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languages even as a young man, and the inflections were totally different . So, why had he lied? Because the real truth would have meant something, would have given some clue as to what he was doing? I concentrated. James thought the language to be Cornish or something like it . It was not Gaelic or even Welsh. I did not speak either, but had heard both often enough. Could it be the soft Celtic of Ireland (though that was a rare speech even back then). No, the consonants were far too harsh and clipped, and those two stunted giants looked like no Sons of Erin in my experience. The answer lay elsewhere, and as I thought, the vision of those two and the great black stones came unbidden to my mind, and with the vision came the solution. There was another Gaelic, or rather Celtic tongue still in use in Europe! I saw in my mind the great menhirs and dolmens of Brittany, the stones of mist-shrouded Carnac, lost in antiquity, about which dark legends still circulated among the peasants. Those two were Bretons!
     
                  "Now why should the employment of Bretons be a secret? I racked my brain as I strode along past the cliff cottage, paying the place no heed, since I knew it to be empty. I think I later paid for this piece of egregrious stupidity, since I might possibly have had a very useful look around. But, meanwhile, I was turning over in my mind what I knew of Brittany, ancient and modern, which was damned little, actually. I knew, and don't ask me why, that they had a dismal separatist movement from France and even a 'national anthem ' , whose name sounded like 'Bro Goz Ma Zadou ' . This meant nothing. I surmised that it was the past of Brittany, the last Celtic stronghold on the continent, that was important . And of that I knew little. No one seemed to know who had built Carnac. The whole peninsula had always been a hotbed of legends and folktales, even before medieval times. Among other things, King John, Richard the Lion Heart's most unpleasant brother, had murdered his nephew, Duke Arthur of Brittany, who had a better claim to the Plantagenet throne that he. And what else? Something was just out of reach in my mind! Legends, cults, Carnac, Prince Arthur (why that name?), Celtic mysticism, black stones, west winds, apples, all of this mishmash meant something, if only I could think of what!
     
                  "By this time, I was at the house and I hurried in to tell James what I had seen. We sat in the old drawing room, and I related my afternoon to both of them. Isobel, after pouring tea, told me that none of it, save for one thing, conveyed anything much to her.
     
                  " 'You've seen what he's like, Donald,' she said. 'You have no idea, really, what poor James has had to put up with, even going back to childhood. Many of the stories are family secrets. No, James, I simply won't be silent any longer, not to Donald. Why was he asked here, if not to help?' James subsided into a chair, muttering 'dirty linen' into his tea cup.
     
                  " 'I think you are quite correct,' she went on to me, 'about this hatred, I mean. Yes, he has pretended to find James silly and stupid, but I have seen him look at James when he thought no one else was watching. He hates you, darling, and always has.' She turned back to me, her tired face still glowing with love.
     
                  " 'When they were still little, Donald, still in the nursery, Lionel tried to kill James. They are only two years apart in age. He packed a fruit cake, or rather James' portion, with ground glass! I don't think he could have been eight years old!'
     
                  "My friend looked at me after she had spoken. 'I'm afraid it's true, you know. Had a good old nanny, who didn't take to Lionel, and she saw him do it . Told Dad, and we were sent off to separate schools. If it hadn't been for an open scandal and mother's weeping, I think it might have come out in