Jasper was sniffing at the iron ladder. “Come away,” I said. “I don’t want to go in after you.” I went back along the harbor wall to the beach. The cottage did not seem so remote and sinister at the edge of the wood as it had done before. The sun made such a difference. No rain today, pattering on the roof. I walked slowly up the beach towards it. After all, it was only a cottage, with nobody living in it. There was nothing to be frightened of. Nothing at all. Any place seemed damp and sinister when it had been uninhabited for a certain time. Even new bungalows and places. Besides, they had moonlight picnics and things here. Weekend visitors probably used to come and bathe, and then go for a sail in the boat. I stood looking into the neglected garden choked with nettles. Someone ought to come and tidy it up. One of the gardeners. There was no need to leave it like this. I pushed the little gate and went to the door of the cottage. It was not entirely closed. I was certain I had closed it the last time. Jasper began growling, sniffing under the door.
“Don’t, Jasper,” I said. He went on sniffing deeply, his nose thrust to the crack. I pushed the door open and looked inside. It was very dark. Like it had been before. Nothing was changed. The cobwebs still clung to the rigging of the model boats. The door into the boat-store at the end of the room was open though. Jasper growled again, and there was a sound of something falling. Jasper barked furiously, and darting between my legs into the room he tore to the open door of the store. I followed him, heart beating, and then stood uncertainly in the middle of the room. “Jasper, come back, don’t be a fool,” I said. He stood in the doorway, still barking furiously, an hysterical note in his voice. Something was there then, inside the store. Not a rat. He would have gone for a rat. “Jasper, Jasper. Come here,” I said. He would not come. I went slowly to the door of the store.
“Is there anybody there?” I said.
No one answered. I bent down to Jasper, putting my hand on his collar, and looked round the edge of the door. Someone was sitting in the corner against the wall. Someone who, from his crouching position, was even more frightened than me. It was Ben. He was trying to hide behind one of the sails. “What is the matter? Do you want something?” I said. He blinked at me stupidly, his mouth slightly open.
“I’m not doing nothing,” he said.
“Quiet, Jasper,” I scolded, putting my hand over his muzzle, and I took my belt off and ran it through his collar as a leash.
“What do you want, Ben?” I said, a little bolder this time.
He did not answer. He watched me with his sly idiot’s eyes.
“I think you had better come out,” I said. “Mr. de Winter doesn’t like people walking in and out of here.”
He shambled to his feet grinning furtively, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. The other hand he kept behind his back. “What have you got, Ben?” I said. He obeyed me like a child, showing me the other hand. There was a fishing line in it. “I’m not doing anything,” he repeated.
“Does that line belong here?” I asked.
“Eh?” he said.
“Listen, Ben,” I said. “You can take that line if you want to, but you mustn’t do it again. It’s not honest, taking people’s things.”
He said nothing. He blinked at me and wriggled.
“Come along,” I said firmly.
I went into the main room and he followed me. Jasper had stopped barking, and was now sniffing at Ben’s heels. I did not want to stop any longer in the cottage. I walked quickly out into the sunshine, Ben shuffling behind me. Then I shut the door.
“You had better go home,” I said to Ben.
He held the fishing line clutched to his heart like a treasure. “You won’t put me to the asylum, will you?” he said.
I saw then that he was trembling with fright. His hands were shaking, and his eyes were fixed on mine in supplication, like a dumb thing.
“Of course not,” I said gently.
“I done nothing,” he repeated, “I never told no one. I don’t want to be put to the asylum.” A tear rolled down his dirty face.
“That’s all right, Ben,” I said; “no one will put you away. But you must not go to the cottage again.”
I turned away, and he came after me, pawing at my hand.
“Here,” he said. “Here, I got something for you.”
He smiled foolishly, he beckoned with his finger, and turned towards the beach. I went with him, and he bent down and picked up a flat stone by a rock. There was a little heap of shells under the stone. He chose one, and presented it to me. “That’s yourn,” he said.