their house after a place they've visited. Or a religious person might have named their house after the Rock of

Ages, like in the hymn."

Ben nodded. "You could be right. Are there any places out there like that, named after a rock? Who'd know a

thing like that?"

Jon stood up. "Mr. Braithwaite will know. Let's go and ask him."

As they were about to pull the heavy door of the almshouse shut behind them, a voice called out. "Now then,

young 'uns, she's runnin' fine today!"

A cheery, ruddy-faced fellow, clad in dairyman's smock and gaiters, reined up a smartly varnished gig, pulled

by a dun mare. Ben followed Amy and Alex as they ran to greet him.

"Good morning, Will." Amy patted the mare's flank. "Is Delia over her colic? She looks well!"

He eyed the mare fondly. "Ole Delia's bright as a button, thanks to your dad. I don't know what was in that

medicine he gave her, but it certainly got rid of her colic. I've just finished my milk'n'eggs round, why don't you come

up to the farm for a visit? Eileen'd be pleased to see you. Hi, Jon Preston, you ole hermit. Fancy a cup o' decent tea an'

some scones up at my farm'ouse?"

Moments later they were in the gig, all sitting on empty milk churns and egg crates, as Delia jogged spiritedly

up the back lane toward the hill beyond.

Alex looked around. "Where's Ned?"

Ben shrugged. "Oh, that fellow, he's probably off exploring somewhere. Don't worry about the old boy, he'll

find us when he wants to. Is it far to the farm?"

Alex gestured up ahead. "About halfway up the hill, it's called Hillside Farm. Will Drummond is our local dairy

farmer. His family've had a place up there for centuries. My dad often tends his animals when they're ill. He says

Will's a good man, you'll like him. Bet his mother knows if there's a place named after a rock hereabouts. She knows

everything!"

Will's wife, Eileen, was a bustling lady with an ever-present smile. Holding an infant of just over two years on

her forearm, she came out into the cobbled farmyard to meet them. "Look, liddle Willum, 'ere's daddy, an' friends with

him, too. Come on, Delia my beauty, I got an apple for ye!"

Introductions were made all around. Ben and Alex helped the dairyman unload the empty churns and eggboxes

before going in for tea.

Eileen Drummond's scones, served with clotted cream and strawberry jam, were a real treat. As they ate, Ben

explained all they were doing in an effort to save Chapelvale but how time was running out. And how they couldn't

figure out a house named for a rock.

It was cool and shady in the old, low-beamed farmhouse, with its whitewashed walls, tile floor, and little

bull's-eye-paned windows. Will's mother, Sarah, sat installed in her wing chair by the fireplace, a Bible upon her knee,

listening carefully until Ben finished talking. She was a bright, alert little woman, quick and bird-like in her actions.

Drawing a knitted black shawl close around her narrow shoulders, she shook her head disapprovingly at Jon and

his three young friends and tapped the Bible meaningfully. "Place named after the rock?

"Hah, I can tell you haven't read your scriptures properly. But that's no surprise. Most folk these days don't seem

to have the time to heed the word of the Lord!"

Will chided her gently. "Now now, Ma. Don't take on so. Just 'cos folks don't study scripture all the time,

doesn't mean they ain't good people. Look at me, I don't read the Bible a lot, but I'm honest an' hardworking."

His mother gave him a hard stare. "Ye'd be a lot better if ye did, Will, an' your friends, too. They should know

what the Lord said to his disciple. 'Thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church'! 'Tis written here in the

good book. So then, tell me, what's the name o' the church atop of this hill?"

Will blurted out, "St. Peter's!"

The old woman could not help looking slightly smug as she sat back, patting her Bible. "Tell me the rest of your

puzzle."

Alex recited the lines from memory:

" ' 'Twixt here and there you must stop to drink, your first reward to unlock.' "

Eileen smote the table so hard that she almost upset her teapot. "I got it!"

Baby Willum thought it was a good game, and he began banging on the tabletop and giggling. Eileen passed

him to his father. "Go to Daddy, there's a good lad. I got it, I solved your rhyme! Hillside Farm is 'alfway 'twixt the

almshouse an' St. Peter's church. We're the only place 'round 'ere with a well!"

Will bounced the baby up and down on his knee. "Ain't yore mum the clever one, babe Willum!"

The old seaman leaned across the table, his scone and tea forgotten. "I never knew you had a well here."

Will allowed the baby to slide down and toddle across to Amy. "Been a well on this land as long as there's been

a farm. Come on, I'll show it ye."

Across the farmyard from the milking shed was a separate stone building, used as a storehouse. Will lit a lantern

and hung it from a center beam. Sacks of potatoes, carrots, turnips, and root vegetables ranged around the walls.

Cheeses lay on a wooden platform and hams hung from the rafters. In the center stood the well, housed by a circular

stone wall with a bucket and pulley.

Eileen leaned over the wall and shuddered. "Dark ole place 'tis, though the water's cold an' sweet."

Will wound the bucket down. They heard it splash into the water below. He hauled it up, filled to the brim.

"Best water in the county, I reckon. It comes from an underground stream, purified by the limestone an' clear as a bell.

What d'you reckon to look for down there?"

Jon stared down into the darkness. "The first reward."

Eileen chuckled. "No reward for you, Jon Preston, you're far too big 'n' heavy to fit into a water pail."

Immediately, Ben volunteered. "I'll go down!"

Armed with another smaller lantern, Ben sat astride the water pail. Jon and Will manned the pulley handle, the

latter giving instructions. "There's some tools o' mine in the bucket if you need 'em. Go careful now, lad, and keep

tight hold of that rope."

The pulley creaked as the two men lowered Ben down into the wellshaft. Amy stood by, holding little Willum's

hand. "What's it like down there, Ben?"

The boy's voice echoed up out of the shaft. "Just an old circular wall, nothing much to see. I'll look at one side

on the way down and the other side on the way up. Hold that, Will! My feet are touching water!"

Jon peered down at the light far below. The rope began straining and going from side to side. He called down.

"Steady on, Ben. Don't bounce about so much!"

"I'm just turning around so I can see the other half of the wall." His voice echoed. "There, that's better, haul up

slow now!"

Will and Jon bent their backs to the task. They had not given more than four full turns when Ben yelled, "Stop!

Lower away a touch ... a bit more___There, that's it!"

Alex poked his head over. "What is it, Ben, what've you found?"

"One of the wall stones, bigger than the rest. Twice as large. It's not cemented in like the others . . . someone's

jointed it in with lead. Wait a moment!"

There was a dull thudding of hammer and chisel, then Ben called up. "Aye, it's lead. Easy to get out, it's very

old and perished. I can almost pull it out by hand."

A splashing sounded from below, followed by the boy's voice. "Sorry, Will, some of it has fallen into the

water."

The young farmer leaned over the edge. "Don't you worry about that, boy, the stream'll wash it away. Let the

stone go if you have to."

They could hear Ben grunting with exertion as he maneuvered the heavy stone, pushing it back and forth, using

the chisel as a lever, reporting his progress as he went. "I've got it almost half out! Whew, it's a big 'un, but it's moving

fairly well. Shall I try to get it into the bucket, Will?"

"No, the weight would be too much, lad. Let it go!"

This was followed by a booming splash, as Ben shouted out. "Well, that cooled me down. I'm soaked. Wait, I've

got my arm in the hole where the stone was. There's something here!"

Little Willum joined in the cheering that broke out. Ben yelled above the din. "I've got it, haul away, me

hearties, take me up. I've got it!"

Alex and Amy joined Will and Jon, helping to turn the handles.

Ben arrived, beaming over the wellshaft at them. "Let's get it out into the light for a proper look, pals!"

Eileen cleared the farmhouse table off, and they set the odd-looking object on it: a muddy lump, about twice the

size of a normal house brick.

Ben prodded it. "Anyone fancy a guess at what it is?"

Eileen stopped little Willum trying to climb upon the table. "Dirty ole thing, what d'you reckon 'tis, Ma?" she

asked.

Will's mother reached out a stick-like finger and scraped it across the lump, then brought it close to her face.

"Hmm, won't know 'til we get all that tallow off it."

The younger boy looked baffled. "Tallow?"

She rubbed it between thumb and forefinger. "Aye, lad, wax made from animal fat. Tallow."

Jon took out his clasp knife. "You mean there's something inside that lump of tallow? Let's take a look. Good

protection, wax is, a thing could stay forever encased in it."

Eileen stayed the seaman's hand. "Don't cut it, you might damage whatever it is inside. Let me melt it off."

The object was put in an old iron pot, which Will placed on the stone hearth, right against the fire bars. They

stood around, watching it. Ben felt the room becoming oppressively hot. Smells of lamp oil and sea-damp clothing

left to dry off came drifting back to his memory, the sway of deck planking beneath his feet, combined with the

eternal sound of the restless sea.

"Oh, I can see a big golden ring!"

Amy's delighted shout cut through his thoughts, bringing him back to reality. Will's mother was waving her

apron.

"Whew, take it out o' my kitchen, gold ring or no. It stinks!"

Will wrapped a cloth around his hand and carried the pot out by its handle. The iron vessel was quite hot and

the wax was melting rapidly.

The boy was glad to be out in the fresh air. The soily sludge around the wax had dissolved and sunk. He could

see the thing lying in the clear melted wax. It was not a ring; Amy had only glimpsed the rim.

It was a cup made from gold, an altar chalice!

The old seaman fished it out with two pieces of twig, then took the cloth from Will and carefully cleaned it off.

"Well, I never, look what a marvelous thing Saint Luke sent us!"

The chalice looked as new as the day it was made. Beautifully crafted in solid gold, covered in intricate

carvings, with four pigeon-egg rubies set in its solid gold base.

Amy picked the chalice up reverently and held it high, letting the sunlight glint off the gold and rubies.

"The first reward, but what was it doing halfway down a wellshaft?"

Ben shrugged. "Who knows. I'd better go and get Miz Winn. She'll want to see this. It must be worth a great for-

tune."

Eileen came up with a good suggestion. "Let's make it a surprise for her. I'll make dinner for us all tonight, Ben.

You tell Miz Winn she's invited. My Will can call at the house this evenin' to pick you both up. Ma ain't seen Winnie

for ages, have you, Ma?"

Will's mother bustled back to the farmhouse, calling out, "I'd like to see Winnie. Better get the place cleaned up,

though. Have to sprinkle some lilac water 'round, to get rid of that ole tallow smell."

Ned was waiting anxiously for Ben when he got back. Ben patted his friend's head. "Where've you been, mate?

You missed cream tea and scones up at Drummond's farm. Oh, I've got something to tell you."

The black Lab allowed himself to be stroked as he passed on a thought. "I've got something to tell you first, Ben.

I went up to Smithers's house and heard Wilf plotting with his gang. I was by the back hedge when I heard them

talking on the lawn. Listen to this. They're terrified of Jon. Had some trouble with him. Call him the Mad Professor.

But they don't know that you've met him. Wilf is going to dare you to go inside the almshouse at midnight. He

reckons Jon will eat you alive, or whatevers it is that Mad Professors do to whoever goes into their almshouses. Just

thought you'd like to know."

Ben shook his head and grinned. "Then I'll just have to look sufficiently frightened when he dares me. Wait'll I

tell Jon. Now, let me tell you what I found today...."

28.

MRS. WINN PUT ASIDE HER WORRIES temporarily. She was delighted to be asked out to dinner despite

more signs having been tacked to every public building in the village. She knew the Drummond family well, and had

not been up to the farm since Captain Winn had passed away. She became quite excited when Ben hinted that an

important clue had been found, but even though she pressed him, he would say no more. Whistling up his dog, Ben

went off down the driveway. He wanted to discuss the coming night's events with Jon. The old lady watched the pair,

suddenly glad that she had taken in the boy from the sea and his black dog. She had a feeling events were starting to

move along, things were about to happen. Mrs. Winn allowed herself a brief shudder of anticipation.

The rest of her afternoon was spent rummaging out her wardrobe for something pretty to wear at dinner.

The old lady was putting the finishing touches to her hairpins when Will drove Delia to the gate. Alex and Amy

were with him. The Labrador loped out and met Delia, decided immediately that they would be friends, and stayed by

the horse's side. The old seaman came striding jauntily up, his beard combed and a fresh red kerehief bound around

his neck. He helped Mrs. Winn up into the gig and they were off.

The dinner was a success, thanks to Eileen and Will's mother: roast beef and potatoes with all the trimmings,

followed by fresh strawberries and cream. Will and Jon cleared the table whilst the ladies sipped glasses of

elderflower wine, which Amy and Alex's mother had sent along. Little Willum dozed off on the sofa, and Ben poured

lemonade for his two young friends. Jon and the dairyman came in from the kitchen, carrying a glass of beer apiece.

After supper Will produced the chalice from behind his back and set it on the mantelpiece. It was filled with

water and had six white roses in it. Mrs. Winn stared at it, enraptured. "Oh, it's so beautiful! Does it belong in your

family, Sarah?"

Will's ma smiled. "No, it belongs in your family, Winnie!"

While Eileen and Will's ma excitedly related the tale of the discovery, Will showed something to the others.

"Miz Winn ain't the only one gettin' a surprise this evenin'. Look what I found when I was emptyin' the wax

from that pot." He placed a flat piece of wood, about eight inches long by an inch wide, upon the table. It was dark,

greasy, and well preserved from the tallow that had encased it.

Ben turned it over, running his thumbnail over the wood. "There's some carving on it—hard to make out,

though."

Alex produced a pencil stub from his pocket. "Let me try."

They held the lamp close as he ran the pencil lead inside the carved grooves.

His sister studied the results. "It looks like the letter U carved alongside itself eight times, with some sort of

stickleg creature at each end, very roughly drawn. Looks like two dogs to me."

The big Lab sniffed disdainfully and pawed at Ben's hand. "Dogs: indeed? If I were a dog and I looked like that,

I'd drown myself. I'd say it looks more like two horses. You tell her, pal, go on, defend your friend the dog!" Ben did,

and Will and Jon were inclined to agree with him.

At the other end of the table Mrs. Winn held the chalice lovingly. "Thank you, all of you, this is the most

marvelous discovery. I don't want to sound ungrateful, but I wish that it had been something less beautiful and more

practical, like the deeds to Chapelvale. That's what I really need."

The farmer's normally cheerful face darkened. "Aye, that rogue Smithers ain't even made us an offer for

Hillside Farm yet. I wouldn't let him over the pasture fence. Still, if they started a quarry an' a factory, we'd be forced

to leave. A man can't dairy farm with all kinds o' blastin' an' machinery chug-gin' night 'n' day. My business'd be

ruined. It ain't right, I tell you, it just ain't right!"

Eileen lifted the sleeping baby from the couch. "We know that, m'dear, but they got the law an' big-business

friends in London, aye, an' plenty o' money, too. All we got is good intentions an' time that's gettin' shorter by the

day."

The blue-eyed boy interrupted. "But we've got the golden chalice and this carved stick, which has got to be

some kind of clue. We can't give up. Who knows, the next thing we turn up may be the deeds. With the value of that

chalice and the deeds to the land, we'd soon have the upper hand!"

Jon stared hard at the stick, scratching his beard. "But where do we look? There may be a clue to the carvings

on this stick, but there's no words, no rhyme, no riddle. Maybe the carvings are describing someplace, eight letter Us

and what we think is a horse ... where's that?"

Will's ma spoke up. "Would a map of the area help ye?" Ben felt a tremor of anticipation. "Have you got one?"

Without a word, Sarah Drummond went off to her bedroom. She returned with a framed picture. It was a child's

picture of St. Peter's church on the hilltop, drawn in lead pencil and colored neatly in with colored wax crayons.

Will flushed to the roots of his hair. "Oh, Ma, you ain't goin' to show 'em that ole thing, I was but ten years old

when I drew that in school."

She shook her head, reading out the writing across the top. "Master William Drummond. Aged nine years. Class

3a."

Ben studied it. "Pretty good for a nine-year-old, Will."

Will's ma slit the pasted backing strip with her fingernail.

"Aye, Will drew it for me, I've always liked it. But that's not what I want to show you. Take a look at this."

From behind her son's childhood artwork, Sarah slid out a paper, yellowed with age.

" 'Tis an ancient map of Chapelvale village an' its surroundings!" She unfolded two creases where the map had

been folded under, one toward the top and the other toward the bottom of the map, commenting, "I can remember

lookin' at this when I was a little girl, don't know who put it there, or where it came from, but as you see, the map is

bigger'n the frame. Whoever put it there had to fold the paper to make it fit. It's a very old map of hereabouts, but

except for the railway station an' one or two other bits, Chapelvale ain't changed much, has it. Now then, missy, can

you read the writin' on the parts that were folded under? My eyes ain't up to it."

Amy held the map up to the lamplight and read haltingly. " 'E.D.W Anno Domini... 1661'! That's what it says

along the top. The bottom bit has two lines of writing:

"Lord, if it be thy will and pleasure,

Keep safe for the house of De Winn thy treasure."

The old ship's carpenter's voice shook with excitement. "Ben lad, those are the very words written on the two

bits o' paper I glued together. Here, look, I've got it with me!" He took the repaired paper from his back pocket and

read out the lines triumphantly:

"Lord, if it be thy will and pleasure,

Keep safe for the house of De Winn thy treasure."

"Word for word, the same! Well, sink me!"

Ben found himself laughing at his friend's delight. "Don't sink just yet, mate. Let's take a look at them

together—the writing seems the same. E.D.W. Ah, Edmund De Winn!"

Alex made a very sensible suggestion. "Your thin paper is almost like tracing paper, Jon. Why don't you lay it

on top of the map and see if the writing matches up?"

Jon passed the thin paper to Amy. "My hand's beginning to shake with excitement, you do it."

Brushing her dark hair aside, the girl placed the map flat on the table. With careful precision, she laid the thin

paper on top, nudging it gently until the two lines of writing were exactly on top of each other.

"It matches almost perfectly, every dot and loop of Edmund De Winn's writing. Top and bottom, line for line!"

Alex placed his thumbs at the far side of both papers. "I'll hold them steady, anybody got a pencil?"

Being a carpenter, Jon invariably had a well-sharpened pencil stub behind his ear, which he produced. He

winked at the boy. "Aha! I see your plan, shipmate. You want me to mark the map through the four holes in the tissue

paper. Hold her steady, now."

As the old seaman painstakingly marked the map through the four holes in the thin paper, Ben caught a thought

from the Labrador.

"Look at Winnie. There's a picture of hope, you can see she really believes things are starting to happen."

Ben returned the thought. "Aye, and it's not just her. Look at Will and Ma. Look at us all. I'm glad the angel sent

us here, pal. Smithers and his London gang don't know it yet, but I think they'll find these folk aren't too easy to ride

roughshod over anymore."

Will removed the thin paper from its position. They gathered around the table to view the pencil-dotted map as

he tapped a finger on the first mark he recognized. "Look 'ere, this is our farm, an' the well, too! Haha, we've already

solved one bit o' the puzzle, right, friends? Which is the next 'un? Come on, young feller. I'm beginnin' to like this!"

His ma clapped her hands together and rubbed them gleefully. "Me, too. Never thought I'd be part of a treasure

hunt!"

Alex tapped the flat stick against his hand, staring at the map. "Hmm, we've solved the first saint's problem:

that's Luke. So let's write Luke over the dot where this farmhouse is."

Jon nodded in admiration. "Well said, lad! So that leaves

Matthew, Mark, an' John. I think they'll be in a clockwise position, stands to reason, don't it?"

The astute old lady's eyes twinkled as she took the pencil, licking the point briefly. " 'Matthew, Mark, Luke, and

John, Bless the Bed that I Lie On.' Clockwise, eh, then this is the way it should go." She wrote lightly above the other

three dots thus:

Luke

•

Mark John

• •

Matthew

•

They went back to pondering the problem. Will stood silent, his arms folded, when suddenly his voice cut the

silence.

"St. John, that's the next one we should look at if we're goin' clockwise. Though I'm just thinkin', that next mark

is right where the railway station stands now."

His wife peered closely at the mark belonging to St. John. "When I went t' school ole Mr. Braithwaite told us

that's about where the blacksmith once 'ad his stables."

Now the meaning of the marks upon the stick dawned upon Ben. He took the flat piece of wood from Alex. "Of

course! Two horses and lots of letter Us, I'll bet the Us are meant to be horseshoes!"

Mrs. Winn squeezed Ben's hand. "Marvelous, I wish I was as quick-thinking as you! But I've just had an awful

thought. Supposing they built the railway station right over the stables, what then?"

Eileen frowned. "Let's hope not. Don't you go frettin' just yet, m'dear. We'll go an' see Mr. Braithwaite, he'll

know if anybody docs!"

The old lady sighed. "You're right, we'll just have to wait and see. Thank you for the lovely dinner, Eileen, you,

too, Sarah. Oh dear, it's getting late, we'd best get back home."

Mrs. Winn had the chalice wrapped in a clean teacloth that she intended leaving with Mr. Mackay the lawyer,

for safekeeping. They all climbed into the cart, and Will delivered them to their homes.

Ben had already laid his plans for the midnight encounter with Wilf Smithers. As Will was helping Mrs. Winn

from the gig, Ben winked at Amy, Alex, and Jon, his voice dropping to a whisper. "See you later."

It was still only ten o'clock when Ben assisted Mrs. Winn to her room. She thanked him. "What an exciting

evening, Ben, let's hope there's good news for us in the morning. Don't stay up too late, now, and lock up before you

go to bed. Oh dear, I'm exhausted!"

29.

BEN SAT AT THE KITCHEN TABLE, THE BIG, black Lab at his feet, each immersed in his own thoughts.

Horatio sat with his tail curled about both front paws, watching a moth beating against the outer window-pane, trying

vainly to reach the lamplight. It had been ten minutes since the hall clock chimed half past eleven.

Ben blinked and rubbed his eyes. "Come on, Ned, time to go." He took the kitchen key from its hook and

quietly opened the door to the rear of the house.

Horatio followed them out, purring. The big Labrador passed the cat a thought. "You can't come with us."

The cat replied mentally. "Prrrr, 'Ratio go catch butterflies."

The big moth that had been beating itself against the window flew into the kitchen and began circling the lamp.

The dog turned the cat around with a sweep of his paw, commenting, "Look, there's a moth, they're fatter than

butterflies, go and catch him. Bet you can't!"

Horatio curled his tail disdainfully. "Miaow, 'Ratio catch butterflies, prrrr, mop be easier to catch, you watch!"

He ran back indoors. Leaping on the table, he began dabbing his paw at the moth. "Rrrowwrrr, soon catch mopfly!"

The.big dog nodded. "That's the stuff, Horatio. You catch the mopfly and have a midnight snack. See you later.

Hmph, mopfly indeed—you'll soon have me as dotty as y'self!"

Ben locked the kitchen door, staring curiously at his friend. "What was all that about?"

Ned passed him a despairing glance. "Mopflies. You wouldn't understand. Come on, our friends'll be waiting."

Amid the dark night shadows Wilf Smithers and his gang stood in the alley alongside Evans Tea Shoppe.

Regina took out a fob watch, which she had received for her birthday, and consulted it. "Nearly ten minutes to

midnight, he should be here by now."

A thin, nervous-looking boy named Archie gnawed his thumbnail. "I don't think he's comin', hadn't we better go

home? My mum and dad don't know I sneaked out."

Wilf grabbed him by the earlobe, tugging him up onto his toes. "Scared stiff, that's your trouble, Archie. Well

go on, then, run back home quick. But you won't be in this gang anymore if you do!"

Tommo pulled a face at Archie. "Beat it back home. Who needs you, you skinny little worm!"

Wilf let go of Archie and turned his contempt on the fat boy. "Who asked you, puddenface, you look twice as

scared as he does!"

"Oh, I don't know, he probably looks about one and a half times as scared as poor Archie, right, Tommo?"

Wilf almost jumped with fright as the blue-eyed boy emerged from the shadows. He recovered himself quickly

and snarled. "How did you get here?"

As the black Lab and Amy and Alex materialized out of the darkness, Ben smiled. "Same way you did, of

course. How's the hand, still sore?"

Wilf smiled thinly back at his foe. "Forget my hand. You're here because you cheated me at that fight. But you

won't dodge your way out of this one. I'll bet that you're a sniveling coward, and too scared to take a dare, aren't you?"

Ben shrugged. "Why should I take a dare?" Regina called out scornfully from behind Wilf. " 'Cos if you don't, then

we'll all know you're a coward!" Alex answered her, "Ben's no coward!" She sneered at him. "Oh shuttup,

Alexandra!" Amy blazed at the bigger girl. "And you shuttup, you great bully!"

Ben placed himself between them. "No need for all this name-calling. I'll take your dare, Wilf, providing it's not

something stupid, like jumping off the church roof and landing on my head, or punching the school wall with my bare

hand."

There were one or two sniggers from the gang. Wilf silenced them with a glare before turning back. "It's

nothing like that. There's nothing daft about this dare, so, will you take it?" Ben flicked the hair from his eyes. "Go on

then, what is it?" Wilf took the fob watch from Regina and glanced at it. "Two minutes to go. Right on the stroke of

midnight, you will go into the almshouse where the Mad Professor lives. Alone. We'll wait outside to see that you do.

Well, will you do it?" The boy appeared to hesitate and backed off slightly. Wilf grinned wolfishly. "Hah, you're

scared!" Ben sounded unsure of himself. "No I'm not, I, er, I just have my reasons for not wanting to go into the

almshouse."

Regina pointed her finger at him. "Coward! Coward!"

Alex placed himself in front of his friend. He looked pale and his knees were shaking as he spoke in a voice

barely above a whisper. "Leave him alone, Ben's already proved he's no coward. I'll take the dare from him, I'll do it."

Wilf stared at him scornfully. "You? Hahaha, I can hear your knees knocking like clappers. D'you mean to tell

me you're taking a dare to go into that place?"

The young boy clenched his fists until the knuckles showed white. He swallowed hard and nodded his head.

Wilf curled both hands, like claws, advancing on Alex, eyes wide, his voice in a mock horrified tone. "Who

knows what you'll find inside that old almshouse, little boy. Spiders, cobwebs, rats, ancient ghosts ... and the

madman!"

A few of the gang giggled and shuddered with nervous anticipation. Somebody even gave a hollow ghostly

whoop. Wilf silenced them with a glare before turning back to his victim.

"Ah yes, the great, bearded madman. He's got a big shotgun, you know. But I don't suppose he'd use it on a little

shrimp like you. Oh no, I'll bet he's got butcher's knives and hooks and a hangman's noose, all ready for young boys

called Alex who come knocking on his door at midnight, when it's pitch dark!"

Ben grasped his friend's arm, there was a note of frightened pleading in his voice. "Don't do it, Alex, he dared

me... I'll go!"

But Wilf had different ideas, he pulled the towheaded lad away from his young companion. The bully was

enjoying tormenting Alex. "Oh, no you don't, you've already proved yourself a coward by refusing the dare. I'm going

to let him go and get murdered. He wants to take on your dare, don't you, Alexandra?"

Amy was about to stand up in her brother's defense, when Ben warned her off with a glance and Alex replied.

"I'll go. But if I do, are you willing to take on a dare in return? That's fair enough, isn't it? Dare for dare?"

A ready murmur of agreement came from the gang: It sounded good enough to them. Wilf was their leader, he

was a big, strong lad, nobody had ever questioned his courage.

Wilf realized he would lose face if he refused in front of his own gang. Fancy backing down from a mousy little

runt like Alex Somers! Wilf sneered. "All right then, but like your pal said, provided it's nothing stupid, I'll take your

dare. What is it, jellylegs?"

There was laughter and approval from the Grange Gang. Wilf swelled his chest and grinned to show them he

was fearless.

The younger boy drew in a deep breath, as if gathering his courage. "The dare is this. If I'm in the almshouse

more than two minutes, you've got to come in and get me out."

Regina spoke out scornfully. "Huh, anything you can do, Wilf can do as well. If you're not scared, he certainly

isn't!"

More murmurs of approval arose from the gang: They had every confidence in their leader. Unfortunately Wilf

did not share their belief. He found himself wishing he had not started the whole business of silly dares.

Ben interrupted his thoughts. "It's almost midnight. Shouldn't we all get over to the almshouse?"

Regina cast him a wilting glance. "We? You and your dog can do what you like. Coward!"

The Labrador shot his master a thought. "Shall I nip her ankle?"

The boy patted his faithful friend. "No need to, things are working out quite nicely, pal. Alex is a great actor."

They crouched to one side of the rickety iron gate behind a lilac that grew over the fence. Regina looked at her

watch. "It's turned twelve. Get moving, you!"

The young boy opened the gate and crept hesitantly toward the door of the almshouse. There was a titter from

the gang as Regina called out in a loud whisper. "Go on, he won't eat you, I don't think!"

Reaching the almshouse door, Alex paused, then raising his hand, he knocked faintly twice.

The door flew open and there was Jon, looking like something out of a nightmare. He had a blanket wrapped

about his shoulders like a flowing cloak, flour on his face, lampblack underneath his eyes, and two Brazil nuts

hanging down from his upper lip like fangs. Laughing madly, he grabbed Alex and pulled him inside, slamming the

door shut. The effect was startling. Led by Wilf and Regina, the Grange Gang fled screaming across the square. Ned

went around the back like a dark streak, cutting off their way through Evans Tea Shoppe's alley by blocking off the far

end. Ben and Amy came dashing across the square in the gang's wake, effectively penning them in the narrow alley.

Ben tipped Amy the wink. "You tackle Wilf. Leave Regina to me!"

Amy pushed her way through the melee of milling gang members and found Wilf standing paralyzed in front of

a snarling Ned. She grabbed the big boy by his shirtfront and shook him. "Get back to the almshouse and help my

brother!

You were the one who thought all this up and dared him. Come on, I'm going to see that you carry out your end

of the dare!" She began to drag Wilf away from the wall that he was huddled against.

Everyone saw it, Wilf Smithers collapsed to the ground, clutching his bandaged hand and blubbering like a

baby. "Waahahaah! I'm sick, my hand's hurting, let go of me, please, I want to go home. Waaaaahh!"

Regina had been scrambling her way to the back of the gang, intent on escaping into the square, when Ben

grabbed her hand. "What about you going to help Alex? You were the one calling all the names. Why don't you take

the dare for Wilf?"

She broke out in tears. "It wasn't anything to do with me! It was all Wilf's idea, he said we should do it!"

Ben called to the others. "Amy and I are going back to the almshouse. You lot run and get some help. Fetch a

policeman, quick!"

The mention of police involvement sent them all stumbling past the big black Labrador and off into the

darkness, crying.

"My dad doesn't even know I'm out!"

"I'm not going to any police station!"

"Nothing t'do with us, it was Wilf!"

Ned let them go. Amy planted her shoe firmly against Wilf's bottom and shoved him on his way. "Get out of my

sight, coward!"

Ben released Regina, and she shot off sobbing. In a trice the alley was deserted, save for Amy, Ben, and his dog.

The sound of bolts being withdrawn from Evans's side door caused Ned to melt back into the shadows. A light went

on, throwing a golden shaft across the alley. Bludwen Evans's huge night-gowned figure appeared in the open

doorway. She was holding a hooked window-blind pole and holding on to her mobcap, squinting at Ben.

"Indeed to goodness, what's all the row out here, boyo, eh?"

Ben flicked at his tousled hair and smiled disarmingly. "Sorry about the noise, Miz Evans. My dog's got loose

and I was out calling for him. I don't suppose you've seen him?"

A gruff bark from nearby sent the boy running off, followed by Amy, who was calling. "Here, Ned! Good dog!

Here, boy!"

Mrs. Evans shook her head as she closed the door. "I 'opes they get him, I need my sleep!"

30.

THE OLD SHIP'S CARPENTER AND ALEX had cocoa made for Ben, Amy, and Ned as they entered the

almshouse through the back window. They related what had happened in the alley, the younger boy and Jon roaring

with laughter at Amy's impression of Wilf sobbing and wanting to go home, hugging his injured hand.

Ben sipped his cocoa and winked at Alex. "Wait'll they find out tomorrow that you faced the Mad Professor and

lived to tell the tale. I don't think the Grange Gang or Wilf will ever bother you again, Alex. It was great to see how

you went at the bully and had him bawling in front of his own gang. They'll respect you and your sister from now on."

Alex put his empty mug down. "But only because of you, Ben."

The blue-eyed boy patted Alex heartily on the back. "Nonsense, mate, all I did was suggest a thing or two. The

rest was you, having confidence in yourself. Isn't that right, Ned?" The dog nodded. Jon looked over the rim of his

cocoa mug at him. "I suppose that was his collar itching him again, eh, Ben?"

The strange boy's eyes twinkled. "You supposed right, mate."

Alex was beginning to feel sleepy; he blinked. "Supposed what?"

The black Lab leaped to the window frame, followed by Ben, who chuckled. "Supposed to meet at the library

first thing in the morning, so we can have a word with Mr. Braith-waite. G'night, pals. Jon, will you see Amy and

Alex get home all right?"

Ben and Ned vanished into the night like twin shadows.

Amy stared at the empty window space. "There's something rather odd about Ben. It's almost as if he and Ned

are magic. What do you think, Jon?"

The ex-ship's carpenter wiped the last of the lampblack off with a damp rag. "Ben's no more magic than you, me,

or Alex. He's just good, aye, and clever. He's certainly taught me a thing or two, as old as I am. Come on, mates, I'll

walk you as far as your house."

"Not quite as far," Alex replied. "Leave us at the end of the lane, we've got to sneak in by the pantry window."

Jon's craggy face broke into a smile. "See, you're learning fast, pal!"

At breakfast next morning Hetty the maid brought the post into the dining room. She placed it next to Obadiah

Smithers's plate, bobbed a brief curtsy, and left.

Mrs. Smithers cast a worried glance at Wilf's empty chair. "Poor Wilfred, perhaps he's stayed in bed because

he's still feeling poorly. I'll tell Hetty to take him a tray up."

"No, you won't, madam!" Smithers slit an envelope vigorously with his egg-stained breakfast knife. "Let the

young whelp stay abed until he's hungry enough to get himself down here and take his place at table. Confounded fool,

punchin' a wall of all things, losing to a lad half his size. Oh, I've heard all about it from Reggie Woodworthy, Regina

told him. Can't hold my head up in the village! Man with a great, strappin' son who doesn't know the difference

between the other fellow's nose and a schoolyard wall. Huh!"

Maud Bowe helped herself to a boiled egg and tapped the top daintily with her spoon, remarking caustically,

"About what anyone could expect from that silly oaf."

Smithers slammed the letter down on his side plate, cracking it in the process. He glared at Maud.

"Keep your opinions to y'self, missie. It's not your place to criticize my family while you're a guest in my

house!"

Sensing another verbal battle, Mrs. Smithers withdrew from the room quietly. She would take Wilfred a tray

herself.

Maud thrust her chin out defiantly at the older man. "Sir, an oaf is an oaf, in any circumstances, more so when

he is a bad-mannered oaf. That is my opinion, like it or not!"

Smithers, pretending not to hear, sorted a letter from the small pile of mail and tossed it across the table. "This

is for you, young lady, from your father by the writing."

She took a nail file from her pocket and slit the letter neatly open, her eyes blazing at Smithers. "Sir, I give you

your proper title. My name is Maud, you may address me as Maud, Miss Maud, or Miss Bowe. I resent being called

missie or young lady. I trust you will refrain from such expressions in future!"

Smithers pretended to read his letter; he tapped it with his knife. "From the county planning office, final

approval of compulsory purchase of Chapelvale lands two days from today. Providing, of course, that no majority

property holder turns up with deeds to more than one section. Huh, even old Mrs. Winn can't argue with that, she can

only prove the ownership of her own house. She has no papers for that almshouse ruin, or any other land. I've made

sure of that, got a friend in the official search office, y'know. Look, there's a formal notice with this letter, to be posted

in the square. I'll remove the old one an' put this one up, eh. How's that for progress? Well, what's your father got to

say?"

Maud folded the letter carefully and placed it on the table. "He says that the four men I asked for should be up

by the evening train tomorrow. He has paid them expenses and money for the train tickets—"

Smithers's explosion cut her short. "Well, I'm damned if I'd pay 'em a bent penny, missie. I've already told you

what I think of your proposal, sending toughs and blaggards up from London. What'll happen if they're found to be

connected to this venture? I'll be ruined, and so would your father and his fancy London partners. Then where'll we all

be, eh? Answer me that, m'dear!"

Maud's normally sallow pallor grew ashen with temper. "I'll tell you... Smithers! You'd be sitting out here at the

end of some rural backwater with your fiddling little business. This is a big venture, that's why you're in with a proper

London company, and doing quite well out of it, too. My father's company often uses the methods he needs—legal or

not— that's the way you get things done in this modern age. And don't look so self-righteous—you had children

trying to get things done for you, that oaf you call a son and his gang. What were you paying them, eh, sweeties,

pennies ?

"Well, that's all changed, you're in the game now for better or worse. It'll be worse if we listen to your piffling

ideas, but better all 'round if you leave it to experts. That old lady Winn, she'll be shifted sooner than you think and for

good, thanks to my suggestion to my father, so stop acting like a silly oaf, though the habit seems to run in your

family!" Maud's ankle-length taffeta dress rustled stiffly as she swept out of her chair and vacated the room.

Smithers sat openmouthed at the girl's impertinence, his heavy features flushing dark red. He gave vent to his

ire with a bellow that would have done a stricken water buffalo credit, sending crockery and cutlery flying as his

outstretched arms flailed across the table.

Sitting up in bed, Wilf heard the roar and the ensuing crash. He started with fright, upsetting his breakfast tray.

A glass of milk, toast, lemon curd, and two soft-boiled eggs spilled into his lap. He sobbed, floundering about in the

mess, his mind running riot. Had his father found out about last night, his second foolish scheme gone astray? It

wasn't his fault if the Somers boy had gone and got himself murdered by the Mad Professor. Had the police found out

yet, would they come around asking questions ? Regina and the gang wouldn't take the blame, they'd lay it on him,

their leader. Then what? Court, imprisonment. . . ? Regardless of the breakfast mess, Wilf pulled the coverlet over his

head, wishing fervently that it would all go away. Tears, egg, milk, and lemon curd mingled on his face. He jumped as

a timid knock sounded on the door.

"Finished with your tray, Master Wilfred?" It was only Hetty.

A muffled scream broke from beneath the stained counterpane. "Go 'waaaaaay!"

31.

MRS. WINN'S LAWYER, MR. MACKAY, WAS A man of small stature, exceedingly neat in appearance.

Dressed in knife-creased pin-striped trousering, an eight-button black vest (complete with silver watch and chain), a

crisp white shirt, with starched wing-tip collar and a dark blue stock with a modest peridot stickpin, he sported

spring-clipped pince-nez, hanging around his neck on a black silk ribbon. A snowy peak of white linen handkerchief

showed from the top pocket of his black fustian tailcoat. Mr. Mackay had a center part in his dyed black hair and a

small, precisely trimmed mustache. He shaved twice daily and had about him an aroma of macassar pomade. The

consensus of village opinion had marked him as a dry little stick of a man, his movements quick and bird-like, his

speech clipped and precise, peppered with legal jargon. Now Mr. Mackay sat looking at the chalice on his desk. He

had heard the story of its discovery from the old lady. Taking the pince-nez spectacles from his nose, he let them

dangle by their black ribbon.

He stared around at the faces of Will and Eileen Drum-mond, Mrs. Winn, the old ship's carpenter, Amy and

Alex Somers, and Ben. "I take it, madam, that you require information regarding the location of the old stable and

smithy from Mr. Braithwaite? Then so be it. You boys, run and fetch Braithwaite here. However, I think that I may be

of some help in that direction—I acted on behalf of the Railway Company in conveying the land for the station and

retained a copy of the paperwork for my own files."

Ben and Alex left the lawyer's office with the big, black dog in their wake.

Talking out of the corner of his mouth, Ben murmured to Alex, "See, over in Evans's alley, there's some of the

Grange Gang. They're watching the almshouse, probably to see if your mangled body gets flung out the door. They

haven't spotted us yet. Why not give them a wave?"

Alex strode off toward the alley. "I'll do better than that, Ben, I'll pop over and have a word with them."

Alex shouted, "Hello there, you lot! Hang on a moment, I want to see you!"

They fled like startled deer.

Ben shrugged. "That's odd, don't they like speaking to the ghost of a murdered boy?" The two friends laughed

uproariously.

They brought Mr. Braithwaite back to Mr. Mackay's office, where the librarian stood scratching his wiry mane,

dandruff sprinkling like tiny snowflakes on the shoulders of his black scholar's gown. "I, er, can't stop very,

hmmmmm, long. Library, er, business, I'm afraid . . ." His voice trailed off as he sighted the chalice on the desk.

Ignoring everybody around him, he picked the chalice up with great reverence. No hesitancy showed in his voice as

he spoke.

"Calix magnificus! Magnificus magnificus! Byzantine tenth century. Crafted by the skilled goldsmiths and lap-

idaries of a bygone age. What a perfectly beautiful specimen.

These pigeon-egg rubies, jewels beyond price. This tracery and engraving, exotic, fabulous! Who came by such

a remarkable chalice as this? Where was it discovered? Oh, tell me!"

The grizzled old seaman related the tale in full. Omitting no detail, he brought Mr. Braithwaite up to strength on

even the latest development. The old scholar scratched his frizzy head. The initial gusto of seeing the chalice was

wearing off, and he returned to his customary self.

"Hmm, very good, very good! So I take it, you, er, er, wish to know the, ah, exact location of the, er, ancient

stables and, er, blacksmith's forge, er, as it were?"

Mr. Mackay held up a sheaf of legal-looking documents. "They're not far from the station, according to my

records, sir!"

Mr. Braithwaite raised his bushy eyebrows, staring at Mr. Mackay's small, dapper figure as if seeing him for the

first time. "Not so, sir! I, er, that is, my, er, researches show, the, ah, smithy, stood on the, er, er, precise spot where

the station was built, hmmm, yes indeed!"

Mr. Mackay was not one to bandy words. Drawing himself up to his sparse height, he spread the documents on

his desk, tapping a neatly manicured finger on a map diagram. "Then look for yourself, sir. My records are

undeniable!"

Mr. Braithwaite pored over Mr. Mackay's map, showering it with dandruff as he scratched his hair in

bemusement. "Well I never, well I never, my, er, calculations were wrong, it, er, seems. I defer to your technical

knowledge, sir. I, er, must consult you more often, in my, er, historical location studies. If I, er, may make so bold as

to, er, suggest such a thing."

"Of course you may, sir!" replied Mackay in his clipped, precise manner. He rolled the papers back into a scroll.

Mrs. Winn liked her lawyer, despite his somewhat pompous attitude, and could see his interest was aroused by

the search. "Would you care to take a look at the site, Mr. Mackay? We'd be glad of your expert opinion."

A faint smile appeared on the lawyer's face. "An intriguing invitation, marm. I accept!"

The old lady turned to Mr. Braithwaite. "We'd value your help if you'd like to come, too, sir."

Scratching his head and pointing to himself, the old scholar grinned like a schoolboy. "Who . . . er, me? Oh, I

say, rather, lead on, er, good lady, lead on, er, please do!"

It was a curious team that trooped out of the solicitor's office, heading toward Chapelvale Station. Obadiah

Smithers and his wife, Clarissa, had emerged from their carriage in the village square, she intent on shopping and he

intending to go to Mr. Mackay's office. Seeing the lawyer piling into Will Drum-mond's cart with the others, Smithers

hastened across to him, waving the latest compulsory purchase notice, whilst holding on to his top hat.

"Hold up there, Mackay. Where the deuce d'you think you're going? I was just about to consult you!"

Mr. Mackay did not like Smithers. He considered the fellow an overbearing bully, and he stared officiously

down from the gig at him. "Consult me without a prior appointment, sir? I'm afraid it's out of the question. I've got

other business!"

Smithers waved the order. "But what about this, it arrived in this morning's mail. I want it to be pinned up in the

square."

Mr. Mackay glared at Smithers over the top of his pince-nez. "Then fix it up yourself, sir, you look capable

enough. There's a nail and a post for the purpose. You can either leave the present order up, or tear it down to make

room for the new one. As you can see, I have other matters to attend, I bid you good day. Drive on, please, Mr.

Drummond!"

Smithers was left standing red-faced and at a loss for words as the gig pulled off smartly. Mrs. Winn and Eileen

stifled laughter with their kerchiefs. Not so with the other occupants of the dairy cart, they guffawed aloud.

"Well, that put him in his place, eh. Hahahaha!"

"Aye, did you see the face on him, like a beetroot!"

"Look, he's still standing there waving his silly paper. Hahaha!"

Mr. Mackay did not join in the merriment. Polishing his pince-nez, he blinked sternly at his traveling

companions. "I would have liked to see the contents of that order. I fear it will be no laughing matter for Chapelvale,

or you, Miz Winn. We must take a look at it on our return!"

They took the road past the station and over the level crossing. Ned passed a thought to his master as he allowed

Amy to stroke him. "Whatever we're looking for, bet I'm the one who finds it. By the way, what exactly are we

looking for?"

The boy answered. "I don't know, Ned. It's a large, overgrown area near the station we'll have to cover probably.

With an old, carved piece of stick as our only clue. We'll need the help of a good sniffer."

Will halted Delia at Mr. Mackay's command, on what appeared to be a piece of common land, about twenty

yards away from the railway tracks. Jon and Will spread the old map from the farmhouse cottage alongside the

railway property map that Mr. Mackay and Mr. Braithwaite were studying. Eileen, who had left her baby at home

with Will's ma, sat in the gig watching the two boys, while Amy and the black Lab ranged out across the

gorse-covered area. Mr. Mackay pointed to a corner of his boundary map.

"You see, here is the boundary line of the railway property. It ends ten feet away, where Will halted the gig on

that bit of disused path. So this is all common land."

Mr. Braithwaite looked from one map to the other. "Hmmm, this has got to be the, er, place, very good! See the,

er, tree, in the same place on both, er, maps, yes."

Jon pointed to the only tree left standing, on the far side of the common. "What, do you mean that one?"

Mr. Mackay shook his head doubtfully. "Your map is dated 1661. Surely that scruffy old tree hasn't been there

that long?"

Braithwaite was glad to prove himself, not only as a history scholar but as a botanist. "I, er, must take issue with

you on that, sir. Er. Let us take a look at this, hmm, tree."

They trooped over to where Ben and his friends were standing beneath the tree. It was a twisted and venerable

old specimen with a huge, untidy crown of thin leaves that sported red berries. The trunk, a gnarled column, was very

thick, seeming to consist of several thinner trunks welded together by age.

Jon instinctively knew what it was. "This is a yew, there's two growin' back o' the almshouse."

Mr. Braithwaite became very schoolmasterish, wagging a finger at the young people as he lectured them. "Quite

right. Taxus baccata, the common English yew, specimens have been recorded of up to one thousand years old. The

branches of this old tree may have provided the wood for English longbows to fight the French at the Battle of

Agincourt. Jon, hand me that carved piece of wood and your clasp knife, please."

Mr. Braithwaite scraped away at the uncarved side of the wooden stick until clean wood showed, then he

shaved a small section of bark from the trunk to reveal the wood beneath.

"Both common English yew, you see!"

Will smacked his open palm against the tree. "All sounds very good so far, but what're we lookin' for and where

do we search?"

Amy placed both hands on her hips. "Around this tree, I suppose."

Ben sprang and grabbed a spreading limb. "Or maybe up in the tree!" He climbed into the branches.

The others started to search around the base of the yew. Alex soon got tired of the hunt below and with Ben's

help climbed up into the boughs, too. The dog looked up, communicating with his master. "If you fall and break a leg,

don't come running to me!"

After more than a half hour of scanning the trunk and the ground around it, Mrs. Winn gave up and went to sit

in the gig with Eileen.

Will straightened up, holding his back. "Ain't so easy as it first looked. See anything up there, Ben?"

Ben clambered down. "Nothing, Will. As you said, it would help if we knew what we were looking for."

Being shorter than Ben, Alex found descending a bit difficult, but he made his way to the other side of the tree

and found a low branch. Edging onto it, he hung there by both hands, facing the trunk.

The seaman stood beneath, reaching up with both hands. "Come on, mate, let go an' I'll catch ye."

But Alex hung on to the branch, his face toward the trunk, shouting, "I found it! Here it is!"

Ben shot back up the tree like a monkey. Making his way across to Alex, he leaned downward, peering at what

looked like tiny knots sticking from the bark. He gave a joyous whoop. "It's the same pattern as the stick. Well done!"

Will shouted across to his wife. "Eileen, drive the gig over here, beneath this tree!"

32.

STANDING UPRIGHT IN THE LITTLE cart, the four men could easily make out the pattern of marks. Jon

traced them with his finger, then touched the point of his clasp knife to one.

"Metal! They're old horseshoe nails driven into the trunk. The bark has grown over them, but the pattern

remains."

Mr. Mackay dusted dead grass from his trouser knees fussily. "But with one difference, sir, there's an arrow

shape pointing down. That must mean we have to dig down at the yew base, directly where the arrow indicates."

The dairyman backed Delia away from the spot. Grabbing a spade, Will began cutting away the top grass.

"Right about here!" The old ship's carpenter spat on his hands and grabbed another spade from the gig.

But Eileen had different ideas. "I think 'tis a waste o' time diggin' there, Will. Surely the girth o' the tree has

growed bigger since sixteen hundred an' whatever. If you were lookin' for somethin' buried 'twould be right under that

trunk now! Don't waste your energy. You either, Jon Preston."

Will threw his spade down dispiritedly. "You're right, m'love."

Ben watched Ned go off with small, dainty paces, sniffing hard at the ground. He sent a thought to the dog.

"What are you doing, mate?"

The big, black dog did not answer for a while, but kept sniffing and going forward. When he stopped, he sat

down a short distance off. "Tell them the arrow is probably pointing not down, but out from the tree, to somewhere

around here."

Ben stared at the Labrador. "You could be right, but why there, why not further out?"

Ned nosed the grass, turning up a soggy, moss-covered length of board and sniffling. "Because this is where the

old smithy once stood!"

The boy turned to his friends. "Suppose the arrow is pointing not down, but out. Would that be about where

Ned's sitting?"

Braithwaite was studying the piece of lath and its carving. "Hmm, about the length of a horse, eight horseshoes,

and one more horse's length. What, er, d'you think, Mr. Mackay?"

The solicitor focused on the stick with his glasses. "You could have something there, sir. At least we've got a

horse to test your theory with!"

Taking the gig to one side, Will unharnessed Delia. Lifting one of her back hooves, he measured it with a yew

twig, which he snapped off, then backed Delia up, until her tail was touching the yew trunk.

"Jon, take this twig. 'Tis a shoe's width. Mark off eight lengths from where my mare's front hoof is now."

The seaman did as Will bade. When he had marked off eight lengths, he stuck the twig in the ground. "Right

here, Will." The dairyman brought his horse forward and stood Delia, with her tail hanging down, exactly over the

twig.

The black Labrador looked up and licked Delia's muzzle, which was directly above him, then looked over to

where Ben stood, passing a thought to his master. "Told you I'd sniff it out, didn't I!"

Eileen chuckled. "That good dog o' yours, Ben, he looks as if he's gotten more sense than the lot of us put

t'gether!"

Jon and Will started digging on the spot.

Eileen harnessed Delia back into the gig shafts. "Come on, Winnie, we'll go back to Hillside Farm an' get lunch

ready for the diggin' gang."

Ben and Amy helped Mrs. Winn up into the gig. She waved to them as Delia trotted away and called hopefully,

"Bring whatever you find straight up to the farm."

The old mariner and the dairyman dug a square hole, straight down about two feet. Clank! Will's spade struck

something as he was shoring the side of the earth straight. "We were diggin' slightly astray, Jon. I think the dog was

sittin' in the wrong spot!"

Ned sniffed. "Dearie me, showed you the place, didn't I?"

Ben heard the thought and agreed with his dog. "Aye, can't expect a poor old canine to be accurate to the inch,

can we? Pay no heed, Ned. I thought you did splendidly!"

They dug down again, directly over the place where Will's spade had struck an object. After several minutes of

hard digging a sandstone building block was uncovered. Between them the two men lifted it out. Alex cleaned it up

with his hand until the letters E.D.W. appeared visible. Ben ran his finger over the letters. "Same as on your map, Will!

And the same as that name in the back of Winnie's family Bible! Edmond De Winn, the one who had one son and

seven daughters!"

Further speculation from Ben was cut short. The old seaman bent and began tugging with both hands at an

object embedded beneath where the stone had lain. "Here's something, mates, an old chest!"

Will helped him pull the chest out. It was iron-bound, rotting, and fused hard to the soil around it. Once they got

it out, a few smart jabs with Jon's spade soon caved it in, and it broke open. Braithwaite fell on his knees and lifted out

the contents. Wrapped in sheepskin and heavily coated with solidified tallow, it was still fairly obvious from its shape

that the thing was a cross.

High-noon sunlight streamed into the farmhouse kitchen. Will's ma shaded her eyes against it, peering out

across the yard. "Here they come, Winnie. Put the kettle on to boil again, Eileen."

Little Willum toddled out, holding Winnie's hand. "Dad-deeeee!"

The dairyman swung his son up onto his broad shoulders. "I hope you ain't ate all our lunch, Willum, I'm

starvin'!"

But food was out of the question once Eileen spotted the bundle.

"You found it, good men!"

Amy took little Willum from his father. "What about me?"

Will's ma wiped flour from both hands upon her apron. "An' you, too, m'dear, good work. Now, let's see what

you got, my meat an' potato pie'll be ready directly."

Ben placed the bundle on the table. "D'you think we'll need more hot water to melt the tallow, Jon?"

Taking out his ever-useful clasp knife, the ex-ship's carpenter set to work, slicing through the greased string

around the tallowed hide. "With any luck it'll just peel off."

Mr. Braithwaite was permitted to undo it. Finding an edge of the skin, he drew it back, exposing gold. In less

than a minute he had stripped sheepskin and tallow away completely.

It was a crucifix, complete with a tiny monstrance chamber for displaying the host. The top and ends of both

arms had pigeon-egg rubies set into the metal, identical to the ones on the chalice. At its base a marvelously graven

gold bird supported the cross on semi-spread wings, its talons gripping a half-orb of solid gold. The old scholar's

hands trembled as he held the object. He gazed at the embossed figure of Christ upon it, surmounted by the letters

INRI. "Crucifixus anticus! Wrought by the same Byzantine hand that fashioned the chalice. Do you realize, we are the

first ones to behold it since the seventeenth century!"

Jon and Ben were inspecting the tallow-bound sheepskin minutely when Will's ma wrinkled her nose in disdain.

"What're you messin' with that ole sheep 'ide for?"

The strange boy replied without looking up. "For the next clue, but it doesn't seem to be here. Can you find

anything, Jon?"

The carpenter's strong, tattooed hands delved through the tallowed skin. "Nothing, lad. The chest was empty

once we took the cross out. I was hopin' we'd find something in this wrapping, but no."

Alex sat at the table, his chin cupped in both hands, downcast. "We've missed the next clue somewhere."

The black Lab's tail swished to and fro as he raised his eyes to Ben. "Tell them it's carved on the bottom of that

halfdome the bird is standing on, I can see it from here. So could you if you were lying on the floor. Good job old

Braithwaite held the cross up. What would you do without me, eh, mate?"

Ben sat down on the floor by the Labrador and patted him fondly. "You're the best dog in the world, Ned.

Excuse me while I break the good news to them."

Ben squinted up at the underside of the crucifix, then raised his voice in excitement. "Look, there's carving

underneath that dome the bird is standing on. I can see it!"

Mr. Braithwaite harrumphed. "Bird, young man? That's the eagle of St. John the Evangelist you're talking about.

Let's see!" He turned the cross upside down. With Mr. Mackay leaning over his shoulder, checking, he read aloud.

" "Twould seem at the wicked's fate

that bell ne'er made a sound,

yet the death knell tolled aloud

for those who danced around.

The carrion crow doth perch above,

light bearers 'neath the ground."

Mrs. Winn looked around. "Well, what do you make of that?"

The lawyer meticulously copied the words onto a piece of paper, before taking charge of the cross.

"I'd better get this locked away in my office safe with all dispatch. Will, could you run me down there in your

gig, please?"

"You 'ave some lunch first, sir," Eileen chimed in. "Then my Will can drop you all off."

Over hot meat and potato pie, Mr. Braithwaite made out another copy of the words for his own use. "Hmm,

very good, very good. Must, er, get back to the, er, library, of course. I'll, ah, er, study this and let you know my

findings, yes, very good!"

Amy made more copies in her fine, neat hand and distributed them to everybody, keeping one for herself and

her brother. After lunch it was decided that they would spend the rest of the day each trying to solve the riddle. They

had the time.

Will delivered Mrs. Winn to her house first. Ben stayed in the gig, alighting in the village square with the others.

Mr. Mackay read the notice tacked to the board on the post not far from his office. He turned to them, his face grave.

"Two days from today the clearances start. That means Smithers and his partners will be here with the county official

and the bailiffs. Payments will be made to the evacuating tenants, the land will be cleared, and, unfortunately,

Chapelvale will cease to exist as a village community and become a limestone quarry and a cement factory. Those are

the facts, my friends."

Ben's blue eyes grew hard. "Not if we can help it!"

33.

SMITHERS TAPPED LIGHTLY ON MAUD Bowe's bedroom door, and he called out as gently as his gruff,

demanding voice would allow. "Are you in there, Miss Bowe, I'd like a word with you in the sitting room, if

possible."

Maud opened the door a crack and was confronted by Smithers's rather worried-looking face. "I think you owe

me an apology first, for the way you insulted me this morning, Mr. Smithers."

It galled him to do it, but there was no other way. "Well, er, I was a bit, hasty shall we say. Forgive me, I'm a

gruff fellow sometimes. Comes of doin' business among men all the time. I shouldn't have raised my voice to you,

young lady. I mean, Miss Bowe."

She stared at him, enjoying her moment of triumph, then shut the door in his face. "I'll be down presently."

Obadiah Smithers drew in a deep breath, clenched his fists, and strode purposefully along the corridor to his

son's room. Flinging the door wide, he marched in without a word and dragged the coverlet off Wilf, who lay huddled,

still covered in breakfast mess. Smithers curled his lip in disgust as his son sniffed and sobbed.

"It wasn't me, he went in there on his own, I had nothing to do with it, honestly, I never!"

His father towered over him, ignoring his pleas.

"Enough, sir, no more lies! I saw Regina's father in the village this morning. He caught her sneaking in, long

after midnight. So you can stop your sniveling lies. I know exactly what went on around the old almshouse last

night!"

Wilf cowered on the bed, his face ashen. "Regina's the liar, it was her who got Alex murdered, not me. I swear!"

His father's voice was like thunder. "What nonsense is this, eh? Murder indeed, I saw the very boy you're

talking of, the animal vet's young son. He was alive and well, sitting in a dairy cart with his friends. So you can stop

your lying about murder!"

Wilf was temporarily lost for words. He sat openmouthed as reality flooded in on him. Alex was alive, there

would be no policemen calling on him. No judges, court, or prison.

His father ranted on furiously. "A disappointment to me, that's what you've been, lad, a thorough

disappointment! Letting y'self get beaten by a boy half your size, then thinking up stupid murder plots. Still, I blame

m'self in ways—you're not half the young fellow I was at your age, no backbone! Mollycoddled, that's what you've

been, spoiled rotten! But all that stops right here and now, sir, d'you hear me? No more being waited on by a maid an'

hiding behind y'mother's skirts. Oh no, m'lad, it's boarding school for you. They'll straighten you out, an' no mistake!"

Wilf had only heard the latter part of his father's tirade. He leapt out of bed, a look of horror on his face.

"B-boarding school?"

His father took him by the arm and shoved him in the direction of the bathroom. "Aye, boarding school. There's

a good one up in Scotland, so I'm told. I'll make the arrangements today. Now, get in there an' clean that mess off

y'self. Then you can tidy your room up an' pack your trunk. I'm not havin' the good name o' Smithers scoffed at by

village bumpkins. No use appealin' to your mother. My decision's final, sir. Final!"

Slamming the bathroom door on his son's stunned face, Smithers went downstairs and out onto the back lawn,

where he took a deep breath of the summer air and straightened his starched collar. Maud Bowe was sitting primly,

reading another of her young ladies' etiquette books, not a hair out of place and not a sign of a flush upon her cheeks.

She shut the book decisively, folding her hands on the cover. "You wanted a word with me, sir. Well?"

Clasping both hands behind his back, Smithers circled her chair several times, finishing up facing her.

"Those, er, associates you're bringing up from London, Miss Bowe."

Completely composed, she stared levelly at him. "Yes?"

He dropped his eyes and lowered his voice.

"Let them come and do what they've got to do. But no mistakes or failures. I want them in and out of

Chapelvale as quick as possible. Understood?"

Maud could not help reveling in her victory. "Jackman Donning and Bowe are an established London

company— we don't deal in failures and mistakes. Like some I could mention ..."

Blood mounted to Smithers's cheeks, and he struggled to control himself. Turning on his heel, he made for the

house, replying as he went. "I'll leave it up to you ... my dear!"

A black cat appeared out of the hedgerow. Purring, it rubbed its flank against Maud's fine-grained, calf-button

boots. She shooed it off with a swipe of her book. "Shoo, cat!"

Horatio prowled slowly back through the small gap in the hedge. "Miaow! 'Ratio go home now, Winnie got

milk, sardines, purr!"

The black Labrador rose slowly from his hiding place in the shade of some lilacs. "Come on, then, me old

furbag, I've heard enough for today. Sardines, ugh, nasty, slimy little fishes, don't know how you can eat the things!"

Mrs. Winn was taking her afternoon nap in the sitting room. Ben sat outside on the sunny lawn. He unfolded the

copy of the poem Amy had given him and began studying it.

'Twould seem at the wicked's fate

that bell ne'er made a sound,

yet the death knell tolled aloud

for those who danced around.

The carrion crow doth perch above,

light bearers 'neath the ground.

Sweat suddenly beaded on his forehead, he felt cold despite the warm summer day. The bell ne'er made a

sound ... carrion crow.... Visions and images of death floated about in his mind. Villainous faces marked by evil

appeared unbidden, the sounds of seawaves roared in his ears. Long, long ago, Vanderdecken, Petros, Scraggs, Jamil,

he saw them all, leering, cursing. But others were there, mingled with the crew of the Flying Dutchman. Older, half

shadowed, their features showing the wickedness of evil men the world over. Closing his eyes tight, Ben fell back

upon the grass, shuddering, feeling the earth move like a rolling ship's deck.

Warm breath and a damp tongue against his cheek brought Ben back from his dreadful trance. "Now then, pal,

are you all right?"

Something smooth and silky brushed his hand, and Ben sat up, glad to be back in the normal world. Ned was

sitting next to him, he caught sight of Horatio vanishing into the house. Immediately Ben felt better. He hugged the

big dog's neck.

"I'm all right now you're here, you old rogue. It just happened, I was reading the poem from the base of the

cross, when this awful feeling came over me."

The Labrador nodded. "Flying Dutchman again, eh?"

Ben ran his fingers through his tousled blond hair.

"Yes, it was Vanderdecken and the others, but there were strange faces there, too, frightening ones I'd never

seen before. Good job you came and snapped me out of it. I think it was due to reading that poem."

A bee was taking an interest in Ned's nose, and he swatted at it with his paw. "Then don't read the poem, leave it

to the others to solve. They're a pretty brainy lot, 'specially old Mackay and Braithwaite, real knowledge pots those

two. Besides, we'll have other things to worry about tomorrow. Bet you'd forgotten about those rough types due to

come up from London?"

Ben smote his forehead with an open palm. "Of course, the four men Miss Wot'sername said were arriving

Thursday! I've been so busy contending with riddles and dealing with

Wilf and, his gang, they completely slipped my mind. Have you found out any more about the situation, Ned?"

The black Labrador winked. "Oh yes indeed, I spent a very profitable hour at the back of Smithers's lawn. You

should have heard the racket. Mr. Smithers must have lungs of leather. By the way, isn't it time for tea? Come on, I'll

tell you later, we've got the rest of the day. At least you won't have to worry about young Wilf anymore."

Ben followed Ned inside. "What d'you mean about Wilf ?"

Ned helped himself to a drink of water from his dish.

"Tell you later, come on, get the kettle on, slice the seed cake. Where's my old lady?"

Ben spread a clean cloth over the table. "Asleep in the sitting room, we'll surprise her with a nice afternoon tea

when she wakes. Ned, will you tell Horatio to keep from under my feet?"

Ned shook his head. "No use telling him anything, unless it's about sardines!"

34.

BY NINE O'CLOCK ON THURSDAY MORNING the sun was almost as hot as noon—it was a record

summer. Jonathan Preston sat at his workbench, a pencil behind one ear. He stared at the poem and blinked. Stroking

his beard, the old ship's carpenter took a sip of tea and bit into a bacon sandwich. Hearing the noise of young people

coming in through the back window, he spoke without turning around. "Aye aye, mates, sun's been up since six, so

have I. What time d'you call this to be rollin' up on deck?"

Tearing the crust and bacon rind from his sandwich, he fed it to the black dog who'd gotten to the table before

his companions. "Like my breakfast better'n your own, eh, feller!" Amy perched on the edge of the workbench, where

she saw the poem. "Have you solved it yet, Jon? St. Matthew's message?"

The old seaman smiled slyly. "No, not yet. Have any of you?"

Both boys shook their heads. Jon watched Amy drumming her heels against the bench. "Now then, pretty maid,

d'you know something you ain't telling us? How did you find out it was St. Matthew's message?"

Her brother sounded rather injured. "Yes, how did you? You never said anything to me!"

Ben gave her a mock severe look. "Nor me!"

The girl plucked the pencil from behind Jon's ear and wagged it at them. "That's because you were asleep, my

dear brother, and how could I tell you, Ben, you weren't even there. So I thought I'd keep it a secret 'til we were all

together. Now watch this."

She drew two lines between the words of the first line of the writing on Jon's copy:

'Twould see/m at the w/icked's fate.

"Now, spell out the letters between the two lines, Jon."

He did as she told him. "M-a-t-t-h-e-w. Matthew! Very clever, Amy, I been staring at this for hours, but I never

saw that. How did you come to notice it?"

Amy shrugged airily. "It's called an inclusion—we did it as a word game in school last term. You look for

words among words."

The blue-eyed boy nodded admiringly. "Well done, pal!"

Amy jumped down from the bench. "Not so well, Ben, I couldn't fathom out any more of the puzzle. Could

you?"

"No, I had other things to think about, which I'll tell you later. I bet Mr. Braithwaite's managed to solve it."

Jon tossed the last of his sandwich to Ned. "I went over there earlier, but he didn't seem to be in the library.

Maybe he's arrived by now—let's go and see."

Exiting the almshouse by the front door, they saw the gig with Delia standing patiently in the shafts outside Mr.

Mackay's office. Amy ran across to stroke the mare.

"What's Will doing in Mr. Mackay's office this early?"

The door opened partially, and Eileen popped her head around it. "I was about to go'n see if you were up an'

about, my dears. Come on in, we're all here!"

Mr. Braithwaite, Mr. Mackay, and Will were gathered around the desk, and the lawyer greeted the newcomers.

"Good morning, friends. Mrs. Drummond was about to go and see if she could locate you. I arrived here early to look

up some old survey maps and see if I could throw any light upon our search.

"Mr. Braithwaite and the Drummonds have been helping me. I think we're close to a solution, that's why I was

sending for you. By the way, did any of you manage to solve the thing?"

Jon spread his copy on the desk. "Amy did, she figured it was the first Gospelmaker, St. Matthew, whose

treasure we're after. But that's as far as any of us got. Look at this first line."

The librarian inspected the line of words, scratching away at his frizzy hair. "St. Matthew, eh. Well well, good,

er, heaven, a simple inclusion. Hmm, and none of us, er, er, noticed it. Very good, Amy, yes, very good, very good!"

Amy could not conceal her impatience. "Mr. Mackay, you said that you were close to a solution. What have you

discovered?"

The dapper little solicitor coughed importantly. "First we thought we were looking for a bell—does not the

second line say 'that bell ne'er made a sound'? But if we look at the next line we see that the bell in this case is a mere

figure of speech, 'yet the death knell tolled aloud.' This death knell means in reality that something is finished. For

instance, we could say, if Caran De Winn's title deeds to Chapelvale are not found, that signals the death knell for the

entire village, you see?

However, the rhyme does not speak of a place, but of people, 'yet the death knell tolled aloud for those who

danced around.' "

Will could not stop himself from blurting out. "Wait! I remember my ole granddad singin' a song when I was a

little boy, something about a villain who ended up dancing around 'neath a gallows tree! Sorry for buttin' in on you,

sir."

Mr. Mackay merely smiled over the top of his nose glasses. "Quite all right, sir. Mr. Braithwaite, would you like

to tell them our conclusion?"

Mr. Braithwaite clasped the edges of his scholar's gown. "Indeed, thank you, Mr., er, hmmm. We also have

come to that same gallows tree. We put emphasis on the word 'those,' er, yes, 'for those who danced around.' This, er,

would lead us to believe that more than one, er, person, miscreant, or whatever, was hung at this gallows place...."

Recognition suddenly dawned on Ben. "So we're looking for that place of execution; what d'you think, Jon?"

"Right, mate!" the old carpenter agreed. "Places of execution, or gallows trees, as they were called, and they

always had those 'orrible birds nearby, like in the next-to-last line, 'the carrion crow doth perch above.' But what about

the final line, 'light bearers 'neath the ground'?"

A quiver of eagerness entered Eileen's voice. "That's what we'll find out by diggin' on the exact spot. You got

your little paper with the 'oles in it, Jon? We've got our map."

Between them they matched up the paper with the four holes to the ancient map from the farmhouse.

"It says here, 'prison,' " Will murmured. "The likely spot for a gallows tree. But I don't know of any prison in

Chapelvale, do you, Eileen?"

Will's wife shook her head. "Must've been knocked down long since."

Mr. Mackay took out a large survey map and compared it to the old map, looking back and forth from one to the

other. "I'd say the old prison was right about here!" He made a pencil mark on the survey map. "Right where the

police station stands."

Ben and Alex were already making for the door. "Well, what are we waiting for?" the younger boy said.

35.

THE POLICE STATION WAS A SMALL GREY-stone building, sandwiched between two houses built at the

turn of the century. One house was for the station sergeant, who often traveled to outlying communities, the other for

the station constable, who attended to village matters and kept the station house ledger up to date.

Constable Judmann was tending to the rosebushes in his front garden; he was an enthusiastic gardener, a big,

beefy fellow close to middle age. Seeing the two boys running ahead of the dairy cart, he wiped his hands on a cloth,

and donning a uniform jacket, he buttoned it up from his ample stomach to a bull-like neck. Taking his helmet from

the windowsill, he put it on and strode up the garden path with suitable dignity. He nodded at Alex.

"G'mornin', young feller, an' wot can we do for you, eh?" The gig pulled up and Mackay dismounted. "It's all

right, Constable, the boys are with us."

The policeman tipped a finger respectfully to his helmet brim. He had always been slightly in awe of Mackay,

feeling that solicitors and lawyers were a cut above normal folk.

"Mr. Mackay, sir, wot brings you up 'ere, summat wrong?"

The lawyer straightened his black cravat. "No, no, Constable. Everything's in order. I merely want to ask you a

question."

The policeman's chest buttons almost popped as he stood erect, pulling in his stomach. "Question, sir? A

ty'service!"

"What happened to the original Chapelvale prison, which, according to my survey map, stood near this site?"

Constable Judmann jabbed a fat thumb over his shoulder to the greystone building. "Nothin' 'appened, sir. There

'tis. Of course, it's been a police station for long as anybody can recall. No need for a lockup prison 'ereabouts for

many a long year now."

Mr. Mackay nodded solemnly. "But it was once a prison, and an execution ground, so I'm led to believe."