Think of England

There was a lot of noise at the dinner table.Mrs. Armstrong and Mrs. Grayling talked with gusto, and James Armstrong had a high, seemingly inexhaustible energy.Fenella Carus kept emphasizing how amazing the cave trip was and insisted that da Silva should join them, though the latter's horrified reaction seemed genuine.

"My God, no, I wouldn't go at gunpoint. I wouldn't even take an underground train, let alone go deep into that barren place."

"Really?"

"Honey, I can't even stand a basement."

"You're not afraid of the dark, are you?" James asked.

Da Silva looked up meaningfully. "Humans are born to walk on the ground, not underground. Our nature is to grow towards the sun and look up at the stars."

Mrs. Lambton echoed in a low voice.Holt and James Armstrong reacted with gags as a matter of course.Curtis wondered how Da Silva hadn't been caught, because anyone who had read his poetry would know he didn't like that kind of phony talk, but of course no one here had read his poetry.Another secret joke by Da Silva.

At this time, Miss Carus begged Curtis to tell about his uncle's experience in the place where his uncle died in Kucuwana in that book. Others also showed interest, and Curtis wanted to make himself look more like a People who are gregarious, so follow the good advice.He first described the cave he had heard about countless times, the huge stone table, and the gigantic sculpture of a fifteen-foot-tall skeleton in front of the stone table.It stood up from its seat, its head held high as if ready to attack.At the table of the monstrous monster sat the guests of the feast of death, the kings of Cucuvana.

"None of the 27 people leaked," he said. "The spring water dripped from the top of each person's seat and down the top of their heads, turning them into stone statues bit by bit and wrapping them in white crystals. Can you still Seeing their features through the mask of stone. King Twala, slain by my uncle, sat in his chair, with his head on his lap—"

The ladies let out a burst of exclamation, accompanied by unsatisfactory protests. "It's horrible." Miss Carus could hardly sit still.

"It's exotic...epic," Mrs. Grayling sighed.

"Disgusting enough," Dasilva said.To Curtis' surprise, the other party looked really uncomfortable. "Spent the rest of my life underground."

"We will all be buried underground in the end." Lambton pointed out directly.

"But it's sickening to think about sitting under the stratum, around the demon's dinner table, with water running over your head." He shivered slightly.Curtis also planned to tell him about the Tibetan sky burial tradition later on, which was even less suitable for a dinner topic than the Kukuwana ceremony, but he soon realized that he obviously didn't have this opportunity.

He tried to be easygoing all evening and suggested a game of whist to the young gentlemen.Grayling was in high spirits, while Holt and Armstrong exchanged glances and excused themselves to leave.

Curtis looked at them and suddenly remembered something.James Armstrong's imprisonment was a certainty, and it didn't matter how much I disliked him.But Holt was not an accomplice of the Armstrongs.He was a sportsman, a socialite, and seemed to be in and out of all social circles.Assuming he complained to his friends about the earlier confrontation, would Armstrong's arrogant idiot have revealed a thing or two?I said, is Curtis and that southern European species too close? ——How close is it?You don't know much more.

If Armstrong told Holt, and Holt chose to spread the word, Curtis would end badly.

He felt sweat bursting from his hairline.Living in danger of being exposed anytime and anywhere, he couldn't imagine how da Silva remained calm and composed.If it were him, he felt that his hair would turn gray within a week.

***

It is good to have a good night's sleep without being interrupted by burglars, but Curtis's refreshed appearance in the mirror the next morning is rather annoying, after all, he has to pretend that his knees are uncomfortable.Da Silva was still absent as he limped into the breakfast room, and the sympathetic crowd gathered before him.

"My own fault," he said, rejecting Mrs. Armstrong's apology, "I was just being too pushy. I do, however, worry a little about the kneecaps wearing out in the field."

"Should I call the doctor?"

"I'm afraid my specialist in London can handle it." Curtis adjusted his facial features and put on a regretful expression, "The situation is a bit complicated."

Mrs. Armstrong, distraught, sent the yawning James Armstrong to fetch the railway timetable, and Curtis realized it was Sunday.

"There's only one passenger train to London all day today. You can take that, but you'll regret it," Sir Hubert frowned. "It stops at every station."

"That won't help your knee," said Mrs. Armstrong anxiously. "I'm afraid you'll have to wait until Monday, Mr. Curtis. Make an appointment by telephone first, will you?"

Curtis talked himself into accepting the idea.He had absolutely no desire to spend nine hours on the local train to London, and—a voice in his heart made it clear—maybe there was a chance to talk to Da Silva.

With anticipation in his heart, and in order to support his disguise of being disabled, Curtis didn't go to church.Everyone packed up and got into the queued cars, only Holt and Armstrong said they were going to hang out.They all looked tired but smug, probably planning to sneak off to the bar.

When Curtis was alone in the villa, he set off for the library.

Da Silva was not there.Nor was he in the breakfast room or any of the side halls.He can't still be asleep after ten o'clock, Curtis thought disapprovingly, and then went to knock on the door of the other party, his heart beating slightly faster.

No one answered the door.

Curtis hesitated.But he really needed to talk to the guy, so he tried turning the handle and the door swung open.

Da Silva's room was empty.

Curtis looked around in confusion.There was no pomade or cufflinks on the dressing table, nor did it show any signs of being used.He opened the wardrobe and drawers again, but there was nothing inside.

It was as if Da Silva had left.

what the hell?

Curtis went back to his room to think.Da Silva seemed to have plans last night, did he change his mind?After he decided to obtain enough evidence of extortion and treason to hang the Armstrong family, he took them away together with those suspicious photos, and left without saying goodbye in the middle of the night?

If this is the case, it is not unexpected for Curtis.What he wondered was how the other party managed to leave the villa in the middle of the night and trek thirty miles to Newcastle——

And today there are no other trains except the milk wagon and the shuttle.Curtis was sure Da Silva would check the timetable before disappearing, and he would have waited for the next express train instead of taking the local train that was slower than the Austin RV.Anyway, was there any way he could get to the station with his suitcase?He didn't know how to drive, even if Curtis didn't think he could drive thirty miles at night, he couldn't imagine him hiding in a swamp to avoid pursuers.

He returned to Da Silva's vacant room.This time he locked the door and searched thoroughly, including the bottom of every piece of furniture.He wasn't sure what he was looking for, only a growing uneasiness in his heart.

He found Da Silva's flashlight behind the dresser.

The flashlight is cylindrical, and naturally it may roll to the ground and be forgotten.Its bulb was still on, though, and Da Silva was too cautious to leave something like this alone, unless...

He didn't like the idea, not at all.

He told himself he was just thinking wildly, and went to the library again and read The Fish Pond, as if the collection of poems might offer a clue.He wanted to go to the tower—not that Da Silva would be waiting there, just too anxious to sit still—but he had to keep faking his knee discomfort.

He forced himself to wait until lunch time, and seeing that Da Silva was still absent, he asked as casually as possible: "Where is the poet? Is he still dealing with his muse?"

"Mr. Dasilva? He, alas, he left this morning." Mrs. Armstrong gave him a meaningful look.

James Armstrong gave an exaggerated cough that sounded like he was saying, "He was invited out." There was a surprised exchange of glances at the table.

"James," Sir Hubert said warningly.

"Honestly," James was about to go on, but retreated when his father frowned, and muttered, "I told you so, Mom."

"That's it." Sir Hubert started the topic of golf.Curtis pretended to be listening, and the speculation in his heart grew wildly.

The implication is self-explanatory: da Silva was expelled for a dishonorable crime.Perhaps stealing silver, molesting a servant, peeking at the master's private papers; he could of course have been caught in a petty theft, which would explain why his luggage was also missing.However, however...

It is an hour's drive from Newcastle Station.The milk truck left at 03:30 in the morning, a time when Da Silva could not have been run over.If he was sent to the station platform early in the morning to wait for the shuttle bus, would the Armstrongs never mention it when Curtis planned to take the same train?Wouldn't Curtis hear the vehicle returning this morning?

These thoughts are just conjectures and cannot be used to draw any conclusions, but the hairs on the back of his neck are standing on end.

For the rest of the lunch he appeared as self-assured as possible and told Mrs. Armstrong that his leg was feeling much better. "I bet you think I'm worrying—"

"Oh my God, how could it be! I know how painful it is to live with a serious illness." Mrs. Armstrong told him not to think about it.Mrs. Lambton felt it, and began to complain about her chronic disease in a series of complaints, so that Curtis only had to nod in approval.

It's been a long day.Curtis said that he wanted to confirm whether his knee was really injured, or if it was just strained during the long trip the day before, so he walked around the manor for an excuse.

At least as far as he could see, there was no loose soil under the redwood forest, and there were no signs of shallow or deep graves.Cursing da Silva for always telling the truth about the tomb under the redwood grove, he entered the tower.There was no one here either, just the smell of cold stone and musty wood.It was supposed to smell of man's sweat, semen, and what Da Silva had smeared in his hair.

Curtis suddenly had an absurd idea that if something happened to Da Silva, even murdered, he would never be able to touch Da Silva's hair again.He stood alone in the abandoned tower, his throat seemed to be choked, and he was struggling to breathe because of the disappearance of a man he barely knew.

This difficult day seems to never end.Curtis lingered in the open space until the twilight faded, but still found nothing, so he had to return to the library before dinner, because the presence of other guests had begun to stimulate his nerves, wrapping around his body like barbed wire.When Armstrong and Holt entered, he was reading a novel by Oppenheim that he seemed to have read, just staring at the same page.

"We're looking for Grayling," Armstrong said, looking a little friendlier than the night before. "Would you like a two-on-two?"

"no thank you."

"Miss your teammates?" Holt's tone was tinged with malice.

"Who, da Silva? Not much. I still like to win once in a while." He was in no mood for endless gags with these unambitious fellows.Holt was right on this point; men can't live like this.Although Holt himself seems to be enjoying it.

One day he will be able to leave this damn place, Curtis said to himself.One more day to find Da Silva.

He asked Armstrong with feigned indifference, "What happened? Did he steal some spoons?"

Holt glanced at Armstrong. Just as he was about to speak, Armstrong replied proudly, "He was caught playing cards and cheating. Holt is right, he is indeed a trickster."

"Well, my God," Curtis said, "I owe you an apology, Holt, you see much more clearly than I do, and I was kept in the dark like a blind man."

Armstrong laughed. "You're not the only one who can't see anything. Right, Holt?"

"Don't talk about something or nothing," Holt snapped at him. "How about it, do you want a game, Curtis?"

Curtis pointed to his knees as an answer, and the young men gave up their thoughts.After they left, he seemed to hear muffled conversation on the other side of the door.

The fear that had only whispered in his mind before became a scream.He couldn't believe da Silva had played cards with Holt and Armstrong last night.Even if he had, it was unlikely he would get caught cheating—Curtis didn't suspect he would, but it would be weird to get caught.If so, the other two young men should have yelled, and Curtis would have heard it.It was absolutely impossible for Holt to avoid mentioning this kind of thing.They all lied.

This means that Hult is also involved.

Curtis didn't know why he didn't think of this before.James Armstrong was an idiot who wasted his life on pleasure.Holt, on the other hand, is smart, ruthless, and has a bright future, so when he discovers James Armstrong's bad intentions, he helps him out and makes the hedonist he despises get what he deserves.

Yes, Holt must have a part.He knew what was going on, and he didn't like what Armstrong had just said.The smile on his face was fake from beginning to end, and he changed the subject abruptly.Da Silva was caught cheating, and he should have made a fuss about it, but he stopped Armstrong from continuing...

You're not the only one who can't see anything.

Curtis thought about that sentence, he thought carefully about the conversation last night, and how Da Silva confessed his disgust for caves and the underground with trembling.He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, because the thought made him sick and angry, and he was deeply terrified at the thought that the body might fall for miles in that damned black hole...

But at the same time, he also had a little hope rekindled.Because some people in this world must take the enemy's life, but some people like to let the enemy suffer first.If you hate someone and know that the other person is afraid of dark caves, you will definitely want to throw him in a dark place and torture him for a while?

In retrospect, Curtis never knew how he got through tonight.He apparently behaved well, ate and ate as usual, and did not jump up and strangle Holt or Armstrong, the beasts.He went to bed early, slept for two hours to recharge his batteries, and went downstairs at one o'clock in the morning with a flashlight and as quietly as possible.

He went out the back door of the kitchen and headed for the limestone cave, walking the extra five hundred yards around the gravel drive and paths, lest the sound of footsteps betray him.

The wind was biting, and a half moon hung high in the night sky.Enough to see the way.The long shadow of the moon while walking at night might be scary, but Curtis didn't care about it, and he was even more afraid of facing the truth he was about to find in the cave.In any case, the bare hills looked a bit like South African bushland at night, and the fact that there were no Boer snipers waiting behind the bushes made the trip an easy one.

The scenery that he passed by during the day naturally looked different at night, but Curtis only took a wrong turn once relying on the soldier's sense of direction, and lost a few minutes.In all, it took him less than 45 minutes to cross the clearing, climb the hillside, and stand at the entrance of the black limestone cave.

"Da Silva?" he yelled.

No one responded.

He took down a kerosene lamp hanging at the entrance of a cave, lit it, and set off into the limestone cave.The light source flickered with the shaking of the kerosene lamp, casting a strange shadow on him.

"Da Silva?" he called into the main cave, his voice echoed.

He knew that he should search each stone chamber one by one, searching systematically along the way, but his thoughts were already drawn by the horrible black sinkhole, so he strode across the cold and slippery stone under his feet, towards the passage leading to the white stone chamber rushed, shouting again, "Da Silva!"

His voice wandered among the cave walls for a while before dying away, and then he heard a faint sound, like a sob.

"Da Silva!" He held up the night lamp, and hurried to the white stone chamber through the rugged and slippery limestone cave.Next to the sinkhole, a disheveled black-haired man lay on the ground with his back against a stalactite.

Curtis ran towards him and knelt down on the cold stone.Da Silva was drenched and his hair wet.His arms were tied back on the slippery stone, and Da Silva twitched when a drop of water fell from the ceiling and hit Da Silva's head as Curtis studied the ropes around his wrists.

"Oh my God," Curtis put Da Silva in his arms as much as possible even though Da Silva was tightly tied to the stone.His skin was like ice. "Da Silva, can you hear me? I'm Curtis, here I come, and I'll get you out right away. Daniel?"

Dasilva's head hung on Curtis's chest, and he let out a series of ravings.Curtis gently held his chin to make him look up.Water trickled down his pale face, and his eyes were closed.

"Daniel." Curtis yelled helplessly.

Daniel's eyelids trembled several times before opening. He stared at Curtis with black eyes, and then choked up and said, "Don't be a dream, don't, please, don't be—"

"I'm here, I found you, this is not a dream."

Daniel blinked, water dripping from his dark lashes.He looked at Curtis for a long time, and murmured: "You're here. Oh my god, you're really here."

"You asked me to come." Curtis replied, he hugged Daniel tightly with his arms, and Daniel sobbed softly and helplessly.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been hugging them, trying to keep each other from being disturbed as the two lay next to the wet, cold stones, with the constant drips beating brutally on them.When Da Silva's tears gradually turned into intermittent panting, he was already uncomfortable in this posture.

"Who did it?" he asked.

"Jen, James and Huo, Huot." Daniel's teeth chattered, but Curtis knew that being able to speak was a good sign. "They're going to throw me, throw, throw—here, turn me into stone, stone."

"Nonsense." Curtis stroked his wet black hair, "It will take hundreds of years. I have to let you go first, understand? I want to untie you."

Daniel gasped, then closed his eyes and nodded.Curtis let go reluctantly, and stood up stiffly and drenched.He took off his overcoat and covered da Silva's trembling body, which was still in his evening dress, ready to let him off.

The rope that bound him was knotted on the other side of the stone, not particularly complicated to tie, but the steady stream of water dripping down the stalactites made the thick rope swell.Curtis wanted to move the night light over, but he heard Daniel moaning, so he put it back to illuminate the other side, and hurried back to the cave entrance to get another kerosene lamp and use it to light the other side of the stone. Then untie the knot.

"Curtis?" Daniel called, "Curtis?"

He jumped up and circled behind the stone, "What's wrong?"

"It's just... I'm not dreaming."

"No." Curtis stretched out his hand towards Daniel's icy cheek, and felt the other's head turn, and his lips touched his skin. "Now I need to untie these ropes. I'm here and I won't leave you, but you have to let me do it first."

The worst part of hallucinations caused by a high fever is always helping hands, he thought cruelly: your relatives, nurses, or friends come to bed with cold drinks and talk softly to you, and when you finally feel relieved, you wake up again. Came here to find myself still alone, with a thirsty throat, and a night that seemed endless.Curtis didn't want to imagine what it would be like to stay here all day; the sun was out of sight, water droplets kept hitting his body, soaked in low temperature and humidity, he fantasized about someone coming to save him, but he was always disappointed after waking up.

The knot is completely stuck.He took out his jackknife and tried to cut the rope with brute force.

"Curtis." The other party said hoarsely.

"Let me untie it for you first." He gritted his teeth.

"Curtis!"

"Curtis," a mocking voice came from the other end of the cave.

He knelt there, unable to react for a full second.Then he put the jackknife away by the stalactite and stood up to face Holt.