The snow was falling very thickly. Julian went to the window and looked out. ‘I shall have to go and see that Timmy’s kennel is all right,’ he said. ‘We don’t want the poor old fellow to be snowed up! I expect he is wondering what the snow is!’
Timothy was certainly very puzzled to see everywhere covered with soft white stuff. He sat in his kennel and stared out at the falling flakes, his big brown eyes following them as they fell to the ground. He was puzzled and unhappy. Why was he living out here by himself in the cold? Why didn’t George come to him? Didn’t she love him any more? The big dog was very miserable, as miserable as George!
He was delighted to see Julian. He jumped up at the boy and licked his face. ‘Good old Tim!’ said Julian. ‘Are you all right? Let me sweep away some of this snow and swing your kennel round a bit so that no flakes fly inside. There – that’s better. No, we’re not going for a walk, old thing – not now.’
The boy patted the dog and fussed him a bit, then went indoors. The others met him at the sitting-room door.
‘Julian! Mr. Roland is going out for a walk by himself. Aunt Fanny is lying down, and Uncle Quentin is in his study. Can’t we go up and see George ?’
‘We were forbidden to,’ said Julian, doubtfully.
T know,’ said Dick. ‘But I don’t mind risking it for the sake of making George feel a bit happier. It must be so awful for her, lying up there all alone, knowing she can’t see Tim for days.’
‘Well – let me go up, as I’m the eldest,’ said Julian. ‘You two stay down here in the sitting-room and talk. Then Uncle Quentin will think we’re all here. I’ll slip up and see George for a few minutes.’
‘All right,’ said Dick. ‘Give her our love and tell her we’ll look after Timmy.’
Julian slipped quietly up the stairs. He opened George’s door and crept inside. He shut the door, and saw George sitting up in bed, looking at him in delight.
‘Sh!’ said Julian. ‘I’m not supposed to be here!’
‘Oh Julian!’ said George joyfully. ‘How good of you to come. I was so lonely. Come this side of the bed. Then if anyone comes in suddenly, you can duck down and hide.’
Julian went to the other side of the bed. George began to pour out to him all she had been thinking of.
‘I believe Mr. Roland is the thief, I really do!’ she said. ‘I’m not saying that because I hate him, Julian, really I’m not. After all, I did find him snooping round the study one afternoon – and again in the middle of the night. He may have got to hear of my father’s work, and come to see if he could steal it. It was just lucky for him that we needed a tutor. I’m sure he stole those pages, and I’m sure he wanted Timmy out of the house so that he could do his stealing without Tim hearing him and growling.’
‘Oh, George – I don’t think so,’ said Julian, who really could not approve of the idea of the tutor doing such a thing. ‘It all sounds so far-fetched and unbelievable.’
‘Lot’s of unbelievable things happen,’ said George. ‘Lots. And this is one of them.’
‘Well, if Mr. Roland did steal the pages, they must be somewhere in the house,’ said Julian. ‘He hasn’t been out all day. They must be somewhere in his bedroom.’
‘Of course!’ said George, looking thrilled. T wish he’d go out! Then I’d search his room.’
‘George, you can’t do things like that,’ said Julian, quite shocked.
‘You simply don’t know what things I can do, if I really want to,’ said George, setting her mouth in a firm line. ‘Oh – what’s that noise ?’
There was the bang of a door. Julian went cautiously to the window and peeped out. The snow had stopped falling for a time, and Mr. Roland had taken the chance of going out.
‘It’s Mr. Roland,’ said Julian.
‘Oooh – I could search his room now, if you’ll keep watch at the window and tell me if he comes back,’ said George, throwing back the bedclothes at once.
‘No, George, don’t,’ said Julian. ‘Honestly and truly, it’s awful to search somebody’s room like that. And
anyway, I dare say he’s got the pages with him. He may even be going to give them to somebody!’
‘I never thought of that,’ said George, and she looked at Julian with wide eyes. ‘Isn’t that sickening ? Of course he may be doing that. He knows those two artists at Kirrin Farmhouse, for instance. They may be in the plot too.’
‘Oh, George, don’t be silly,’ said Julian. ‘You are making a mountain out of a mole-hill, talking of plots and goodness knows what! Anyone would think we were in the middle of a big adventure.’
‘Well, I think we are,’ said George, unexpectedly, and she looked rather solemn. ‘I sort of feel it all round me -a Big Adventure!’
Julian stared at his cousin thoughtfully. Could there possibly be anything in what she said ?
‘Julian, will you do something for me?’ said George.
‘Of course,’ said the boy, at once.
‘Go out and follow Mr. Roland,’ said George. ‘Don’t let him see you. There’s a white mackintosh cloak in the hall cupboard. Put it on and you won’t be easily seen against the snow. Follow him and see if he meets anyone and gives them anything that looks like the pages of my father’s book – you know those big pages he writes on. They’re very large.’
‘All right,’ said Julian. ‘But if I do, promise you won’t go and search his room. You can’t do things like that, George.’
‘I can,’ said George. ‘But I won’t, if you’ll just follow Mr. Roland for me. I’m sure he’s going to hand over what he has stolen to others who are in the plot! And
I bet those others will be the two artists at Kirrin Farmhouse that he pretended not to know!’
‘You’ll find you’re quite wrong,’ said Julian, going to the door. ‘I’m sure I shan’t be able to follow Mr. Roland, anyway – he’s been gone five minutes now!’
‘Yes, you will, silly – he’ll have left his footmarks in the snow,’ said George. ‘And oh, Julian – I quite forgot ta tell you something else exciting. Oh dear, there isn’t time now. I’ll tell you when you come back, if you can come up again then. It’s about the Secret Way.’
‘Really?’ said Julian, in delight. It had been a great disappointment to him that all their hunting and searching had come to nothing. ‘All right – I’ll try and creep up again later. If I don’t come, you’ll know I can’t, and you must wait till bed-time.’
He disappeared and shut the door quietly. He slipped downstairs, popped his head into the sitting-room and whispered to the others that he was going out after the tutor.
‘Tell you why, later,’ he said. He put the white mac-“-kintosh cloak around him and went out into the garden. Snow was beginning to fall again, but not yet heavily enough to hide Mr. Roland’s deep footsteps. He had had big Wellington boots on, and the footmarks showed up well in the six-inch-deep snow.
The boy followed them quickly. The countryside was | very wintry-looking now. The sky was low and leaden, and he could see there was much more snow to come. He hurried on after Mr. Roland, though he could not see ; a sign of the tutor.
Down the lane, and over the path that led across
the common went the double row of footmarks. Julian stumbled on, his eyes glued to the foot-prints. Suddenly he heard the sound of voices and stopped. A big gorse bush lay to the right and the voices came from there. The boy went nearer to the bush. He heard his tutor’s voice, talking in low tones. He could not hear a word that was said.
‘Whoever can he be talking to?’ he wondered. He crept up closer to the bush. There was a hollow space inside. Julian thought he could creep right into it, though it would be very prickly, and peer out of the other side. Carefully the boy crept into the prickly hollow, where the branches were bare and brown.
He parted the prickly branches slowly and cautiously -and to his amazement he saw Mr. Roland talking to the two artists from Kirrin Farmhouse – Mr. Thomas and Mr. Wilton! So George was right. The tutor had met them – and, as Julian watched, Mr. Roland handed over to Mr. Thomas a doubled up sheaf of papers.
‘They look just like pages from Uncle Quentin’s book,’ said Julian to himself. ‘I say – this is mighty queer. It does begin to look like a plot – with Mr. Roland as the centre of it!’