Out Of The Silence by Erle Cox — Read

IT was a sorely perplexed man who faced the light of the following day. During the night the weather had broken, and long battalions of grey clouds trooped up from the south, and the first signs of the coming autumn were in the air. Alan stood staring over his vines through the soft drizzle of rain. There were questions he must decide then and there, and the principal one was, how far was he justified in keeping the secret of his discovery to himself. For the time being he put the legal aspect of the position in the background. The law of "Treasure Trove" could, and would, look after itself. It was his moral obligation to the world at large that troubled him. He knew that it would be impossible for him to keep the secret for an indefinite time, but the "when" and the "how" of the disclosure was the question. He felt that the wonders lying at his feet were not intended for the individual benefit of the discoverer. At last he came to the conclusion that he would at least make a complete investigation of the place before he came to a decision. This right was one that could not be gainsayed him. Then, again, came the question of his every-day affairs. Fortunately he had earned a reputation for hard-working solitude, and there were very few in the district who could claim to question his absence from Glen Cairn, and with these he felt that he must deal as the situation arose. There was Marian, of course, and it was with a feeling of dissatisfaction and self-condemnation that he thought how entirely the events of the last few days had effaced her from his mind, and how little she counted compared with his present absorbing interests.

Regardless of rain, he strode out across the vineyard, ploughing heavily through the soft, sticky soil. He scrutinised his crop carefully from end to end, making mental notes as to how long it would be before he must take in hand the work of sending the grapes to the winery, a work that meant a fortnight's incessant toil and the necessity of undesirable strangers in the shape of pickers, about the homestead. In the end he decided that he could count on at least three clear weeks. It seemed an absurdity that he should trouble about the matter at all when he was the master of untold wealth, but at present he could not afford to court the inevitable inquiry that such an extraordinary proceeding would bring in its train.