The Lost Valley

The Lost Valley, by J. M. Walsh

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Title: The Lost Valley
Author: J. M. Walsh
Release Date: September 2, 2006 [EBook #19162]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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THE LOST VALLEY
By J. M. WALSH
1921

The C. J. DeGARIS PUBLISHING HOUSE MELBOURNE

CONTENTS

PART I.
THE POSTHUMOUS PUZZLE OF MR. BRYCE
I.--The Adventure on the Sands
II.--An Old Friend
III.--The Strange Behaviour of Mr. Bryce
IV.--The Thief in the Night
V.--Circumstantial Evidence
VI.--I Tell a Lie
VII.--Introducing Mr. Albert Cumshaw

PART II.
THE ADVENTURES OF MR. ABEL CUMSHAW
I.--Nightfall
II.--The Pursuit
III.--The Hidden Valley
IV.--When Thieves Fall Out

V.--Expiation
VI.--The Hegira of Mr. Abel Cumshaw
VII.--The Gathering of the Eagles

PART III.
THE FINDING OF THE LOST VALLEY
I.--The Cypher
II.--Over the Hills and Far Away
III.--The Promised Land
IV.--We Enter the Valley
V.--Dies Irae
VI.--The Solution
VII.--The Adventure Closes


PART I.
THE POSTHUMOUS PUZZLE OF MR. BRYCE.
CHAPTER I.
THE ADVENTURE ON THE SANDS.

I came upon the place quite unexpectedly. Centuries of wind and wave
had carved a little nook out of the foot of the cliff and fashioned it so
cunningly that I did not see it until I was right on top of it. After the
warmth of the open beach and the glare of the white road I had recently
travelled its shade looked so inviting that I limped in under the
overhang of the cliff and dropped joyfully on to the cool patch of sand.
It was the first moment of contentment I had known for many weary
months, and, needless to say, I set myself out to make the most of it. I
was absolutely sick of tramping about. My left boot had burst and, by
the feel of it, there wasn't too much left of my right sole. I had been
crawling along the road since daylight--and for many days before for
that matter--searching for a job that failed to materialise.
Jobs, it appeared, were just about as scarce as cool spots in Hades.
They had been very kind to me at the last farmhouse. The good lady
had given me an excellent breakfast and an extra glass of milk, had
loaded my bedraggled pockets with food and had finally put me on the
road to the sea. Work, she said, they could not give me. They had put
off two men the previous day. I might find something to do in the next
town. She did tell me what it was called, but my thoughts were on my
own poor prospects and I didn't quite catch what she said. On the
principle that a rose by any other name would still have its thorns, I
didn't ask her to repeat it. I just said, "Thank you, ma'am," in my best
tramp manner and set off down the road to the sea. On the way my left
boot burst and a pebble worked in through the opening and set me
limping. To make matters worse the day was perhaps the hottest of all
that memorable summer, and the glare from the white grit of the road
played the devil with my eyes. I was very pleased when at length I
reached the low sand dunes and dropped between them on to the wet
sand of the beach. I walked along this aimlessly for a mile or so until
the big hump of the bluff rose up over me. Then, as I have already
related, I came across that heaven-sent cave and threw my weary length
on its damp flooring of sand, determined to snatch as much peace and
repose as I could before I continued my search for work.
I can't say for the life of me how long it was before I first sat up and
took notice of the fat little man. He was bobbing up and down in the

surf for all the world like some ungainly porpoise, and every time he
moved he shot sunlit streams of water off his gross body. I've seen fat
men in my time, but this one was just about the limit. He was all up and
down and then across. I know that doesn't quite explain what he looked
like, but it's about the only way I can describe him. He was short and
tubby;