Dead Man's Quarry Read Online Free Page A

the road and a bit of common ground. You can see the fence around the top as soon’s you get into the field. They’re talking of putting up a new one, for, a great piece of the old was blown down in the storms last spring, and it isn’t really safe, with children about on the common. But you’ll be wanting your hot water, miss.”
    She vanished, and Lion rose from the table and strapped his pedometer on to his ankle.
    â€œI think I’ll just go across to the quarry while you people finish drinking and smoking,” announced this enthusiast. “Anybody coming with me?”
    â€œOh, Lion!” protested Nora. “You aren’t really going to look at this silly old quarry? You are the most restless kid. Do sit down and be peaceful for half an hour.”
    â€œNo, thanks,” said her young brother with a grin. “I’ll leave that to you elderly creatures. I want to put the quarry and tram-lines on my map, to show how this inn got its ridiculous name.”
    â€œCan’t you put them in the map without seeing them?”
    â€œCertainly not,” replied Lion, scandalized, and departed.
    â€œThat young man’ll sure go far,” remarked Sir Charles, producing a gold cigarette-case and offering it to Isabel. “He wastes neither words nor time.”
    â€œCould I have another cup of tea, my dear?” asked Dr. Browning. “The schoolboy in pursuit of his hobby is the most earnest and hard-working creature in existence, and an example to us all.”
    â€œAt his age,” said Charles, “there was nothing hardworking or earnest about me. My only hobby was to avoid anything that looked like work, and have a good time. What do you say, Felix?”
    Filling his pipe, Felix answered thoughtfully:
    â€œAt fifteen? Oh, I think I took life fairly seriously. But I wasn’t as practical as young Lion, nor as original. I was a bit of a day-dreamer, and saw myself as a second Michael Angelo. Now I’m a photographer, and haven’t time for day-dreams. There’s a moral, I’m sure. Have you any matches?”
    â€œThe moral,” said Isabel, smiling at him, “is obvious. If you hadn’t wasted your young years in idle dreams you might have been—”
    â€œA second Michael Angelo?”
    â€œA better photographer,” said Isabel gravely.
    â€œBravo,” remarked Dr. Browning. “Isabel, you’re a girl of sense. No, thank you, Sir Charles. I prefer Egyptian.”

CHAPTER TWO
THE DOWNHILL ROAD
    When the six cyclists, refreshed and merry, left the Tram Inn on the last stage of their homeward journey, the sky was filled with the subdued golden light of a fine, windless August evening. The long grey tree-shadows lay perfectly still over the road, and the Welsh hills on the far horizon lying in the sun had a look of glassy fragility, as if they belonged to a distant fairy world.
    The travellers all enjoyed that feeling of serenity and well-being that only a large, satisfying tea after a day spent in the open can give. Isabel declared herself ready to cycle another thirty miles, and deplored the fact that Penlow and the end of their journey were only nine miles away.
    â€œI suppose,” said Dr. Browning to Felix, “that you and Charles have a longer journey in front of you. Or don’t you intend to make Rhyllan to-night?”
    â€œNot to-night,” replied Felix, focussing his camera on the picturesque, half-timbered little inn they had just left. “We’re staying at the Feathers in Penlow to-night and going on to Rhyllan to-morrow. So we shall see you to-morrow morning, and often again, I hope, before we have to be back in London. . . Hullo, Charles! Not a puncture, I hope?”
    â€œBack tyre seems beastly flat,” said Charles, ruefully pinching it. “It was perfectly all right when we arrived here. I think it’ll hold, though, if I give it a good pump up. Lend me your pump,