All day I bent over the Egyptian papyrus upon which I was engaged; but
neither the subtle reasonings of the ancient philosopher of Memphis, nor
the mystic meaning which lay in his pages, could raise my mind from the
things of earth. Evening was drawing in before I threw my work aside in
despair. My heart was bitter against this man for his intrusion.
Standing by the beck which purled past the door of my cabin, I cooled my
heated brow, and thought the matter over. Clearly it was the small
mystery hanging over these neighbours of mine which had caused my mind to
run so persistently on them. That cleared up, they would no longer cause
an obstacle to my studies. What was to hinder me, then, from walking in
the direction of their dwelling, and observing for myself, without
permitting them to suspect my presence, what manner of men they might be?
Doubtless, their mode of life would be found to admit of some simple and
prosaic explanation. In any case, the evening was fine, and a walk would
be bracing for mind and body. Lighting my pipe, I set off over the moors
in the direction which they had taken.
About half-way down a wild glen there stood a small clump of gnarled and
stunted oak trees. From behind these, a thin dark column of smoke rose
into the still evening air. Clearly this marked the position of my
neighbour's house. Trending away to the left, I was able to gain the
shelter of a line of rocks, and so reach a spot from which I could
command a view of the building without exposing myself to any risk of
being observed. It was a small, slate-covered cottage, hardly larger
than the boulders among which it lay. Like my own cabin, it showed signs
of having been constructed for the use of some shepherd; but, unlike
mine, no pains had been taken by the tenants to improve and enlarge it.
Two little peeping windows, a cracked and weather-beaten door, and a
discoloured barrel for catching the rain water, were the only external
objects from which I might draw deductions as to the dwellers within. Yet
even in these there was food for thought, for as I drew nearer, still
concealing myself behind the ridge, I saw that thick bars of iron covered
the windows, while the old door was slashed and plated with the same
metal. These strange precautions, together with the wild surroundings
and unbroken solitude, gave an indescribably ill omen and fearsome
character to the solitary building. Thrusting my pipe into my pocket, I
crawled upon my hands and knees through the gorse and ferns until I was
within a hundred yards of my neighbour's door. There, finding that I
could not approach nearer without fear of detection, I crouched down, and
set myself to watch.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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