‘Speak for yourself,’ Charles recommended. ‘I’m not hoping anything of the kind.’
The inspector gave a chuckle, which echoed rather eerily.
‘Please don’t do that again!’ said Charles. ‘It unnerves me. Of course we only want a few bats to complete the picture.’
‘What’s that ahead?’ Peter asked suddenly, peering over Michael’s shoulder. ‘By Jove, you’re right, Draycott! We’ve got to the crypt! Well, we always knew there must be one under the ruins.’
In a moment they were all standing in a low vaulted space. The vaults were supported by stone pillars, and as Michael’s torch slowly swept the place they saw grim relics on the flagged floor. There were old worm-eaten coffins; one or two had rotted away, and a few bones, crumbling to dust, lay amongst the remains of the wooden shells. The lid of one coffin had been prised open, and when they looked into it they saw that it was empty.
‘You bet that’s where our skeleton came from!’ Peter said. ‘Gosh, what a gruesome place!’
Charles wiped his brow: ‘Yes, not my idea of the ideal entrance-hall,’ he agreed. ‘I’m shortly going to develop the horrors.’
‘Postpone them for a bit,’ begged Michael. ‘We’ve got to discover the way out. You’ve got torches, haven’t you? Then let’s get on to it.’
They set to work to explore the crypt. The first thing to attract their attention was a flight of stone steps, that had once obviously led up to the floor of the chapel, but these only mounted for a few feet before they were blocked by fallen masonry, and the earth that had accumulated on top with the passing of years. Michael tested them in vain, and sprang down again.
‘Hi!’ Charles called from the other end of the crypt. ‘Come over here! I always said I’d missed my vocation. I’ve found the gentleman’s front-steps.’
With one accord they all hastened to where he was standing. He played his torch up the wall where the vaulting had broken away. A set of iron rails ran up, like a ladder.
‘That’s it!’ Michael said. He inspected the dust and the jagged bits of stone at his feet. ‘What’s more, that vaulting has been deliberately broken down. What do you think, inspector?’
‘It looks like it,’ the inspector answered. ‘Especially as the roof ’s good nearly everywhere else.’ He stood directly beneath the broken roof and turned his torch upwards. ‘That’s queer. There’s a sort of square place forming what looks like a second roof. Can you see, Draycott?’ He stepped back to make room for Michael. ‘It’s a good bit higher than the rest of the vaulting too. What do you suppose it can be?’
‘Unless I’m much mistaken it’s one of the tombs,’ Michael answered. ‘The whole of the bottom has been taken away, and the floor of the chapel. Good Lord, I hand it to the Monk! He’s thorough. I’m going up. You might keep your torch on it, to show me the way, one of you.’ He pocketed his own, and started to climb the vertical ladder. They waited anxiously for the result. ‘To think of the hours I’ve spent examining all those beastly tombs!’ Michael said from above their heads. ‘I suspected them right off, but I couldn’t get one of them to open. Hullo!’
‘What?’ came from three pairs of lips at once.
‘A sort of handle. Wait a bit.’ He removed his right hand from the rail above him and reached up to turn the handle. ‘It seems to be something on the same sort of principle as a Yale lock,’ he said, and pressed upwards. ‘Yes, by Jove, it moves! Throw the light more to the side, will you? I thought so! It’s hinged. That accounts for my being able to lift it. Take the light away now; I’m going to open it.’
They switched off their torches, but they were not long in darkness, for the solid stone slab that Michael was pressing, opened slowly upwards, and a shaft of daylight filtered into the crypt.
Michael climbed carefully higher, until he could see over the top of the tomb. ‘It’s all right. There’s no one here. I just want to see how this works from outside.’ He swung the slab right back, and climbed out. He was gone for perhaps five minutes, and they saw him swing a leg over the side of the tomb again, and pull the slab to after him. They heard the lock click as it shut.
He came quickly down the ladder again. ‘No wonder I couldn’t find it. Unless you knew exactly where to look you never would. There’s a slit in the carving on the side of the tomb. Beautiful bit of work. It’s just wide enough to take a very thin flat key. The Monk’s put a complete lock on the lid of the tomb, and a couple of hinges. Well, I think that’s settled his little hash once and for all. We’ve got him, inspector.’
Nineteen
WHEN THEY GOT BACK TO THE LIBRARY, AFTER A THOROUGH examination of the secret cellar, it was nearly one o’clock, and Celia had received several callers. Even Mrs Pennythorne had bicycled over to inquire after the missing couple, and Mrs Roote, and Mr Titmarsh had also come to offer their sympathy.
Since Charles had seen the underground passage and the rooms that led out of it he and Peter had had a quiet consultation. As a result of this Peter took Michael Draycott aside just before they all went in to lunch, and tackled him frankly.
‘Look here, Draycott,’ he said, ‘I’m going to ask you a plain question, and I want you to answer quite honestly: isn’t Margaret’s and my escape from that cell going to make your job to-night rather ticklish?’
Michael hesitated. ‘Well, of course, it does complicate things, I admit,’ he said. ‘Still, it can’t be helped.’
‘It might be helped,’ Peter said. ‘If we went back.’
‘No, that wouldn’t do at all, sporting of you though it is to suggest it. I couldn’t allow it.’
‘Don’t you run a risk of failing to bring off your coup if we’re discovered to have escaped?’
‘I’m hoping for the best,’ Michael answered lightly. ‘If it were only you I’d ask you to go back, but to let Miss Fortescue go down again is out of the question.’
‘Go down where?’ Margaret had come up to them, and caught the last words.
Michael turned to her with the special smile he seemed to keep for her. ‘Nowhere,’ he said.
She laughed. ‘What a snub! But do tell me what’s out of the question?’
It was Peter who answered. ‘Margaret, it has occurred to me, and to Chas as well, that us not being in that cell to-night may ruin Draycott’s plans. He won’t say so, but…’
‘You’re exaggerating,’ Michael said. ‘And in any case what you suggest can’t be considered for a moment.’
‘Inspector Tomlinson doesn’t agree with you. He thinks it can.’ Peter looked down at his sister. ‘What we’ve been thinking is this, Margaret: if Wilkes and those others happened to go down to-night before the Monk and found us gone, they’d give the alarm. If the Monk goes first, which is even more likely, Draycott will have to close in on him, and let the rest of the crowd go hang. Do you see?’
Margaret looked from him to Michael. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. You think we ought to go back?’
‘No, I don’t,’ Michael said.
‘I leave it to you, Sis,’ Peter told her. ‘I know it won’t be nice for you, but do you think you could screw up your courage enough to do it?’
She seemed to consider. ‘Could you get hold of an automatic for me, Michael? I could hide it in my dress. If I had a gun I’d do it.’
Peter nodded. ‘She’s a pretty good shot, Draycott. You can trust her with a gun.’
‘I can’t manage the double pull of a service revolver, or I’d borrow Charles’,’ Margaret said.
The inspector, who had come up, and had been listening, said: ‘If you’ll consent to be shut up down there again, miss – and if you do I’d like to say that there’s very few ladies who’ve got your pluck – you’ll both be fitted with a couple of Colts. Not that I think you’ll have any need to use them. All we want you to do is to sit in that cell, as if you’d been there all day, and keep there till Mr Draycott gives the word for you to come out. We’ll draw the bolts back as we come down the passage, but don’t come out, either
of you. There may be a bit of shooting, you see. While you’re behind that stone wall you’re safe enough, but we don’t want you mixed up with the scuffle there’s bound to be outside.’
Margaret smiled at Michael, who was frowning. ‘At that rate I don’t see that we shall be in any danger at all. It’ll just be rather boring, having to wait. I’m game.’
The inspector turned to Michael. ‘You’re in charge, Draycott, I know, and it’s for you to give the orders, but if you’ll allow me to make the suggestion, the lady won’t come to any harm, and it’s taking a big chance if she stays up here.’
‘I know,’ Michael said. He hesitated. Then he laughed ruefully: ‘Oh, Margaret, you are a nuisance!’
‘No, I’m not. Peter’s quite capable of looking after me – and after all, the last thing the Monk would do would be to waste time in shooting us for no reason at all. Consider it settled. When ought we to go down again?’
‘Good girl!’ Peter said, and went off to tell Charles.
The inspector saw Michael take Margaret’s hand, and opened his eyes very wide indeed. He murmured something about going to speak to the sergeant, and withdrew.
‘Margaret – I can’t tell you what I think of your pluck, and your sportsmanship,’ Michael said.
She blushed charmingly. ‘If you’re going down there – do you think I wouldn’t want to – to be there too?’ she asked.
For a moment he looked at her; then, without quite knowing how she got there, she found herself in his arms.
There was a loud cough in the doorway. ‘Don’t mind me,’ Charles said. ‘Of course if I were tactful I should go silently away. But I want my lunch, and Celia won’t start till you come.’
Both scarlet in the face, they fell apart. ‘Oh – oh is it ready?’ Margaret asked. ‘We’re just coming. And – er – Chas!’
‘Yes?’
‘We – Michael and I – we’re going to be married.’
‘What a surprise!’ Charles said. ‘I ought to have had warning of this.’ He grasped Michael’s hand. ‘Congratulations! And do you mind coming in to lunch?’
Over lunch they discussed their plans, and it was decided that Peter and Margaret should descend into their prison again not later than eight o’clock, to be on the safe side. Michael, Tomlinson, Charles, and three of the Flying Squad from Norchester would take up their positions in the house. It would be Charles’ duty, aided by the ubiquitous Flinders, to stand by the panel in the library, in case the Monk managed to reach it. Sergeant Matthews had already blocked up the entrance into Mrs Bosanquet’s room, since they were too short of men to spare a couple to stand guard there. The sergeant and one other man were to lie in wait in the chapel, concealed amongst the ruins, and when they saw the Monk go down through the tomb they were to signal with a torch to the house, where a man would be on the look-out from one of the upper windows. Their task was then to stand by the tomb, and hold the stone slab down in case the Monk doubled back to make an escape that way. There was no hiding place in the crypt, and Michael had judged that it would be safer not to attempt to post any men inside the secret entrance. At the Inn, Fripp was to keep a lookout, and as soon as he had seen Wilkes and the two other men descend into the cellars he was to signal from his window to the police lying in wait outside. One of them would speed off at once to the Priory on his motorbicycle to tell Michael that all was well; the other three would enter the Inn, arrest Spindle before he could give the alarm, and bottle up the second entrance.
‘Do you still suspect anyone in particular?’ Margaret asked Michael when he returned to the Priory shortly after six.
‘I’m sure of it,’ he answered. ‘I found out one thing that settles it – or so I think.’
‘I do think you’re a tantalising person!’ complained Celia.
‘I don’t like him,’ Charles announced. ‘Don’t marry him, Margaret. We can’t have a policeman in the family. What about our wireless licence? He’s bound to find out that it’s expired.’
They dined early, and as soon as the meal was over Margaret went up to change into the frock she had worn on the previous evening. With a praiseworthy attention to detail she made her hair look tousled, and wiped all the powder off her face. As Charles remarked, in a newly engaged girl this deed almost amounted to heroism.
At eight o’clock they opened the panel and went down those cold, damp stairs, Michael leading the way. It was nervous work, for the Monk might already have entered, unlikely though this was. However, Margaret felt the butt of the Colt she carried in the pocket of Peter’s coat, which she had put on, and took heart. If there was going to be any shooting, she thought, someone would get a surprise.
They climbed through the moving stone, and made their way cautiously through the two vaults to the passage. The place was eerily silent, and it was evident that no one had yet come down into it. The light was still on in their cell, and they entered. Then Michael shut them in, and bolted the door, and returned to the library.
‘Ugh!’ said Margaret cheerfully. ‘Well, who says the age of adventure is dead? I hope we don’t have to wait long.’
‘Careful!’ Peter said. ‘The Monk moves pretty softly, and we don’t want to be overheard. We’d better talk of something else.’
This they did while the slow hours dragged past. In spite of the gun in her pocket the long wait began to get on Margaret’s nerves, and by eleven o’clock she had no need to assume an expression of anxiety. Her eyes had begun to look a little strained, and she was very pale.
Then they heard that padding footstep, and Margaret instinctively grasped Peter’s arm. It came nearer, and then stopped. The shutter slid back, and once more they saw the cowled face at the grille. For perhaps fifteen tense seconds the eyes they could see through the slits observed them. Then, just as Peter had thumbed down the safety catch of the pistol behind him, the shutter closed again, and the footsteps passed on.
Margaret was shaking. ‘I don’t think I can bear it for much longer,’ she whispered.
They heard the grate of a key, and knew that the Monk had unlocked the door into the printing-room. There was a long, long pause. Once they thought they heard the soft footfall again, but they could not be certain.
Another hour crept by. Margaret felt cold, and rather sick. ‘It’s – it’s like waiting at the dentist’s when you’re going to have a tooth out,’ she whispered, trying to smile.
Even as she said it they heard footsteps approaching, and the murmur of voices.
‘The rest of the gang,’ Peter said. ‘Feeling all right, Sis?’
She grimaced, but nodded.
The voices drew closer: they heard the same man who had brought the water on the night previous, say: ‘Well, this is my last night, and I don’t care who hears me say it. Things are getting a sight too hot for me.’
Someone, probably Wilkes, Peter guessed, said something in a low voice. ‘Let ’em hear!’ the other replied. ‘They won’t hear much after to-night.’ Then the voices ceased, and in a few minutes the roar of the engine started.
It seemed to the two who waited in their cell that hours passed. Margaret looked at Peter with a scared question in her eyes. He put his lips to her ear. ‘Don’t forget they had to wait for the signal. ’Tisn’t as long as we think, Sis. Don’t fuss!’
They relapsed into listening silence again. ‘Difficult to hear above the row of the engine,’ Peter said.
But he too was beginning to wonder whether any hitch had occurred. Then the shutter slid back, and they saw Michael’s face for a moment. Peter went to the door, and Michael whispered: ‘I’m going to draw back the bolts, but whatever you do, don’t come out till you’re given the word.’ He disappeared as he spoke; they heard the bolts drawn cautiously back, and then Peter beckoned Margaret to come and stand out of range of the grille.
Outside in the passage, the four other men had halted behind Michael. A stream of light came from the room beyond Peter and Margaret’s cell, and they knew that the men were working w
ith the door open, probably for the sake of air.
Michael gave the signal, and they crept forward.
Michael and Tomlinson reached the door together. ‘Hands up!’ Michael said. ‘The first man who moves I shoot!’
Even as the words left his mouth there was a report, and the light went out; someone had fired at the electric bulb, and the place was plunged into sudden darkness.
But in that brief moment Michael had had time to see the whole room in one lightning glance. Wilkes was there, working the central machine; the two other men were there, but there was no sign of the Monk.
In a moment there was turmoil. A gun cracked, and the inspector’s revolver answered it. Someone’s torch lit up a corner of the room for a brief instant, then there was a scuffle in the doorway, another shot, and a wild struggle in the passage. Above the noise of the engine and the fight, Michael shouted: ‘He’s not here! Collar those men!’ He felt a shot whistle past his head, ducked, and ran back down the passage, a gun in one hand, his torch in the other.
Behind him the noise grew fainter and fainter; he could safely leave Inspector Tomlinson to deal with the three others but something far more important remained to be done. The Monk had not been in the printing-room. Michael had a sickening fear that there was some other entrance he had failed to discover, but the first thing to do was to race for the crypt, in case the Monk had gone that way. As he ran he cursed himself for not having taken the precaution to go up the stairs past the library before he led the police down. The Monk must have been on the stairs when they came through the panel; he might have been listening to what had been said in the library, waited for them to get through the moving stone, and then gone on down to the crypt. Well, he couldn’t get out through the tomb, in any case, Michael reflected.
He reached the stone, and set his shoulders to it. It was dangerous work, for the Monk might even then be lying in wait to shoot down his pursuers. He stayed for a moment, with a leg over the barrier, and his torch lighting up the stairs. He could see nothing, but below him he thought he heard a rustle. He sprang through and went on down. There was no sign of life in the low passage that led at the foot of the stairs to the crypt, and no glimmer of light shone in the crypt itself. He reached it, and his torch flashed round, searching every corner. The crypt was empty. He sprang for the iron ladder, scrambled up, and shouted: ‘All right there? No one tried to get out?’