followed suit, and then they and the spectators joined in the task of stamping them out with their feet.
Laura and her escort withdrew, for fear of being trampled on, and watched from a respectful distance but without enthusiasm.
‘I suppose that’s the dance?’ said Laura. ‘If so, I don’t call it particularly impressive, do you?’
‘It’s some crack-brained society carrying out what they imagine to have been an ancient rite,’ said Gascoigne. ‘Blessing the crops, or something, I suppose. At any rate, it’s very nearly over.’
He was right. Already many of the onlookers had ceased their leaping and stamping, and were walking in quiet groups away from the stones. The three young people remained in hiding until all the people had gone. They noticed that none of them returned by the track which led down to the farm, but they could see the tail-lights of several cars on the way which led towards the main road. The farm gates, they imagined, had all been removed for the occasion, and would be put back in the early morning.
‘Well, that seems to be that,’ said Laura, standing up and brushing vegetation from her skirt and stockings. ‘What it was all about I don’t seem to know or care. I wonder what the film people made of it? Should you think there was much to film in that? Oh, well, let’s beat it, shall we? I could do with a spot of sleep.’
But O’Hara put a hand on her elbow.
‘Never mind about sleep,’ he said quietly. ‘Listen, will you? Can you hear anything, or is it my imagination? No; I’m sure it isn’t! Let’s get into the hedge! I rather fancy that this is where the fun begins! Keep close!’
Chapter Thirteen
—«¦»—
‘
Ibid. (
« ^ »
Laura listened intently, but the sound was not repeated. The three lay crouched where they were for perhaps a quarter of an hour, but nothing stirred. Laura murmured, ‘I know now.’
‘Know what?’ asked O’Hara, his long body sprawled beside her on the turf.
‘Those lights and colours. Don’t you remember the Ferguson one-act play,
‘
‘This is it!’ muttered Laura, feeling, she confessed to Mrs. Bradley later, a chilly sensation down her spine. ‘Who comes, though?—and why?’
‘Lie close,’ murmured Gascoigne. ‘They’re coming this way, I think. I only hope they haven’t been tipped off that there are strangers in the House!’
Laura listened. Very soon, through the thick darkness, could be heard the approach of several persons, one of whom almost immediately revealed, by the light of a lantern from which he had slipped the cover, that he was wearing riding breeches and boots, and was, in all probability, therefore, the horseman whom the three had seen go past when they were on their way to the circle of standing stones.
When this man had reached the middle of the stone circle he set down his lantern upon the ground and thus provided enough light for Laura and her companions to see the number of persons who were with him. There were eight of them, the man himself making nine, and Laura, tapping heavily with her forefinger upon Gascoigne’s shoulder, indicated that this magic number was again of some importance and interest. Just as she had concluded this unnecessary observation, the party she was watching began slowly to disperse until one of the standing stones hid each man and the lantern alone could be seen, glowing bright as a topaz in the middle of the ring of stones.
Led by Gascoigne, the watchers began to crawl towards the stones. Minutes passed. There was the silence of death. Then began a slight sound too loud to be called breathing, too quiet to be called grunting. Laura heard it first, and, for a reason she could not afterwards explain, but which was due to some instinct acquired by females as opposed (in all senses) to males, she leapt up, shouting, ‘They’re on us! We should have kept to the hedge!’
It was true. There ensued a curse and a shout, followed by a tense moment of dramatic fervour as her cavaliers went into battle. Laura, prompt always for action, went bounding to help them, and then heard two shots as she wound her long, strong arms about a stranger who loomed up in the light of the lantern. Then came a cry from her left in a voice she did not know; that, apparently, of one of the postulants of the Druids.
‘Look out! Someone else! Look out, boys!’ Her opponent wrenched himself free, but Laura had a coat button and a lock of his hair. Gascoigne grounded his man and fell on him, and muffled cries could be heard as he bumped the man’s head on the turf. The man, however, showed sudden agility. He rolled over, kicked backwards at Gascoigne’s face, leapt up and raced off. Gascoigne, pursuing him, ran into a bush he had not seen in the dark, and tripped and fell.
There was the sound of a rich cackle. A formidable beam of light was switched on. Mrs. Bradley, her revolver still in her hand, swept her torch across the ground in widening arcs. By this means O’Hara was discovered sitting masterfully on one of the foemen.
‘I think he’s dead,’ he said. ‘I tackled him low, and I think he hit his head.’
Mrs. Bradley knelt down and examined the fallen man. She gave Laura the gun to hold. The man opened his eyes.
‘Well, well!’ said Mrs. Bradley, as he sat up and felt the back of his head, and winced. ‘And what game is this that has to be played by midnight among the relics of pre-history?’
The man, who was young and badly needed a shave, looked sheepish and scrambled to his feet.
‘It’s just a ceremony,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid it’s ruined for this year. Was it you that fired the gun?’
‘It was,’ replied Mrs. Bradley. ‘Pick up your lantern and go home. And don’t drink spirits until a doctor has examined your head. You might regret it. But, first, who are you?’
‘I’m with the film people,’ he responded sullenly. ‘We weren’t doing any harm. You’d no right to attack us like that. We only came up for a lark because… because…’
‘Because the Druids might dance? Don’t lie,’ said Mrs. Bradley peremptorily. ‘Be off with you. And you children, too,’ she added. ‘Every one of you ought to be in bed! This is all very foolish and frightening. Which is your way, young man?’
‘Oh, the village,’ said the young man crossly. ‘I’m in lodgings there.’ He limped away from them. Mrs. Bradley kept her torch trained on him. He picked up the lantern and, using it to light him on his way, went slowly, half- dragging one leg, in the direction of the path which eventually gave access to the main road near the village of Upper Deepening.
‘And now,’ said Mrs. Bradley, as the wavering lantern disappeared from view, ‘to your car as quickly as you can.’
Guided by her torch (Laura still holding the revolver), they returned to the wood in which they had left the car. They could see its rear light among the trees, so they made their way to it, climbed in, and made room for Mrs. Bradley.
‘No, no,’ she said. ‘I have George to drive me back. Laura, I suggest that you come with me, too, then these young men can sleep in their car. I also suggest that neither of you two returns to Slepe Rock until the morning,’ she added, addressing Gascoigne and O’Hara. ‘There have been strange happen-ings to-night, from what I hear at the hotel! Sandbags, indeed! Drive back towards the outskirts of Cuchester, and park the car in the lane that leads to the ancient fort. You, Mr. O’Hara, will know the lane I mean.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ said O’Hara, in a gravely obedient tone. ‘And you’ll pick us up there in the morning?’
‘At ten o’clock,’ said Mrs. Bradley briskly. ‘Now good night, heaven preserve you, and don’t run into any more mischief.’ She stood away whilst Gascoigne, who was driving, backed the car on to the road, but as soon as its tail- light had topped the rise, she seized Laura’s sleeve and said urgently, ‘And, now, child, back to the stone circle, for we cannot remain in this unenviable condition of doubt.’
