After the meal, I went up to my room and lay on the bed and smoked and tried to think the thing out.
It was shortly after four when I heard James McClellan shouting for his father. If he was back, presumably Trevedian was too. I got up, put on my coat and went down through the hard-packed snow to the bunkhouse.
The door of the transport company’s office was ajar and as I climbed the wooden steps I heard the sound of voices. I hesitated, my hand on the knob of the door. “— you should have thought of that before you took your trucks up there.” The man’s tone was easy, almost cheerful. “If I weren’t clearing that fall and rebuilding the road, you’d never get them out. You do as I say or you’ll never get your trucks down.”
“Damn you, Trevedian!” The door swung open and Bladen came out, pushing past me and walking angrily up the slope toward Come Lucky?
I knocked and went in. The office was small and hare and dusty. An old-fashioned telephone stood on a desk Littered with papers and cigarette ash, and behind the desk sat a stocky man of about forty-five.
“Mr. Peter Trevedian?” I asked.
He rose to greet me. “You must be Bruce Wetheral.” His hand was hard and rough, the smile of welcome rubber-stamped on his leathery features. “Sit down. You’re Campbell’s heir, I understand.”
I nodded.
“Well, I think I can guess why you’ve come to see me.” He smiled and sat back in his chair with a grunt. “I’ll be quite frank with you, Wetheral; your refusal to sell the Kingdom has put me in a bit of a spot. As you probably know, through my holding in the Larsen mines I’ve got the contract for supplying all materials for the completion of the Solomon’s Judgment dam. But the contract is a tricky one. The dam has to be completed this summer. To get all the materials up on the one hoist, I had to be in a position to begin packing the stuff in the moment the construction people were ready to start work on the dam. To do that I had to have the road cleared and ready. I couldn’t wait for the okay from Fergus. So I took a chance on it.” He leaned back. “Well, now, what are you holding out for more dough?”
The unwinking stare of his black little eyes was disconcerting.
“No,” I said. “It’s not that.”
“What is it then? Mac said something about your planning to live up there.”
“My grandfather lived up there,” I said. “If he could do it—”
“Campbell didn’t live there because he liked it,” he cut in sharply. “He lived there because he had to; because he didn’t dare live down here amongst the folk he’d swindled.” There was nothing I could say. He was giving me the other side of the picture, and the violence in his voice emphasized that it was the truth he was telling me. It explained so much, but it didn’t make my problem any easier.
“Well,” he said, “what are you going to do? If you sell the Kingdom, then Henry Fergus will go ahead with the hydroelectric scheme and Come Lucky will become a flourishing little town again.”
“My grandfather’s will imposed certain obligations on me,” I said. “You see, he still believed—”
“Obligations, hell!” he snapped. He came and stood over me. “Suppose you go and think this thing over.” He was looking down at me, his eyes slightly narrowed, the nerves at the corners quivering slightly. “I phoned Henry Fergus this morning when I was in Keithley. He’s coming up to see the progress they’re making at Larsen. I suggested he come on up here and have a talk with you. He said he would.” His hand dropped to my shoulder. “Think it over very carefully, will you? It means a lot to the people here.”
I nodded and got to my feet. “Very well,” I said. “I’ll think it over.”
When I got back to the hotel it was tea time. There was an extra place laid at the big deal table, and just after we’d sat down, Bladen came in. “Can I have a word with you?” I asked him.
He hesitated. “Sure.” His voice sounded reluctant. We drew our chairs a little apart from the others. Well he said, “I suppose it’s about the Kingdom?” His voice sounded nervous.
“I believe you did some sort of a survey up there last summer?”
He nodded. “A seismographic survey.”
“In your opinion, did that survey make it clear that there could be no oil in the Kingdom?”
“I think you’ll find the report makes that quite clear.”
“I’m not interested in the report I want your opinion.”
His eyes dropped to his bands again. “I don’t think you quite understand the way this tiling works. My equipment records the time taken by a shock wave to be reflected back from the various strata to half a dozen detectors. It’s the same principle as the echo-sounding device used by ships at sea. All I do is the field work. I get the figures and from these the computers map the strata under the surface.”
“I’m asking you a very simple question,” I said. “Do you agree with the report?”
He seemed to hesitate. “Yes,” he said, and pushed quickly by me to the door.
I stood there for a moment, wondering why he had been so reluctant to commit himself. I went over my conversation with Roger Fergus again. He had given me to understand that Bladen had been as enthusiastic as my grandfather. And yet now, when I had asked Bladen—
I looked round the room. Everyone had finished and the room was quite empty. Through the door to the scullery I could see Pauline busy at the sink. I went across to her.
“Could you tell me whether there’s a girl called Jean Lucas still living here?” I asked.
“Yes, she’s still here,” she replied. “She lives with Miss Garret and her sister. If you like, I’ll take you over there when I’ve put Kitty to bed.”
I thanked her and went back to the stove to wait.
It was about seven-thirty when we left The Golden Calf. Outside it was pitch dark. Pauline, with a flashlight, guided me along the uneven wooden sidewalk. A sudden unearthly cry rang out from the darkness ahead.
“It is only a coyote,” Pauline said, “a kind of wild dog. We are nearly there.” She flicked her torch toward the pale glimmer of a lighted window ahead. “That is where the Miss Garrets live. They are terrible gossips and very old-fashioned. But I like them.”
“And Jean Lucas — what’s she like?” I asked.
“Oh, you will like her.” She gave my arm a squeeze. “She and I are great friends. We talk in French together.”
“She speaks French?”
“But of course. She is English, but she has some French blood.”
“What is she doing in Come Lucky?” I asked. “Has she relatives here?”
“No. I can never discover why she comes here. Always she says it is because she likes the solitude. I think perhaps it is because she is not happy. She worked in France during the war. I think perhaps it is there that she learns to be unhappy.” We had reached a shack that was weatherboarded and had actually been painted within living memory. “Here we are now.” She knocked and pushed open the door. “Miss Garret!” she called. “It is Pauline! May we come in?”
A door opened and the soft glow of lamplight flooded the small entrance hall. “Surely. Come on in.” Miss Garret was small and dainty, like a piece of Dresden china. She wore a long black velvet dress with a little lace collar and a hand of velvet round her neck from which hung a large cameo. To my astonishment, she stared at me through a gold lorgnette as I entered the room. “Oh, how nice of you, Pauline,” she cooed. “You’ve brought Mr. Wetheral to see us.”
“You know my name?” I said.
“Of course.” She turned to the other occupant of the room. “Sarah, Pauline’s brought Mr. Wetheral to see us!” She spoke loudly... “My sister’s a little deaf. Now take off your coat, Mr. Wetheral, and come and tell us all about your legacy.”
“Well, actually,” I said, “I came here to see Miss Lucas.”