LE CHATEAU TISDALE.

Hutt News, Volume 3, Issue 30, 18 December 1930, Page 9

LE CHATEAU TISDALE.

■ttjfctaeially written fo>r the 'Hut-t News' M>" " by P.H.P).

Mot far from the village whoso name ie known to all of us, the winding and tree-shadowed road towards the Akafcarawas, and on the left as you aaoend the hill once stood an did house that went by the pleasant name of the

"CBiateau Tisdale." Lonely and for-

loxxi it looked even in those days, with .tj^te rotted fonce and moss-grown chim- ' ;ii%e(ra. its decrepit stops and broken Shatters, a huge old willow shading its feaek door and .the last traces of a; bnce«fttivated garden surrounding it. Beftx&d the house was a shed oven older «*d .more dilapidated than the house itrie&f, its roof sagging and its walls in the last stages of .-decay.' Below '' Le Chateau which stood on & Iwgftt bluff albove the river, the gorseyatehod -cliff dropped almost sheer to tke swirling water on the one side and to a dry river bed on the other, t!he hooa& being situated, as it were on the Tery end 6f a peninsula. Its isolation \Ktt> thus accentuated, for it appeared to bo cut off from civilisation on both oSAeo. Access to it was gained by an «jld bridge which a considerate countyted labelled "Unsafe for Traffic" and guarded with planks and barbed wire. Ito appearance as wo viewed ,dt froan Hm pthier side of the bridge was cer-

feunly not inviting, tout tflie prospect,o4 4hpilted and possibly a fire seemed more <tfbeerful than the' certainty of a wetting ~vhere -we were, so we drew ne&x to tShe aUttio© aforesaid. In spite of this unr pjfrnrnnt recaption wo decided that the Chateau should shelter us, and hoped 4fc*t the bridge would bear our weight. Sight was coining on, rain had already %oen falling for some time,' while tihe lowering clouds and the bitter wind fKeeaged a stormy nigiht.. Although, the house offered anything iH*t a welcome, its roof was nnvch bet--iar than no roof at all, and although we did not seem to be likely to have a /•Merry Christmas,' we at least might lave a dry one. As we splashed tfcxougb. the pools on the rutted cart■tsack leading to the house, I reflected with some bitterness on the hardness «f Pate which had thrown Ted and I <mt of work at just the wrong moment, &md contrasted the present Christmas with past ones. Compared' with, those tko@ occasion seemed somewhat dull and itevoid of romance. ifiomance is, of course, a relative term, but at Christmas time give me fcsigfiit lights and cities, old friends and gay conversation, good food and comp&ny. Christmas else is not Christmas *t «Jl. But this year it was not to be. Ted and I wexe, to put it vulgarly "on «bt uppers," and what is more, we had «ot quite got used to the feeling. I vas espcially sorry for Ted, more so, Sadeed, than for myself,-because whereas Z still remained a gay bachelor, albeit less gay than previously, he had what might be called a pressing need; to find w*o3*k. Unf orfeunate'ly- neither of w had been able to find mpre than odd Jobs, and these were frequently more «dd than jobs—anueta more. This explains what we were doing so far from the bright lights which for both of us made Christmas attractive. Having litHb money and none of that to spare for enjoyment, we had left the capital where poverty seems to bring an addi* tional heartache at this season, and set <mt like Dick Wittington "to seek our fortune." Needless to remark we had met; found it, but we had earned a little Money and secured a lift in a friendly <atr. Not so bad for the first day. And «n tihe morrow, if the hospitable farm-; «na round about would not give a meal' *o two '' swaggers'' on Christmas Day .{ it was a poor country.

We made our way to the front door «b which was inscribed in legible but faded writing the legend "Chateau Tis4ale' and tried the handle. The door w&a locked, so we wandered round to 4iia back where there appeared to be another door. As this also seemed immovable, we scrutinised the windows whose shutters bung principally from eae hinge each, and, o finding a broken pane of glass in one of the windows, palled back the catch and entered. The room appeared to be a bedroom with a think on either hand and an opening loading to the next room. f It contained with, the exception of the two bunks, «• furniture. "Better look lound," I suggested, amA. ted the way. Ted followed in sil-

once through, the rambling old house which the approaching night and the curtained windows combined to make dark and eerie.

'' Dismal hole,'' remarked my companion briefly, "Let's get a candle, ami light the fire.'

We accordingly retraced our steps to the toom. in which we had left our beUongings, opened the bundles, technically known to the modern gentlemen of the road as "swags," and obtained a stump of candle which one of us had picked up (Heaven knows where) and kept for just such an occasion. '/Swaggers' frequently come upon old shacks, in the country and take shelter for the night in them, we had been told, and a piece of candle seemed a .useful thing to have about the place. >

Tlie light was a friendly gleani in t'lie prevailing gloom., and with it we •returned to what appeared to ~ be the living' room of the house which was bigger than any of the other pl!a|ces w,e had passed on the road, and yet just as old. The walls were covered with old newspapers in one room, but the others had at some time been modernised by the addition of wall-papers in the startling designs beloved by our grandmothers and just returning to fashion. •In many places these had been ripped from the walls, presumably to light the lire, and in others they just hung down from the ceilings as if their tacks had come out or their scrim rotted away. A huge open fixeplatse in the living room gave promise of warmtSi when the fire should be lit. It was in its way an artistic example of the mason's art> being built of huge boulders like those in the stream., witih a cobble hearth and hooks on which cooking utensils could be hung. Wo found an old ease for kindling wood and soon had a brisk fire over which we hung a imge black kettle of water and a biHy containing the materials for a stew. "Hope the water's all Tight," said I, dubiously. "Suppose we'll have to chance it?" ", Ted put his mouth to the tap, and, after this indelicate proceeding, announced that it seemed ail right to him, "And," he continued, busily stoking the fire, "we're not so badly off as wo migjht be?" '~.-' ' ,'jNo,'' J agreed, 11 we've got dinner for to-night, breakfast for the morning, and a roof over our heads*. But I don't think much.of the place for all that."; Ted said nothing, and, while he proceeded with, the cooking, I wandered round the room. Other people's .houses always interest nie. "Do you see a tin opener anywhere," called Ted, uit'd be a pity to have to open t&is tin with an axebesides making a mess," "I'M have a look," I replied, .and continued my explorations with renewed zest. I hate waste, but I hate milkless tea even worse. On a shelf in the ancient and battered sideboard cupboard I found the article I wanted, rusty without doubt, but still usable. Further researches disclosed, among a litter of empty bottles, some sauce and an unopened tin of jam. Good, finds both that I put on the table among our own provisions, be-i fore continuing my tour. "Shut the door, old man, will you?" called out Ted; "The draug&t's blowing the fire aH. over, the place." I went to comply with this quite reasonable request, and looked in vain for the door. There was. no door. An open ing, certainly, but no actual doox. I reported this sad fact to Ted, who remarked, (.'J. suppose out predecessors got short of firewood,' 7 and we left it at that. But at the same time I was puzzled, and inspected all the doorways in the pllace. They" were identically without doors, possessing gaunt openings with not&ing to cover them. This fact probably explained the perpetual draughts that eddyied with low moans about the gloomy old house. I felt very glad that I was not alone there and that we had lights and a fire. Strangely enolgh, t&e gaping openings into the many little rooms irritated me more than t&e whistling of the wind and the squeaking of the drlnken shutters. I felt that they were the eyes of some lothsome boast or that a 'presence was within itheri. cavern-like darkness, waiting till the light was out to clutch me by the shoulder—l could almost feel its claws upon me, and I shivered. These sombre reflections were interrupted by the welcome call of dinner,

and wo sat down, to our frugal but appetising meal. Ted is an excellent cook — '-a,, fact which even .Ms wife admits, and on this occasion he had excelled himself. When the las|. of the stew had been washed down tf^jlthe very last of the tea, feeling .tired, : for we had had a -hard day, we wfasShed up and went to bed in the' " ; best bedroom" which possessed two bunks.y It was not long before Ted's snores indicated that his cares were for the moment ovei*, but I lay long artVake, listening to the howH> of the wind round our-hermitage, the squeak and bang of the sfhutters, and tho rattle of a loose sheet of iron on. the r-oof ■. The noises from which, we had not been free since our arrival, seemed to have increased in variety and intensity and, as I lay theie,. appeared to resolve th,emselves into the.sound of someone knocking at the "■ door".! I scarcely noticed it at first, thinking it some effect 'of tfiie wind or purely imaginary, but when' the extraneous noises for a moment died down, I heard it clearly in the sudlden silence—a: determined knock. . . . 1 cogitated on my duty in the matter. SShould I get up and see Who this bellated knocker might be, or should I let him knock, become'tired of knocking; and. go away. I naturally decided on the latter alteiTiative, and listened with some curiosity for «. repetition of the sound. I did not have to wait long. The knock came again, shaking tfh.e front door. The wind at this moment, •ashamed of its silence, came in a great "gust, and as it did so the front door opened with it era&h against the wall and a swish of wind whirled through the house, I wondered far a moment how the door had opened when it had been locked in the afternoon, and supposed that one of us had unlocked it. Presumably, having opened the door, 'the knocker would now come in, and I wondered what-he would say when he found that the place was - already occupied. From the room in Which we had chosen to sleep I could see into a sort of central room through which one had to pass to get to the "kitchen, and, as there were no doors, any lights in one room woiild be visible by their glow, throughout the house. Tins was proved when I heard the striking of a match and saw its light through the doorway of our room. I could see no person, but soon saw a shadow reflected on the opposite wall, and this moved into the kitchen, still without my catching a glimpse of the person who was holding the match. Apparently fox the moment we were not,£o be disturbed. Prom the increased light which, came from the kitchen, I realised that the intruder had lighted the candle, which, I rememiber was conspicuously displayed on the kitchen table. The wind and rain had by this time increased to such fury as I have seldom seen equalled before or since, but as the wind still remained gusty, there were moments of comparative quiet in which sounds in any part of the house could be heard clearly. In one such lull, I heard a voice and strained my ears to listen, but could distinguish only the word "Whiskey,'* and what sounded like the eiink of crockery. In the interval of silence a match was struck, there was the rustle of paper, and a husky voice began, , "Well, it's Christmas Eve, Jim-— —", "And what of that?^' returned a voice, but another voice t&is time, though I could previously have sworn that onOy one person passed through to the kitchen. .Only one shadow but two voices! I concluded that two persons must have come in together .and that I .had seen first one shadow arid .then ,the other. I longed to go out "and inspect these convivial companions, preferably without their knowledge, tout was afraid that the noise I made would attract their attention in the silence when the- storm fell to rest, and that I woidd be asked to explain what I was doing in the house, though their method- of entrance did not suggest that they had any better right here than I had. *• ■ So I contented myself with leaning forward to catch the conversation, hop- , ing that they would npt search the house before retiring to rest, if, and when they did. In the morning' Ted and I might remove ourselves1 and tlffe owners of the house be none the wiser.

I found it a difficult task to pick up the threads of the conversation owing

both, to the storm and to the low tone In which they were talking, but frequent references to someone called "'Dick" were heard, and fTom the fact that his name was mentioned once in connection with "swag" I concluded that he like myself was a wanderer. Then the wind drowned the whole ctonvorsa'tion for a time, and the nest words I heard were "safe enough" 'and "in the bush." The husky-voiced one continued to urge something upon his companion in a low tone that was punctured by growling but definite refusals from the other, while the sound of liquids suggested that both were making the hours pass pleasantly if not profitably. To some question tSie louder voice replied "You-leave it where it is;" and the husky one wxart monotonously on. This voice must l\ave sent me to sleep; for the next thing I Tememiber is waking up with the thought that something <was the matter with the worldj the isort of feeling with which you wake ,up after an earthquake. I seem to' have felt a bump and a shake, but now all was still. The wind seemed to, have-dropped, at least ifor the moment, the rain, had ceased, and the various ibangdngs and clatterings to the accoimipanimenjt of which I had gone to sleep were all hushed. Everything seemed normal until I looked at the doorway, when, to my surprise, I saw that the light still shone in from the kitchen. Suddenly a huge shadow crossed the waMi slowly and made its way in the direction* of the front door. The door could be heard to open ,the shadow disappeared, and the door closed with a crash. I Wondered what the shadow resemfbled^ but: my nearest comparison was that of an elephant on two legs. Then with overwhelming force the realisation came upon me that it was caused by one man carrying another on his back. The light from the kitchen burned steadily on for a minute, flickered, and-died away in a series of spurts with, one 'culminating (burst of flame, and afll was dark-again, and silent. My next^ conscious memory was of Ted's brawny arm shaking me, and his voice saying, • "Wake up, it's a fine morning and breakfast's ready," I was not slow in following this good advice especially with that particular corollory and soon we were seated at the table. While we both did our best to honour the work of the cook, I related my e"xperience of the previous night to the great amusement of Ted who is absolutely devoid both of imagination and of belief in, the supernatural. I was. coming to the conchas ion that the events were part of a bad dream when I noticed that i^ie old enamel candlestick was empty, and on looking inside it, saw that the candle had burned away to a spot' of grease and a "small portion of wick-—just as one twould expect if the candle had been burning the better part of the night. i ■■....' /''.Look at this," I exclaimed tori--umjpharitly, '' the . blessed thing has burned away." t "Probably one of us left it alight all night," returned Ted without emotion. "It's the sort, of silly thing we would do instead of taking it with us." ' 'But I Temember seeing you blow it out," I replied doubtftUy. "I don't remember blowing it out, anyway,'' replied Ted. ' * Besides, what does,, it master?" "It matters a good deal if anything has happened here and is found out later and we cau't prove that we didn't do it," I returned, "Hadn't we better look round a bit?" "We might do that as we go out,' 7 conceded Ted. "But in the meantime let's wash up and pack. Bring over the kettle will you Hot water's better than cold for this job," I went to the fireplace to get t&e kettle from the hearth, and as I picked it up, something^ about the hearth struck me as unusual. A wide crack extended from side to side. " Did you notice this crack last night, Ted!" I asked?" "No, can't say that I did now that you come to mention it. Why ? " I gave him the kettle and returned to stare at the crack. Finally I pulled on one edge, and the, whole of one end, the smaller, of the hearth came up. "Look," I exclaimed, "A find." Ted came over and together we gaaed at the top of a box that had been hidden beneath the hearth. We pulled

it omt, broke it open, and, as W e by, thos time expected, found it full of valuables. Bu-t not conventional bank* n«tes, not War Loan Certificates, or anything so mundane. This was not the hoard of some modern miser, but the savings or more likely the illegtl gleanings of some more ancient worthy The bulk of fee contents Vas gold dust awl rough nuggets, while odd corners were filled with coin and .jfc*fle pap, kets of gems worth more ftaan the rest of the contents pat together.

We looked at one another in silence for some minutes.

' 'Wow I understand tne business laßt night, >>' I began. This stuffi belonged to the three, Dick and tie''otter two, and the husky-voiced one wanted his share of the fio the/other chap killed him—that was the noise I heard —and I suppose buried him somewhere. "Throw him into the creek, more likely," suggested Ted.

".WdLL, if you like, and then stuck to the whole lot."

"But this box has been here an age" argued Ted,/'and your events happened last night. (Look at the spiders» webs and the d<sst. Besides these are Victorian coins, and the hinges on ihe box are rusted stiff."

"But I didn't dream it," I insisted; "and ,it all fits in. Why, they mentioned like fireplace, now I come to think of it.'

<rYes, perhaps they did," r-et'orteft Ted, "and drank whiskey all night out of nothing, and killed one another witfe chait a«gs, and1 carried One another tot watery grayets at the foot of «ie cliijk Come on. .We've got the box of cash anyway, and: that's enough for a day or two." ' . '.

"Where did you fin-d those bottlest»» I-enquired, poi^ig to tie empties that adtorned the^oAe. "Were tfiey there last night?'^

Ted stopped, looked round, and ejaculated, "Yes," in a loud tone of voice. "Yes," he repeated, "Of cbnTse.'

I felt disinclined to believe him, he was too much Kke a man trying to convince himself of something' he knew tb be untrue. .

"Oome along,' he said, and we went, bearing .our veYy acceptable. Christmas box with us, but I have often wondered, ■■'.'■■"» ■■.. ■■■■■. ' - ;