I followed her. We came to the fall of soft rock, climbed the ledge and entered the hole that had led to the next gallery. She took the third cross-cut to the left and almost immediately turned left again. This gallery opened out to some height. She stopped and directed the beam of her lamp high up to a black hole in the rock. 'There you are,' she said. 'I don't think you would have found that.'
'I certainly wouldn't,' I said.
She led the way up a series of ledges in the wall and disappeared head first. I followed her. We crawled along on our stomachs for perhaps twenty yards. All I could see was her legs and buttocks humped against the light of the lamp which she held out ahead of her.
At last we emerged into another gallery and were able to stand upright. A few minutes later I could hear the rhythmic suck and thump of the pump. We turned left into a wider gallery that was full of noise — the noise of the pump, mingled with the gurgle and rush of water. At the end of the gallery we passed under the great bob as it see-sawed up and down. Ten minutes later we were in the gig clattering to the surface.
It's difficult to describe the utter relief with which I looked out upon the moonlit headland. There was the sea, all silvered, and the stars — and the old workings looked white and pleasant in the ghostly light. My whole body relaxed to the sight of it and I felt desperately tired. The fear I had felt down there in those twisting galleries, the sense of being lost, the darkness — it was all like some ghastly nightmare. I could not believe that it had really happened. It was as though I had just woken up. It just didn't seem real.
I suppose I was looking a little dazed, for she caught my hand, and said, 'You'd better come up to the house and get dry. You're wet through.'
'Yes,' I said.
She left me and went into the store shed. I just stood there, gazing at the moonlight. When she came out she had discarded her overalls. She had the skirt and jumper on that she'd been wearing that morning and her hair blew free about her face. 'How come you know your way around the mine?' I asked as we started up the slope to the house.
She laughed. 'I've lived here nearly all my life. You don't expect a young girl not to go exploring. And then, when my stepfather found I liked going down the mine, he used to take me with him. I was the only person he'd got to show his property to.'
'Why didn't you get away from the place?' I asked. I was thinking of this girl alone in the house with old Manack, alone with him except for the woman.
'I don't know,' she said softly. 'I've only been to Penzance once. That was to give evidence about — " She stopped then and added quickly, 'I didn't enjoy that visit. And then my stepfather was alone except for old Mrs Brynd and there was the war. Somebody had to look after the bit of a farm we've got.'
The thought of old Manack had brought the strength pouring back into me in a flood of anger. I'd have it out with him when I got up to the house. There was something more to it than just a desire not to have the sea let into the Mermaid. He was scared of something — scared of me. I'd seen it in his eyes down there in the Mermaid when he'd learned that I was Ruth Nearne's son. My hands clenched and I strode up that slope with the great sense of power that anger brings.
The girl understood my mood, for she said, 'You won't do anything hasty. Just dry your clothes and go back to the mine. You'll be clear in your mind about what's happened when you've slept on it.'
'I'm clear enough in my mind about it now,' I answered, and went on in silence.
A thought was gnawing at my brain. A man who'd commit murder like that, the way he'd tried to kill me — a man who'd do that must have a streak of madness in him. I remembered how his eyes had glittered down there in the Mermaid gallery. That was it, the man was mad. The sight of that rich lode had driven him crazy. And he'd seen that lode as a kid. He'd only had one idea after that — to own the mine and work that lode himself. That I
was the reason for his first marriage, and for his second. And if he'd to kill a man to prevent the sea being let into the mine, then he might have killed before. The thought in my mind was so horrible that I tried to throw it out. It would make my mother's madness more ghastly by far than I had ever dreamed.
I tried not to think about it, but strode on with my hands clenched. I'd have it out with him right now. I'd get the truth out of him if I had to kill him with my bare hands to do it.
We had come in sight of the house now. I could see the bars on the little dormer window. They stood out sharp against the panes, which were white with reflected moonlight.
The girl caught hold of my arm. 'You won't do anything, will you?' she asked again.
I didn't answer. I didn't want to talk to anybody about it. I just wanted to get at old Manack.
'Please,' she said. She was panting with the effort of keeping up with me. 'It won't do any good. He thought you were going to destroy the mine. He loves it. It's his only child. Please.'
We had reached the house now. I made straight for the front door, the girl clinging to my arm. I tried to shake her off. But she held on, pleading. The door was not locked. I went in. Then I turned and tore her hands loose from my arm.
'Please, Jim,' she cried. 'Please.'
But I got myself clear of her.
'You go back to your kitchen,' I said.
'No good will come of this,' she cried.
Her face was distraught in the moonlight and her breath came in sobs. I left her there, with her great eyes watching me in despair, and went down the dark corridor. It was dank and chill, like the galleries of the mine. My wet clothes clung to me and my boots squelched on the stone flags. There was a light shining under the door of the old man's study. I turned the handle and pushed the door open.
The old man was sitting at his desk. He looked up and when he saw me standing there in the doorway all dripping from the mine, he started to his feet, the lamplight shining on his pale eyes.
For a moment we stood there, staring at each other. I don't know whether he thought me a ghost or was just too startled to speak. Whatever it was, he just stared at me with his mouth opened like a cavity in his head. I turned and shut the door. Then I started towards him. And at the same moment he made a dive for a little iron pick-axe that stood on a shelf among some relics of early mining.
I reached him as his hand closed on the deadly weapon. He fought me off with a strength that was incredible in a man of his age. But I was stronger than he was. I twisted the pick from his grasp and flung him back. He fetched up against his desk, overturning the big swivel chair with a crash.
He was frightened now. I could see it in his eyes. His tongue showed through his beard as he licked his lips. He was breathing heavily. 'What do you want?' he asked. 'If it's about your mother, you know all there is to know. She was mad.'
I felt an itch to get my thumbs into the grey stubble of his neck. 'I'm not sure it isn't you who are mad,' I said, keeping a hold on my anger. His eyes stared at me. They didn't blink. It was as though they had no lids to them. And they were pale — paler than I'd ever seen a man's eyes. I said, 'You thought I wouldn't get out of those old workings, didn't you? You thought I'd die, trapped down there beyond that stoping. You wanted me to die.'
His hands had tightened on the edge of the desk. 'I don't know what you're talking about.' He made an attempt at aloofness, but his voice trembled.
'Yes, you do,' I said. 'You knew I was following you. You deliberately led me into the old part of the mine. And then you went back and knocked those staples out.'
'How was I to know you were following me?' he asked.
'Why did you knock those staples out?' I asked him.