"Machen, Arthur - The Shining Pyramid" - читать интересную книгу автора (Machen Arthur)

All the day Dyson prowled meditatively about the fields and woods completely
surrounding the house. He was thoroughly and completely puzzled by the trivial
circumstances he proposed to elucidate, and now he again took the flint
arrow-head from his pocket, turning it over and examining it with deep
attention. There was something about the thing that was altogether different
from the specimens he had seen at the museums and private collections; the shape
was of a distinct type, and around the edge there was a line of little punctured
dots, apparently a suggestion of ornament. Who, thought Dyson, could possess
such things in so remote a place; and who, possessing the flints, could have put
them to the fantastic use of designing meaningless figures under Vaughan's
garden wall? The rank absurdity of the whole affair offended him unutterably;
and as one theory after another rose in his mind only to be rejected, he felt
strongly tempted to take the next train back to town. He had seen the silver
plate which Vaughan treasured, and had inspected the punch-bowl, the gem of the
collection, with close attention; and what he saw and his interview with the
butler convinced him that a plot to rob the strong box was out of the limits of
enquiry. The chest in which the bowl was kept, a heavy piece of mahogany,
evidently dating from the beginning of the century, was certainly strongly
suggestive of a pyramid, and Dyson was at first inclined to the inept manoeuvres
of the detective, but a little sober thought convinced him of the impossibility
of the burglary hypothesis, and he cast wildly about for something more
satisfying. He asked Vaughan if there were any gipsies in the neighbourhood, and
heard that the Romany had not been seen for years. This dashed him a good deal,
as he knew the gipsy habit of leaving queer hieroglyphics on the line of march,
and had been much elated when the thought occurred to him. He was facing Vaughan
by the old-fashioned hearth when he put the question, and leaned back in his
chair in disgust at the destruction of his theory.

"It is odd," said Vaughan, "but the gipsies never trouble us here. Now and then
the farmers find traces of fires in the wildest part of the hills, but nobody
seems to know who the fire lighters are."

"Surely that looks like gipsies?"

"No, not in such places as those. Tinkers and gipsies and wanderers of all sorts
stick to the roads and don't go very far from the farmhouses."

"Well, I can make nothing of it. I saw the children going by this afternoon,
and, as you say, they ran straight on. So we shall have no more eyes on the wall
at all events."

"No, I must waylay them one of these days and find out who is the artist."
The next morning when Vaughan strolled in his usual course from the lawn to the
back of the house he found Dyson already awaiting him by the garden door, and
evidently in a state of high excitement, for he beckoned furiously with his
hand, and gesticulated violently.

"What is it?" asked Vaughan. "The flints again?"

"No, but look here; look at the wall. There; don't you see it?"