by Unknown
“‘Dr Ash has come back then?’ I said to Rudd.
“Rudd looked puzzled. ‘I have not seen him this morning, sir.’
“‘Drowned himself?’ I suggested to Stavold.
“‘Not a bit of it. Why should he? This is a little practical joke of Ash’s. We’ll see if he doesn’t get tired of it before we do. Hunger will bring him back at lunch-time.’
“Late in the afternoon he had not returned, and we sent word up to the police-station. The police-station sent us the usual idiot, who made his notes and did his best to look as if he knew what to do. We spent the rest of the day in searching for Ash with no success. At ten o’clock we gave it up, and Rudd went back to the inn. We did very little talking, and I had some curious and inexplicable feelings as I sat there in the silence. My tobacco pouch lay on the table at arm’s length, and I found myself thinking that I might have an impulse to take it up in my hand but that as I did not want the pouch at the moment I should resist the impulse. Then my hand shot right out to the pouch, gripped it, and shook it.
“‘What the devil are you doing?’ said Stavold.
“I flung the pouch down and got up from my chair. ‘Dropping off to sleep, I fancy,’ I said.
“‘You didn’t look it.’
“‘Well, I ought to know, oughtn’t I? Help me to drag another bed into that chamber there. We’ll see it through together to-night.’
“‘Oh, no, we won’t,’ said my companion. ‘If we did that we should leave this hall here for the use of the practical jokers, if there are any. You will sleep here to-night. I shall take my turn in the secret chamber; only, if I can help it, I shan’t sleep.’
“‘I wonder where on earth Ash is,’ I said.
“‘We don’t know and it won’t improve our nerves to imagine. Yours seem a bit jumpy anyhow. We’ve done all we can to find him. Leave it at that.’
“I did not expect to sleep that night, yet sleep came to me in fits. I had wakened many times, and at last I determined that I might as well get up. In half an hour the grey dawn would be beginning. I remembered that Stavold had told me that he did not mean to go to sleep. I whistled softly as I slipped on my clothes, so that he might hear that I was moving about and join me. As he did not come I listened at the door of the chamber and heard no sound. In a moment I was standing inside it with the lamp shaking in my hand. The room was exactly as we had found it the morning before. There was nobody there. The bed had been slept in, and was now empty. The clothes lay on the chair. The candlestick had gone. I was horribly frightened.
“I did not wait for Rudd to come back. I went on to the village police-station at once and told my story. There was no doubt that this was a serious matter, and before breakfast-time an inspector had arrived from Saltham. Accompanied by a serjeant and myself he came over to the Priory and into the dining-hall.
“‘I think I’ll take a look round by myself first,’ he said. ‘You can wait here.’ He went into the chamber, and I could hear his heavy boots on the flags and the useless tapping on the walls. I was confident that nothing could be found there. There were a few minutes of silence, and he opened the door and said, ‘Will you come in here, Mr Arden?’
“I went in and saw that the bed had been pulled out from its usual place in the corner. He pointed to a large flagstone which the bed had covered.
“‘I should like to show you, sir, a curious optical effect there is in this room. Would you mind standing on that flagstone there?’
“I came round the bed to it, and my foot had just touched it when I was jerked backwards and fell to the floor.
“‘Beg your pardon, sir,’ said the inspector behind me. ‘I had to satisfy myself that you didn’t know of the trap. See here.’
“He knelt down beside the big flagstone and touched it lightly with his fingers. It was exactly balanced by a big iron pin through the centre, and it now swung open, showing a dark shaft going far down into the earth.
“‘You mean that they are down there?’ I said.
“‘Not a doubt. Each of them, as is only natural, tried the floor as well as the walls, and moved the bed for the purpose. That finished them. It’s the merest chance that I didn’t go down the shaft myself.’
“‘Well,’ I said, ‘the sooner we go down there the better. Where can we get a rope?’
“The inspector picked up a small tin match-box and emptied out the matches into the palm of his hand. ‘Listen,’ he said. He flung the box down the shaft. We listened, and listened, but heard no sound. ‘See?’ he said. ‘That’s deep. No use to get a rope there. Anyone who fell down there is dead. That’s been a well, I should say.’
“I was angry with the man’s cock-surety, and said that I was going down in any case. A rope was brought and attached to a lighted lantern. The lantern was lowered, and in a few yards went out. The experiment was tried again and again, and each time the lantern was extinguished by the foul air. It was hopeless. No human being could have lived for five minutes down there.
“I rose from the floor, put on my coat, and turned to the inspector. ‘This explains nothing,’ I said. ‘On the morning that Dr Ash was missed I went in here with Mr Stavold, and we found the bed placed as it had been the night before, immediately over this trap. If Dr Ash fell down it how did he put the bed back after him? The same thing applies to Mr Stavold; again the bed was left over the trap.’
“‘They did not move the bed back again, but somebody else did.’
“‘Who?’
“‘That is what I hope to find out to-night. Are you yourself willing to sleep to-night in the big hall alone?’
“‘Certainly. I don’t exactly see what the idea is.’
“‘Never mind about that. It may come to nothing. One can but try. You say that Rudd locked the door to this hall when he went out at night?’
“‘Yes. A modern lock had been fitted, and the door locked itself as soon as it was shut. It could only be opened from the outside with a latch-key.’
“‘And no one but yourself, that you know of, had a key?’
“‘No one that I know of.’
“‘Very well. I have a few things to see after. I must speak to this man Rudd. I shall see you again before nightfall.’
“I spent a horribly long day. I had to telegraph to the relatives of my two friends. I sent Rudd for books, and tried in vain to read. Rudd was aware that the police had a suspicious eye upon him and was in a state of suppressed fury. While Rudd was away I again examined the inner chamber. The window was too high up to be reached by anyone within the room, and too closely barred to admit of anyone passing through it. The chimney was equally impassable. No vestige of hope was left to me. At ten o’clock the inspector came in and told me that he had given up for the night. He looked thoughtfully towards the whisky decanter. I gave him a drink and mixed one for myself. Then he said good-night and went off.
“I had not expected to sleep, but an insurmountable drowsiness came over me. I flung myself down on the bed as I was, without undressing, hoping that in this way I should wake again in an hour or so.
“When I woke the room was brightly lighted. The inspector, two of his men, and Rudd himself were all there. I was startled.
“‘What’s the matter? What’s up?’ I said.
“‘Nothing much,’ said the inspector, ‘but I know who put the bed back in its place.’
“‘Who was it?’
“‘It was yourself, sir. You did it in your sleep. It had occurred to me that this was just possible, and I had a man watching through the window of the room.’
“‘It is impossible,’ I said. ‘I should know something of it. I am sure I have been here ever since you left me. Your man must have made a mistake.’
“‘My man made no mistak
e,’ said the inspector, drily, ‘for my man happened to be myself. You came in, set the lamp down, pushed the bed over to one corner, and then went to the chair, where you seemed to be folding up imaginary clothes.’
“The bodies were recovered two days later, and the whole story of course got into the papers. I was away from England for some years after that. It was one of the things that one wishes to forget. You ask me to take part in another of these investigations. In all probability there is nothing to investigate but a practical joke, or a chance noise, or something equally explicable, but you will understand that I will not take the risk that there may be something else.”
* * *
“But, my dear Arden,” said Winter, balancing the pince-nez in his hand, “there is nothing whatever in the story that you have told me. What could be more natural than that your two friends should examine the floor, should do so with too little care, and should reap the consequences? The repeated dream is itself quite natural; I should imagine there are few people who have not had it. At the most it is a coincidence that the dream, accompanied by somnambulism, should have come three nights in succession, but there is nothing supernatural there.”
“Never mind that word supernatural. Do you think there is anything inexplicable? You are forgetting that the bed in that chamber had been slept in both nights. The sleeper had been awakened by some sound. What was it? What drew him to the trap-door? What was it that took possession of my will and my body so that my own personality was as blotted out as if I had been dead? But,” he added, impatiently, “I do not want to convince you. When you are brought in touch, as I have been, with the unseen power you will be convinced. As your friend, I hope you never will be.”
Also available the Black Heath Gothic, Sensation and Supernatural Series
First published in 1901, Barry Pain's collection of short stories plays deftly with an array of supernatural and macabre ideas - the Roman soldier who encounters a nameless horror when he falls through a crack in the earth; ordinary people driven mad by their obsession with other people's crimes; the wife who haunts her husband via a ghostly telephone line. Perhaps most memorable of all, however, is the unsettling tale of 'The Undying Thing', which has all the hallmarks of a classic werewolf story. This vintage collection is sure to delight all fans of classic horror.
Also available the Black Heath Gothic, Sensation and Supernatural Series
When Stephen Desmond falls in love with the beautiful Mabel Leybourne, Mabel's guardian, the villainous Eustace Selwyn, spitefully refuses the union. So when Eustace disappears in mysterious circumstances, Stephen is the natural suspect. But is Stephen really a murderer? And is it really possible that Eustace Selwyn's vengeful spirit has returned to haunt the house in Berkeley Square...?
First published in 1891, Edric Vredenburg's novel is a mystery story with a supernatural twist - and a memorably gruesome climax...
