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纳尼亚传奇1：魔法师的外甥|The Magician‘s Nephew

第1章|Chapter 1

属类： 双语小说 【分类】魔幻小说 -[作者: 路易斯] 阅读：[7923]
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1、开错的门

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故事发生在很久以前，当你爷爷还是个孩子的时候。这个故享非常重要，因为它告诉我们，我们自己的世界和纳尼亚王国之间所有的事情最初是如何发生的。

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那时，歇洛克·

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福尔摩斯仍住在贝克街，巴斯塔布尔一家还在路易斯罕大道上寻宝。那时，如果你是小男孩，你不得不天天戴上硬邦邦的伊顿领子，学校嘛，通常比现在的糟糕。不过，吃的比现在的好；要说糖果，我不想告诉你多么便宜，多么好吃，因为那只能使你白白地流口水。那时，伦较住着一个女孩，名叫波莉·

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普卢默。

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她家的房子和其他房子连成长长的一排。一天早晨，她在后花园里，看见一个男孩从隔壁花园爬上墙头，只露出一张脸。波莉感到很意外，因为，迄今为止．那幢房子除了老单身汉凯特利先生和老处女凯特利小姐这兄妹俩外，并没有住孩子。她好奇地抬起头，那陌生男孩的脸脏极了，就算他的手先在土里擦，然后大哭一场，再用泥手去擦脸，也不会这么脏。实际上，这差不多就是他刚刚干的事。

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“你好！”波莉说。

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“你好！”男孩回答，“你叫什么？”

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“波莉。”波莉说，“你呢？"

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“迪格雷。”男孩答道。

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“唉呀，这名字太好笑了 ! ”波莉说。

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“波莉好笑得多呢。”

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“就是好笑。”波莉又说。

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“就不好笑。”男孩反驳说。

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“不管怎样，我是洗脸的，”波莉说，“而你现在需要洗脸，尤其当你… …

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”她停住了。她本想说“当你号啕大哭以后”，但又觉得不太礼貌。

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“对极了，我刚哭过。”迪格雷把嗓门提高了许多．像一个悲哀过度的男孩不在乎谁知道他哭过一样。”你也会哭的，”他维续说，“要是你原来住在乡下，有匹小马，花园尽头还有条小河，然后却被弄到这么个糟糕透顶的窝里来住的话。”

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“伦敦不是糟糕透顶的窝。”波莉愤愤地说。但男孩太激动了，根本没注意到她的口气。他接着说：

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“要是你爸爸远在印度，你不得不来跟姨妈和疯癫癫的舅舅住在一起，

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你怎么会高兴呢？）而这又是因为他们正在照看你的妈妈，而你的妈妈生病了，就要……就要死了。”他脸上做出想忍件不哭时的怪异表情。

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“对不起，我一点儿也不知道。”波莉低声下气地道歉。接着，因为实在不知道该说些什么，同时也为了能使迪格雷转到愉快的话题上，她问：

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“凯特利先生直的疯了吗？”

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“要么疯了，”迪格雷回答，“要么就有什么秘密。他在楼顶上有间书房，蕾蒂姨妈叮嘱过，我决不能去。这让人觉得可疑。还有，他从不跟蕾蒂姨妈交谈，而每当他在进餐时想要对我说什么，她就要阻止。她会说，‘安德鲁，别去烦这孩子’，或者，‘我能肯定迪格雷不想知道那件事’，或者，‘迪格雷，你不想去外面花园里玩吗？’”

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“他想要说什么事情呢？”

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“我不知道。他从来不多说。哦，还有，有天夜里，就是昨夜，我经过阁楼楼梯下面去睡觉时（我不喜欢从那儿走过），我敢肯定听到了一声喊叫。”

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“他可能关了一个疯妻在那儿吧？"

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“我也这样想。”

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“要不然，他在造假币。”

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“或许以前他是个海盗，像《金银岛》开头的那人一样，老在躲避过去船上的同伙。”

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“真带劲儿！”波莉说，“我从来不知道你们那幢房子这么有趣。”

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“你可能觉得有趣，”迪格雷说，“但你要是住在里面，你就不会开心了。你总不愿意半睡半醒的时候，听见安德鲁舅舅的脚步声穿过走廊，悄悄向你走来吧？而且他的眼睛那么令人讨厌。”,

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暑假刚开始，波莉和迪格雷就这样认识了 。他们几乎天天见面，那一年谁也没到海边去。

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那年夏天是好几年以来最潮湿、最阴冷的夏季之一，他们的探险便因此揭开了序幕，而他们也只能在室内活动，也就是说，是室内探险。点上一截蜡烛，在一幢大房子或一排房子里东寻西探，实在妙不可言。很早以前，波莉就发现，打开她家阁楼全储藏空的小门，就会看见贮水池后面有一块黑乎乎的地方．可以小心翼翼地钻进去。里面像一条长长的隧道，一边是砖墙，一边是斜屋项。屋项上的石板之间有缝隙，透出光线。隧道里没有地板．你必须从一根椽子到另一根橡子，椽子之间只有灰泥。要是踩在灰泥上，你就会掉入下面的房间。波莉曾将隧道那近水池的那片地方当作“走私者的山洞”。她把一些旧包装箱的散片和破厨房椅的座子一类东西搬上去，搭在椽子之间铺成地板。她还藏了一个钱箱，里面装着各种各样的宝贝，一本她正在写的小说，通常还有几只苹果。她常进去愉偷地喝上一瓶姜啤酒，废弃的酒瓶使那里看上去更像“走私者的山洞”了。

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迪格雷很套欢那个“山洞”（波莉是不会让他看见那本小说的） ，但他更想去探险。

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“唉呀，这条隧道有多长呢，我是说，它到你家房子的边上就为止了吗？”迪格雷问。

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“不，”波莉说，“墙并没有在屋顶那儿为止。我也不知道隧道有多长。”

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“那么，我们可以把整排房子都走通。”

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“是的。”，波莉说，“哎呀！"

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“怎么了？"

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“我们可以走到别人的房子里去嘛！ "

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“是的，然后再被人当成夜盗抓起来！这可不好玩。”

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“别自作聪明，我刚才在想你家后面的那修房子。”

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“什么意思？”

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“唔，那是幢空房子。爸爸说，自从我们搬到这毕来，它就一直是空的。”

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“那我们该去侦察一番。”迪格雷说。从他说话的方式上，你还看不出他的内心要激动得多。当然，可能像你一样，他也在想，那幢房子为什么好长时间都是空的。他把可能的理由全想了一遍，波莉也在想。然而，谁也没提‘闹鬼”二字。两人都觉得，事情一旦说出口，不去就显得太软弱了。

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“我们现在就去呜？”迪格雷问。

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“是的。”波莉说。

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“如果你不愿意就不勉强。”

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“只要你愿意．我就愿意。”波莉回答。

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“可我们怎么知道刚好到了隔壁一幢的房子里呢？”

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他们决定．先出去到储藏室，以两根椽子之间的距离为一步，这样走一遍，就知道要跨过多少根椽子才能走完一个房间。他们给波莉家两个阁楼间的通道留出稍多于四根椽子的距离，给女佣的卧室算上与储藏室一样多的椽子。加起来，便是那幢房子的总长度。走完两倍这段距离，就是迪格雷家房子的尽头。再往前，他们所走到的任何一扇门都会通向空房子的阁楼。

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“但我不认为那房子真是空的。”迪格雷说。

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“那你是怎么想的？"

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“我想，有人隐居在那儿，天黑以后才提着一盏昏暗的提灯进出。我们还可能发现一帮绝望的罪犯，并由此得到奖赏。要说一幢空了多年的房子毫无秘密，那就太蠢了。”

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“爸爸认为，里面一定是下水道。”波莉说。

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“咳！大人的想法总是没趣儿！”迪格雷说。因为他们是在白天的阁楼里，而不是在”走私者的山洞”里点若蜡烛谈话．空房子闹鬼的可能性便显得很小了。

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他们测出阁楼的长度后，便拿出铅笔来计算总长。起先，两人答案不一致，但即使得出同一结果，我也怀疑他们是否算对了。因为两人都急着上路，去开始他们伟大的探险事业。"

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“我们决不能弄出声音。”当他们从水池后面再次往隧道里钻时，波莉说。每人手里举了一根蜡烛（波莉在她的“山洞”里藏了很多）。

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黑暗而通风的隧道里积着厚厚的灰尘。他们踩着椽子悄然而行，偶尔互相耳语一句“到你家阁楼对面了”，或者“走到我家房子的中间了”。两人都没有跌倒过，蜡烛也没有熄灭过，最后，他们停住了，看见右面的砖墙上有扇小门。门的这一面既无门闩也无把手，

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显然，那门是做来让人进屋，而不是让人走出去的。但门上有个挂钩（像衣柜门上常见的那种），他们觉得完全能够打开。

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“我去开吗？”迪格雷问。

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“只要你愿意，我就愿意。”波莉又搬出她的口头禅。两人都知道，他们正处在紧要关头，但谁也没有后退。迪格雷费了一番劲才把挂钩打开。门一开，突然射来的自然光使他们忍不住眨了眨眼。接着，他们非常惊奇地发现，面前不是一间废弃的阁楼，而是一个陈设完整的房间。但似乎又是空荡荡的，一派死寂。波莉在好奇心的驱使下吹灭了蜡烛，像耗子一样悄悄地走进了那间奇怪的屋子。

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屋子的形状很像阁楼，但又装饰得像起居室。沿墙摆满了架子，架上放满了书籍。壁炉里燃着火，（你还记得那年夏天又冷又湿吧？）火炉前面，一把高背扶手椅背对他们两人放着。在波莉和椅子之间，占据大部分空间的是一张堆着各种物什的大桌子——书、笔记薄、墨水瓶、钢笔、封蜡和一台显微镜。然而，她首先注意到的是一只红得发亮的木托盘，里面有几只戒指。这些戒指成对放着，一枚黄的和一枚绿的挨在一起隔了一点距离，又是一枚黄的和一枚绿的挨在一起。它们只不过像普通戒指那么大，但由于太亮了，谁也不会看不见。这些小戒指闪着你能想像的最共丽的光彩。如果波莉再小一点儿，她说不定会草一枚放进嘴里。

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房间里静峥的，你很快便能清楚地听见钟的嘀嗒声。可波莉又发现，毕面并非绝对寂静有一种微弱的嗡嗡声。假如那时已有吸尘器，波莉肯定会认为这是一台吸尘器在几间房子外或几层楼下工作发出的声音。但她听到的声音更柔和，更富音乐感，只是微弱得几乎听不见。

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“太好了，这儿没人。”波莉偏过头，用略高于耳语的声音对迪格雷说。

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“好什么？”迪格雷走过来，眨巴着眼睛，”根本不是空房子，我们最好在有人进来以前逃走。”他看上去脏极了，波莉也是。

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“你说那些是什么？”波莉指着彩色戒指问。

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“过来，快……”迪格留正想说下去，一件意想不到的事发生了。火炉前的高背椅子突然移动了，像舞台的活动门里钻出一个哑剧中的小丑一样，安德鲁舅舅可怕的样子出现在他们面前。他们站的地方不是空房子，而是迪格雷家中那间禁止入内的书房！两个孩子意识到犯了严重的错误，都大张着口，”噢——噢——”地说不出话来。他们觉得早该感到自己走得不够远。

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安德鲁舅舅又高又瘦，一头灰发零乱不堪，刮得干干净净的长脸上长着尖削的鼻子和一双贼亮的眼睛。

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迪格雷大气也不敢出，囚为安德鲁舅舅看上去要比以往可怕一千倍。波莉起先还不太害怕，但很快就怕了，因为安德鲁舅舅一来便走到门口，关上门，并把门锁了起来。然后，他转过身，直勾勾地盯着孩子们，一笑，眼出满口牙齿。"

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“这下可好，”他说，“我那傻瓜妹妹找不到你们了。”

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这哪里像大人应该做的事！波莉的心提到了嗓子眼。她和迪格雷开始向他们进来的小门退去。但安德鲁舅舅抢先冲到他们背后，将那扇门也关上了，然后站在门前。他搓着手，弄得指关节啪啪地响。他有长长的漂亮的白手指。

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“很高兴见到你们，”他说，“我正需要两个孩子呢。”

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“凯特利先生，”波莉说，“我要回家了，请你放我们出去，好吗？”

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“现在不行，这么好的机会不能错过。我需要两个孩子。你看，我的伟大的实验只做了一半。以前，我用过一只豚鼠，还可以，但豚鼠没法儿跟你说话．而你也不能告诉它怎么回来。”

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“安德鲁舅舅，”迪格雷说，“现在是吃饭时间了，他们很快就会找我们的。你必须放我们出去。”

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“必须？”安德每舅舅说。

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迪格雷和波莉相互看了一眼。两人不敢开口，但眼睛却在说，“这太可怕了，不是吗？”我们只好哄哄他。”

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“要是你放我们去吃饭，我们吃完就回来。”波莉说。

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“可是，我怎么知道你们会不会回来？”安德各舅舅狡猾地一笑，好像要改变注意了。

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“好吧，好吧，”他说，“如果真是非走不可，我想你们也该走了。我不指望像你们这么大的两个孩子会喜欢跟我这样一个老笨蛋说话。”他叹口气，继续道；“你们不明白，有时，我是多么孤独。可是，没关系，去吃饭吧。但在你们走之前，我一定要送你们一件礼物。我并不是每天都能在这间肮脏的旧书房里见到一个小姑娘的，尤其是，这么说吧，跟你一样吸引人的年轻姑娘。”

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波莉开始想，他可能并不疯。

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“你不喜欢戒指吗，亲爱的？’他问波莉。

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“你是说那些黄的绿的戒指吗，太可爱了！”波莉很高兴。

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“不是绿的，”安德鲁舅舅说，“我想我还不能把绿的给人。但我喜欢送你一枚包含若我一份爱心的黄戒指。过来试试吧。”

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波莉一点儿也不怕了，她完全相信这位老先生并没有疯，那些亮晶晶的戒指有种奇异的魔力，引诱她朝托盘走去。

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“啊，我知道了！”波莉说，”那种嗡嗡声在这儿变大了，好像就是这些戒指发出的。”

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“多么有趣的幻想，亲爱的。”安德鲁舅舅笑起来，那笑声听来非常自然．但迪格雷从他的脸上看出一种急迫甚至贪婪的神色。

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“波莉，别做傻事，”他大叫，“不要碰戒指！”

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可是，一切都晚了，在他说话的同时，波莉的手已经伸出去，触到了其中一枚戒指。很快，没有闪光，没有声音，没有任何警告，波莉便消失了，屋子里只剩下迪格雷和他的安德鲁舅舅。

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THE WRONG DOOR

1

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This is a story about something that happened long ago when your grandfather was a child. It is a very important story because it shows how all the comings and goings between our own world and the land of Narnia first began.

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In those days Mr Sherlock Holmes was still living in Baker Street and the Bastables were looking for treasure in the Lewisham Road. In those days, if you were a boy you had to wear a stiff Eton collar every day, and schools were usually nastier than now. But meals were nicer; and as for sweets, I won’t tell you how cheap and good they were, because it would only make your mouth water in vain. And in those days there lived in London a girl called Polly Plummer.

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She lived in one of a long row of houses which were all joined together. One morning she was out in the back garden when a boy scrambled up from the garden next door and put his face over the wall. Polly was very surprised because up till now there had never been any children in that house, but only Mr Ketterley and Miss Ketterley, a brother and sister, old bachelor and old maid, living together. So she looked up, full of curiosity. The face of the strange boy was very grubby. It could hardly have been grubbier if he had first rubbed his hands in the earth, and then had a good cry, and then dried his face with his hands. As a matter of fact, this was very nearly what he had been doing.

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"Hullo," said Polly.

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"Hullo," said the boy. "What’s your name?"

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"Polly," said Polly. "What’s yours?"

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"Digory," said the boy.

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"I say, what a funny name!" said Polly.

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"It isn’t half so funny as Polly," said Digory.

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"Yes it is," said Polly.

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"No, it isn’t," said Digory.

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"At any rate I do wash my face," said Polly, "Which is what you need to do; especially after -" and then she stopped. She had been going to say "After you’ve been blubbing," but she thought that wouldn’t be polite.

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"Alright, I have then," said Digory in a much louder voice, like a boy who was so miserable that he didn’t care who knew he had been crying. "And so would you," he went on, "if you’d lived all your life in the country and had a pony, and a river at the bottom of the garden, and then been brought to live in a beastly Hole like this."

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"London isn’t a Hole," said Polly indignantly. But the boy was too wound up to take any notice of her, and he went on "And if your father was away in India - and you had to come and live with an Aunt and an Uncle who’s mad (who would like that?) - and if the reason was that they were looking after your Mother - and if your Mother was ill and was going to - going to - die." Then his face went the wrong sort of shape as it does if you’re trying to keep back your tears.

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"I didn’t know. I’m sorry," said Polly humbly. And then, because she hardly knew what to say, and also to turn Digory’s mind to cheerful subjects, she asked:

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"Is Mr Ketterley really mad?"

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"Well either he’s mad," said Digory, "or there’s some other mystery. He has a study on the top floor and Aunt Letty says I must never go up there. Well, that looks fishy to begin with. And then there’s another thing. Whenever he tries to say anything to me at meal times - he never even tries to talk to her - she always shuts him up. She says, "Don’t worry the boy, Andrew" or "I’m sure Digory doesn’t want to hear about that" or else "Now, Digory, wouldn’t you like to go out and play in the garden?"

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"What sort of things does he try to say?"

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"I don’t know. He never gets far enough. But there’s more than that. One night - it was last night in fact - as I was going past the foot of the attic-stairs on my way to bed (and I don’t much care for going past them either) I’m sure I heard a yell."

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"Perhaps he keeps a mad wife shut up there."

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"Yes, I’ve thought of that."

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"Or perhaps he’s a coiner."

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"Or he might have been a pirate, like the man at the beginning of Treasure Island, and be always hiding from his old shipmates."

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"How exciting!" said Polly, "I never knew your house was so interesting." .

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"You may think it interesting," said Digory. "But you wouldn’t like it if you had to sleep there. How would you like to lie awake listening for Uncle Andrew’s step to come creeping along the passage to your room? And he has such awful eyes."

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That was how Polly and Digory got to know one another: and as it was just the beginning of the summer holidays and neither of them was going to the sea that year, they met nearly every day.

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Their adventures began chiefly because it was one of the wettest and coldest summers there had been for years. That drove them to do indoor things: you might say, indoor exploration. It is wonderful how much exploring you can do with a stump of candle in a big house, or in a row of houses. Polly had discovered long ago that if you opened a certain little door in the box-room attic of her house you would find the cistern and a dark place behind it which you could get into by a little careful climbing. The dark place was like a long tunnel with brick wall on one side and sloping roof on the other. In the roof there were little chunks of light between the slates. There was no floor in this tunnel: you had to step from rafter to rafter, and between them there was only plaster. If you stepped on this you would find yourself falling through the ceiling of the room below. Polly had used the bit of the tunnel just beside the cistern as a smugglers’ cave. She had brought up bits of old packing cases and the seats of broken kitchen chairs, and things of that sort, and spread them across from rafter to rafter so as to make a bit of floor. Here she kept a cash-box containing various treasures, and a story she was writing and usually a few apples. She had often drunk a quiet bottle of ginger-beer in there: the old bottles made it look more like a smugglers’ cave.

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Digory quite liked the cave (she wouldn’t let him see the story) but he was more interested in exploring.

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"Look here," he said. "How long does this tunnel go on for? I mean, does it stop where your house ends?"

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"No," said Polly. "The walls don’t go out to the roof. It goes on. I don’t know how far."

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"Then we could get the length of the whole row of houses."

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"So we could," said Polly, "And oh, I say!"

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"What?"

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"We could get into the other houses."

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"Yes, and get taken up for burglars! No thanks."

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"Don’t be so jolly clever. I was thinking of the house beyond yours." ,

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"What about it?"

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"Why, it’s the empty one. Daddy says it’s always been empty since we came here."

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"I suppose we ought to have a look at it then," said Digory. He was a good deal more excited than you’d have thought from the way he spoke. For of course he was thinking, just as you would have been, of all the reasons why the house might have been empty so long. So was Polly. Neither of them said the word "haunted". And both felt that once the thing had been suggested, it would be feeble not to do it.

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"Shall we go and try it now?" said Digory.

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"Alright," said Polly.

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"Don’t if you’d rather not," said Digory.

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"I’m game if you are," said she.

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"How are we to know we’re in the next house but one?" They decided they would have to go out into the boxroom and walk across it taking steps as long as the steps from one rafter to the next. That would give them an idea of how many rafters went to a room. Then they would allow about four more for the passage between the two attics in Polly’s house, and then the same number for the maid’s bedroom as for the box-room. That would give them the length of the house. When they had done that distance twice they would be at the end of Digory’s house; any door they came to after that would let them into an attic of the empty house.

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"But I don’t expect it’s really empty at all," said Digory.

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"What do you expect?"

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"I expect someone lives there in secret, only coming in and out at night, with a dark lantern. We shall probably discover a gang of desperate criminals and get a reward. It’s all rot to say a house would be empty all those years unless there was some mystery."

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"Daddy thought it must be the drains," said Polly.

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"Pooh! Grown-ups are always thinking of uninteresting explanations," said Digory. Now that they were talking by daylight in the attic instead of by candlelight in the Smugglers’ Cave it seemed much less likely that the empty house would be haunted.

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When they had measured the attic they had to get a pencil and do a sum. They both got different answers to it at first, and even when they agreed I am not sure they got it right. They were in a hurry to start on the exploration.

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"We mustn’t make a sound," said Polly as they climbed in again behind the cistern. Because it was such an important occasion they took a candle each (Polly had a good store of them in her cave).

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It was very dark and dusty and draughty and they stepped from rafter to rafter without a word except when they whispered to one another, "We’re opposite your attic now" or "this must be halfway through our house". And neither of them stumbled and the candles didn’t go out, and at last they came where they could see a little door in the brick wall on their right. There was no bolt or handle on this side of it, of course, for the door had been made for getting in, not for getting out; but there was a catch (as there often is on the inside of a cupboard door) which they felt sure they would be able to turn.

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"Shall I?" said Digory.

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"I’m game if you are," said Polly, just as she had said before. Both felt that it was becoming very serious, but neither would draw back. Digory pushed round the catch with some difficultly. The door swung open and the sudden daylight made them blink. Then, with a great shock, they saw that they were looking, not into a deserted attic, but into a furnished room. But it seemed empty enough. It was dead silent. Polly’s curiosity got the better of her. She blew out her candle and stepped out into the strange room, making no more noise than a mouse.

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It was shaped, of course, like an attic, but furnished as a sitting-room. Every bit of the walls was lined with shelves and every bit of the shelves was full of books. A fire was burning in the grate (you remember that it was a very cold wet summer that year) and in front of the fire-place with its back towards them was a high-backed armchair. Between the chair and Polly, and filling most of the middle of the room, was a big table piled with all sorts of things printed books, and books of the sort you write in, and ink bottles and pens and sealing-wax and a microscope. But what she noticed first was a bright red wooden tray with a number of rings on it. They were in pairs - a yellow one and a green one together, then a little space, and then another yellow one and another green one. They were no bigger than ordinary rings, and no one could help noticing them because they were so bright. They were the most beautiful shiny little things you can imagine. If Polly had been a very little younger she would have wanted to put one in her mouth.

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The room was so quiet that you noticed the ticking of the clock at once. And yet, as she now found, it was not absolutely quiet either. There was a faint - a very, very faint - humming sound. If Hoovers had been invented in those days Polly would have thought it was the sound of a Hoover being worked a long way off - several rooms away and several floors below. But it was a nicer sound than that, a more musical tone: only so faint that you could hardly hear it.

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"It’s alright; there’s no one here," said Polly over her shoulder to Digory. She was speaking above a whisper now. And Digory came out, blinking and looking extremely dirty - as indeed Polly was too.

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"This is no good," he said. "It’s not an empty house at all. We’d better bunk before anyone comes."

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"What do you think those are?" said Polly, pointing at the coloured rings.’

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"Oh come on," said Digory. "The sooner-"

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He never finished what he was going to say for at that moment something happened. The high-backed chair in front of the fire moved suddenly and there rose up out of it - like a pantomime demon coming up out of a trapdoor the alarming form of Uncle Andrew. They were not in the empty house at all; they were in Digory’s house and in the forbidden study! Both children said "O-o-oh" and realized their terrible mistake. They felt they ought to have known all along that they hadn’t gone nearly far enough.

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Uncle Andrew was tall and very thin. He had a long clean-shaven face with a sharply-pointed nose and extremely bright eyes and a great tousled mop of grey hair.

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Digory was quite speechless, for Uncle Andrew looked a thousand times more alarming than he had ever looked before. Polly was not so frightened yet; but she soon was. For the very first thing Uncle Andrew did was to walk across to the door of the room, shut it, and turn the key in the lock. Then he turned round, fixed the children with his bright eyes, and smiled, showing all his teeth.

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"There!" he said. "Now my fool of a sister can’t get at you!"

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It was dreadfully unlike anything a grown-up would be expected to do. Polly’s heart came into her mouth, and she and Digory started backing towards the little door they had come in by. Uncle Andrew was too quick for them. He got behind them and shut that door too and stood in front of it. Then he rubbed his hands and made his knuckles crack. He had very long, beautifully white, fingers.

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"I am delighted to see you," he said. "Two children are just what I wanted."

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"Please, Mr Ketterley," said Polly. "It’s nearly my dinner time and I’ve got to go home. Will you let us out, please?"

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"Not just yet," said Uncle Andrew. "This is too good an opportunity to miss. I wanted two children. You see, I’m in the middle of a great experiment. I’ve tried it on a guinea-pig and it seemed to work. But then a guinea-pig can’t tell you anything. And you can’t explain to it how to come back."

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"Look here, Uncle Andrew," said Digory, "it really is dinner time and they’ll be looking for us in a moment. You must let us out."

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"Must?" said Uncle Andrew.

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Digory and Polly glanced at one another. They dared not say anything, but the glances meant "Isn’t this dreadful?" and "We must humour him."

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"If you let us go for our dinner now," said Polly, "we could come back after dinner."

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"Ah, but how do I know that you would?" said Uncle Andrew with a cunning smile. Then he seemed to change his mind.

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"Well, well," he said, "if you really must go, I suppose you must. I can’t expect two youngsters like you to find it much fun talking to an old buffer like me." He sighed and went on. "You’ve no idea how lonely I sometimes am. But no matter. Go to your dinner. But I must give you a present before you go. It’s not every day that I see a little girl in my dingy old study; especially, if I may say so, such a very attractive young lady as yourself."

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Polly began to think he might not really be mad after all.

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"Wouldn’t you like a ring, my dear?" said Uncle Andrew to Polly.

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"Do you mean one of those yellow or green ones?" said Polly. "How lovely!"

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"Not a green one," said Uncle Andrew. "I’m afraid I can’t give the green ones away. But I’d be delighted to give you any of the yellow ones: with my love. Come and try one on."

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Polly had now quite got over her fright and felt sure that the old gentleman was not mad; and there was certainly something strangely attractive about those bright rings. She moved over to the tray.

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"Why! I declare," she said. "That humming noise gets louder here. It’s almost as if the rings were making it."

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"What a funny fancy, my dear," said Uncle Andrew with a laugh. It sounded a very natural laugh, but Digory had seen an eager, almost a greedy, look on his face.

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"Polly! Don’t be a fool!" he shouted. "Don’t touch them."

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It was too late. Exactly as he spoke, Polly’s hand went out to touch one of the rings. And immediately, without a flash or a noise or a warning of any sort, there was no Polly. Digory and his Uncle were alone in the room.

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