“Pity. Used to be a bright lad. All right, even yet; but not quite the same, somehow. Moody at times; and apt to loaf about doing nothing for half the day. No real go in him. A queer temper, too, some days. When I met him just now, for instance, he looked ready to bite me in the gizzard. Not at all the society man.”
Vera dismissed the subject, which threatened to throw a gloom over them both. They liked Arthur Hawkhurst, in spite of the occasional flashes of abnormality which he had shown since the attack of encephalitis lethargica.
“You’re playing quite fair, aren’t you, Howard? You’ve never been inside the Maze at all?”
“You don’t suppose I’d cheat for the sake of winning a tin of cocoa, do you? It’s amazing what a low view of mankind some girls have. Soured from the cradle, what? And born in suspicion, belike. Shake it off, or it’ll grow on you, Vera. Go and dig in the garden when you feel an attack coming on.”
“Oh, don’t rub it in! I know your motto well enough: ‘Perspiration is better than cure,’ or something like that, isn’t it? I only asked out of idle curiosity. No reflections on your honesty really intended.”
“Your apology of even date duly received and filed. Sounds like the house-agent vein again, that, doesn’t it? Come on, I’ll race you this last hundred yards and give you a start to that rhododendron. Half a tin of cocoa on the event, since you’re so mercenary.”
Vera rejected his offer; and they walked over the last lawn to the nearest entrance to the Maze.
The Maze at Whistlefield was a relic of earlier days when such things were fashionable; but it had been kept in good repair, and Roger Shandon’s gardeners spent a considerable amount of labour in clipping its topiary hedges into the semblance of green walls. Somewhat irregular in outline, it covered about half an acre of ground; but into that limited space there was compressed more than half a mile of pathways; and the shortest route to either of the centres was at least two hundred and fifty yards in length. But few except experts could have found their way to either Helen’s Bower or the Pool of Narcissus by walking a mere two hundred and fifty yards. The Whistlefield Maze was a labyrinth far exceeding in complexity its kindred at Hatfield and Hampton Court. Its twelve-foot hedges were impenetrably thick; and in its design it followed the “island-pattern” to such an extent that incautious explorers might wander by the hour through its tiny archipelago without gaining a foot towards the innermost recesses or even realising that they were simply coasting round and round the outline of some detached hedge.
So many people had got temporarily lost in the labyrinth and, being so far away from the house, had been unable to get help even by shouting, that at last precautions had been taken to avoid mishaps of the kind in future.
As Vera and her companion reached the tall iron gate in the outer hedge which marked one of the entrances, they found themselves confronted with a small notice-board to which an old-fashioned horn was suspended.
Visitors entering the maze are advised to take this horn with them so that they can summon assistance if necessary. On leaving the maze, kindly hang the horn in its place again.
Howard went up to the board and read the notice with obvious contempt.
“Nice lot of incompetents they seem to have about the house!” he commented in a scathing tone. “I wonder they don’t provide a bath-chair and a man to push you to the centre, and be done with it. As if any person of ordinary intelligence couldn’t find his way through a thing about the size of a washing-green.”
“Ever been in a maze before?” Vera inquired.
“No, not that I can remember.”
“Ah, then kindly unhook the horn and give it to me. I’m not proud.”
Howard took the horn from its place and handed it over.
“What’s the good of one horn, since we’re not going in together?”
Vera looked him over coldly.
“When I get lost, I shall blow the horn and get someone to show me the way out. When you get lost, you’ll be able to practise breathing exercise in yelling for help. You see, you’ve got a much louder and harsher voice than I have. You’ll be all right, I’m sure. But if you think you can’t come up to the lung-power needed, you might go round to the next entrance and see if there isn’t a horn there. I should think there’s sure to be one at each entrance.”
Howard was put on his mettle.
“Oh, I shan’t get lost. Don’t fret too much about me. Now then, who’s for the centre?”
“Come along, then. I’ll take the left-hand path here, and you can go to the right. Whoever gets first to the centre can shout ‘I win!’ and then start for the exit door. If it’s a tie at the centre, then the first one out is the winner. Keep a tight hold on your honesty and don’t shout unless you get to the centre! These are all the directions necessary, I think. Now, go!”
Vera hurried along a straight corridor for some twenty yards and then turned sharply to the right as the path altered its direction. On again, until a promontory of hedge forced her to diverge into a recess in the greenery, from which she emerged again into the main track. Another corner to the right was turned and now she seemed to have come into a cul-de-sac.
“Rather a sell if I’ve chosen a blind alley at the very start,” she thought to herself. “Howard would jubilate over that when he found out about it.”
However, on reaching the wall of hedge which seemed to bar her way, she came upon a concealed turning to the right.
“After walking all that distance, I’m still on the very outer rim of this Maze! However,
