And had he really tried his hardest? His conscience nagged at him unmercifully. That little voice of gladness had so often whispered. Could it be said that the only time he failed was when the King sent him seeking his own great love?
No, no, no! That should not be. He would not be beaten. She must be found. Soon he would run into his finder’s luck again if he only kept on. And what was he wasting time for here, standing and thinking and looking at sunsets, when there was so much need for haste? A day, a few hours only, and he would have to send word to the castle: yes or no.
He took up his staff, which had fallen to the ground. But before turning away from the brink of the cliff he gave a last glance at the sea. It was much darker now and his eyes could no longer make out the sails of the tiny craft creeping along the edge of the world. The ocean would always be linked in his mind with Agnes, the roar of surf, the Whispering Shell. Oh, if he only had it now! In the time of two days, Barbara would surely have spoken of him, or, if she had been kidnapped, then the men who held her would. For their greatest fear must be of him, the King’s Finder.
He hurried away across the turf towards the road by which he had come.
Yes, the shell would have been a great help. Yet how could he have taken it? He had promised and given it to the Princess Sophronia. It was no longer his. And no power would have made her give it up willingly. It was a strange thing, that shell. From long experience of it he had grown to look on its queer powers as something quite everyday and ordinary—like a window in your house where you went to listen for the voices of returning children or the barking of your dog. Yet it was strange—magic or science, mystery or common sense, who would ever find out? What a pity the King had cast it from him that night! And yet perhaps not. It could bring evil as well as aid. That was certain.
Well, he must do without it now and get on with his business.
The road he was seeking was a small cart-track which led up to these cliffs from the village he had last halted at. In that village he had left Midnight and the clothes he had worn when he had ridden away from the castle. He hoped, as he peered about him in the half-dark, that the keeper of the inn who had stabled his horse would also have prepared a good supper for himself. He was terribly hungry.
His foot touched something hard in the turf. It was the road. Looking ahead he could now see lights.
The pilgrim gripped his staff and set off for the village at a quick walk.
9 The saddle-bag
The first thing Giles did on reaching the village inn was to go and see how his mare was faring. In the stable yard he noticed another horse, saddled and bridled, standing near the well. It was breathing hard, its hide damp with sweat. Another guest had come while he was out. The Finder was of course very interested just now in arrivals of any kind. From the open door of the stable where he had left Midnight, he heard the sound of talking. He paused a moment to listen before going in.
The voices were two. One Giles recognized immediately as the innkeeper’s. The other, for the moment, he was not so sure of, though it sounded somehow like one he ought to know well. Certainly the new-comer, whoever he was, had been asking about the black mare; for the host of the inn was now telling him at what hour she had come, what her rider had looked like and a great deal more. Then the other asked some further questions. And this time Giles knew the voice beyond all doubt. It was Luke’s.
At once he was about to rush in and welcome his old friend. But on second thoughts he changed his mind and drew back from the door. Naturally the esquire would not have told the host why either of them had come to his inn. And for other reasons, too, it would be better if they had their first meeting alone. Therefore he walked quietly back across the yard, entered the house and went upstairs to his room. Here, he was sure, Luke would presently come seeking him. For with Midnight in the stable the esquire must know that his master would soon return. Meanwhile, after changing his clothes, Giles rinsed his hands and face in a copper wash basin that stood on the table.
The evening was warm; and while he freshened himself up he left the dormer window open. Through it he could see right across the river to the far shore. Lights twinkled from a group of cottages clustered at the water’s edge. Behind them the black shadow of a hill rose against the clear night sky, topped by a long straggling building of very beautiful architecture. This was lit up too, though dimly. But even at that distance one could tell that the north end of it was a chapel. For the rich colours of a fine stained-glass window were brought out clearly by the candle-light behind.
He had just finished drying his face when a knock sounded on the door.
‘Come in!’
Luke entered with a candle in his hand and a saddle-bag under his arm. He closed the door behind him before any word was spoken.
‘It is more than good to see you,’ said Giles. ‘You’ve been up to my tricks: traced me by the mare, eh? Well, a horse is always easier to track than a man. Throw the bag on the floor and sit down. But how did you know what road I had taken?’
‘I watched from the castle tower,’ said Luke. ‘Before you were out of sight I guessed you were making for the Harbour Turnpike—though which direction you’d go in when you struck it I could not tell, of course. However, a few questions at the wayside inns soon put me on your trail—and once found, it was not hard to stick to. Is there any—er—any news?’
‘Of the Countess?—No,’ said Giles. ‘I have never been so completely puzzled in my life. But you must have more news than I. First, why did you come after me?’
Giles seated himself on the bed while Luke talked.
‘Well, for one thing, both the King and the Queen Mother were terribly anxious for word of you. Almost ever since you left, His Majesty has been watching from the tower windows for messengers. For another thing, I guessed you would be wanting more clothes. You had taken barely anything but what you stood up in. And then besides, naturally, I wanted to come too. Anne didn’t really need my help: you might. So I asked His Majesty if he would let me go after you with a second tunic and some fresh linen. He seemed very pleased at the idea and gave me leave at once.’
‘Humph!’ Giles muttered. ‘It was thoughtful of you—about the clothes, I mean. But I asked you to stay with Anne. Was there no other reason for your leaving the castle?’
‘Of course there was,’ Luke added with an odd kind of sheepish look. ‘I would not else have gone against your orders, you may be sure. But something—two things—happened after you went away. I did not speak to the King of them. And they may not, even to you, seem of any importance. Just the same, I thought you might want to know of them. The Whispering Shell—’
Giles sprang to his feet.
‘It’s lost,’ said Luke. ‘Just disappeared. The Princess Sophronia came to me yesterday in a terrible state. Said it had been stolen from her room. Anne and I hunted everywhere for it. We had hard work to keep the old lady from rushing all over the palace claiming she had been robbed. Then when we couldn’t find it, she told me she was certain you had taken it with you, since you alone had keys to all the palace doors. She wanted to have me put under arrest for even daring to argue with her. But at last Anne got her calm enough to answer a few questions. And we soon found out that she had had the shell in her own hands, once at least, since you had left. So she had to admit that you couldn’t have taken it. However, I told her I’d try to get the King’s permission to come after you and would ask you to look for it. And it was only then that she quieted down enough so Anne and I dared leave her.’