The Spirit Murder Mystery

by Robin Forsythe

  “Don’t worry about it. You’ve never got further than an engagement before, and history ought to repeat itself if it’s a friend of yours.”

  “History has always been kind to me, but chiefly in the matter of making dates. Now I’ve got that off my chest, what’s this obsession of yours about a secret passage, Algernon?”

  “That reminds me, the rector has borrowed the book you were reading on the history of Yarham. A chapter on the village church in that book says that one of three secret passages runs from the crypt to Yarham Old Hall, this house. If you consider it for a moment you’ll see that it goes a long way to explain the strange organ music we’ve heard. The tunnel evidently broadcasts the sound. Get me?”

  “By jingo, Algernon, I thought I was right when I expressed the opinion that it had nothing to do with spiritual manifestation. Now you mention it, a similar thing happens somewhere else in England.”

  “Is it at Rodbourne Cheney in Wiltshire?” asked Vereker.

  “That’s the place. I read an account of it some time ago. What made you think of Rodbourne Cheney?”

  “The rector mentioned it when speaking of these underground tunnels. Another fact which strengthens my belief in the origin of that music is that the ‘manifestation’ first occurred to Miss Thurlow at the end of May, at the very time that the rector pierced the wall sealing the entrance to the secret passage. Now we’ve got to find the outlet at this end.”

  “It may be sealed like the other end,” suggested Ricardo.

  “No, I don’t think so. In fact, I’m certain it isn’t.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “While you’ve been away, I’ve had a ghostly visitor,” explained Vereker and narrated to the wide-eyed Ricardo the details of that fantastic occurrence.

  “You’re sure it was a woman?” asked Ricardo.

  “No doubt about it, Ricky.”

  “But how amusing! Sounds like a mediaeval intrigue between ye blacksmith’s daughter and ye knight’s son. What a pity you didn’t catch her. I’d give something to collar a ghost. Look at the Christmas story it’d make! Let’s get busy and find the entrance to that passage, Algernon.”

  “We’ll start after lunch, if you’re game,” replied Vereker.

  “Certainly. ‘No sooner a word than a blow’ is my motto. You’ve no idea who this woman is?”

  “No; that’s the most puzzling part of the whole affair. And why did she want to come here? If we could only hit on a motive, it might give us a pointer, but I see no motive.”

  “Poor girl, she probably thought I was still in residence! But let’s get that grub. I only had a snatch breakfast this morning and I’m ravenous.”

  After lunch the two men returned to the study and rested for a while before commencing their search for the entrance to the secret passage. It was not long before Ricardo, after stifling several yawns, fell sound asleep in his chair. Vereker, without waking him, rose and once more began a very careful examination of the wainscoting along the western wall. The panels close to the study door especially engaged his attention, for it was at this point the “spectre” had stood before she had suddenly vanished. As his keen eye wandered over the old dark oak, it was arrested by a small disc-like insertion in the woodwork. That disc was about the size of a shilling and so neatly fitted that it was scarcely perceptible. Even the grain of its wood had been made to conform with the general grain of the panel’s surface, rendering its detection almost impossible to anyone not searching for it. Filled with sudden excitement at this discovery, Vereker pressed the disc with his forefinger. To his amazement the whole panel into which that disc had been inserted, immediately moved away from him and left a double entrance, one on each side of it, into a narrow, dark passage beyond. Overwhelmed with astonishment, he called out loudly to Ricardo, still asleep in his chair:

  “Ricky, wake up and come and look at this!”

  “Hello, where the deuce am I?” asked Ricardo, opening his eyes and looking round with sleepy bewilderment.

  “The question’s a revelation as to your habits, Ricky,” said Vereker, smiling at his friend’s stupefaction. “Come here; I’ve got the blessed thing at last!”

  Ricardo, now wide awake, jumped to his feet and joined Vereker. After looking at the panel for some moments, he asked: “How did you twig it, Algernon?”

  “Just a chance in a hundred. I’ve looked carefully at that panel several times before, but never spotted the push, so discreetly has it been made to match the surface. Now let us see how we bring the panel flush with the rest of the wainscoting again.”

  “Get on the other side and push, I suppose,” suggested Ricardo.

  “There’ll be some gadget for closing it from this side,” remarked Vereker, and fell to examining the adjacent panels. After some trouble, he discovered another disc in the woodwork to the right and pressed it as he had pressed the first. At once the panel that had receded moved forward silently into position again, fitting so beautifully into the wainscoting that both Vereker and Ricardo stood lost in admiration.

  “A choice example of the cabinet-maker’s art! I think that’s the correct description,” remarked Ricardo. “What about a spot of exploration beyond, Algernon?”

  “Just what I was thinking,” replied Vereker.

  “It would only be seemly if we both said, ‘Open sesame,’ when you touch the hidden spring, Algernon. We must work a little atmosphere round this adventure.”

  “You can do that, Ricky, by going to my investigator’s case upstairs and getting a couple of electric torches, the batteries, and all the candles and matches. Also bring my two automatic pistols and some cartridges.”

  “What on earth do you want with pistols and cartridges?”

  “They instil confidence when you’re in a tight corner, Ricky.”

  “You wouldn’t say so, if you knew what an erratic shot I was. When cornered, I blaze all round to prevent being taken in the flank or rear. But it’ll be your funeral. And why candles when we’ve got electric torches?”

  “You’ll see later. Now beat it! We’ve got a lot of work ahead.”

  Without further comment, Ricardo vanished and a little later returned with the articles Vereker had specified. Vereker handed his friend one of the torches, a candle and matches, and finally a Colt. 45.

  “You thoroughly understand the mechanism of that automatic?” he asked.

  “You pull the trigger and it goes off, I presume,” replied Ricardo.

  “Yes, and you can keep firing till...”

  “Algernon, I’ll be serious. My flippancy’s wasted on you. I know all about automatic pistols. Push the secret spring in the panel and let’s get on with our job. I’m itching to know what’s beyond.”

  A minute later both men had entered the gloomy little passage, Vereker leading the way. A few paces to the right led them to a narrow stone staircase which descended spirally for some twenty or thirty feet and brought them to another narrow and vaulted passage which ran straight ahead once more. They had only proceeded a few yards along this passage, when Vereker suddenly halted. At the base of the wall on his right, he had, as he flashed his torch about him, discovered a small rectangular iron grating.

  “What’s up, Algernon?” asked Ricardo.

  “Nothing much. A ventilator,” replied Vereker, and sinking on his knees, put his torch to the grating and peered through. “It’s on the floor level of the wine cellar and under one of the wine bins. I can see the legs of the bins on the opposite side. A wonder I missed it from the cellar side, but even I’m fallible.”

  “So am I,” agreed Ricardo with facetious heartiness, and added: “That accounts for the organ music being heard in the cellar, Algernon.”

  “Your first correct deduction in this case, remarked Vereker as he rose to his feet, “but let’s get a move on, Ricky,” and suiting action to words, began to push forward at a brisk pace.

  For half an hour they made their way along the tunnel without encountering anything unusu
al until Vereker, suddenly feeling the ground soften under his foot, stood still and flashed his torch downwards.

  “Getting damp underfoot,” he said, and bent down to examine the earth. “Chalk, of course! I ought to have thought of that, and, by jove, the impression of a woman’s shoe. Look and tell me what you make of it.”

  Ricardo, in turn, carefully examined the impression.

  “Exceptionally small,” he remarked. “I don’t like tiny feet on a woman. I’ve made a profound study of women’s feet and have always found that small feet, like small ears, denote spitefulness and envy. It’s a right foot and there’s the print of a left foot just ahead. The outside edge of each impression is deeper than the inside. Correct deduction number two; the fair spectre’s slightly bandy-legged! There’s also the impression of a man’s foot, Algernon.”

  “Yes, I think that must be John Thurlow’s. You’re getting quite professional, Ricky. Anything else?”

  “The lady wears high-heeled shoes. They disclose an amorous disposition. Flat feet for saints and simpletons. By the way, I don’t dismiss slightly bandy legs as altogether unattractive. Their curvilinear grace has the charm of the unusual and appeals strongly to connoisseurs. By the right, quick march! The air here isn’t conducive to bright generalizations.”

  At this point, Vereker produced from his pocket a compass and glanced at its dial.

  “We’re making for the church all right,” he remarked, and turning round to Ricardo, added: “You might light one of your candles, Ricky. Attach it to this wire and keep it about two feet from the ground.”

  “What’s the idea, Algernon?”

  “Watch the flame of the candle and let me know if it shows any sign of guttering out. These underground tunnels sometimes contain gas, carbon dioxide. The candle’s not a perfect test, but it’ll do. A candle won’t burn in choke-damp, as miners call it. Being heavier than air, it collects along the ground in greater density.”

  “Is it explosive?” asked Ricardo with some alarm.

  “No, it’s a narcotic poison and pretty deadly.”

  “Ah, well, that’s not so bad. I’d rather be narcotized than blown up,” remarked Ricardo in a calmer tone, and attaching the candle to the wire, he lit it and lowered it to the height that Vereker had specified.

  After this operation, they trudged forward again at a slower pace till they reached a spot where a smaller tunnel diverged at right angles from the one they were traversing.

  “This is getting interesting,” remarked Vereker, and he had hardly uttered the words, when both men stood stock still with astonishment, for clearly audible somewhere ahead of them in the dark, was the sound of knocking and then the sharp ring of metal on some hard surface.

  “Put out your torch and candle and listen,” whispered Vereker.

  For some minutes both stood with ears strained to catch the sounds they had just heard. After a brief period of intense silence the knocking was resumed.

  “What do you make of it?” asked Ricardo at length.

  “That’s the sound of someone at work on the wall sealing the entrance to these tunnels from the crypt of the church. It definitely proves how the sound or the organ is carried along to Old Hall Farm. I’m glad we’ve settled that point,” replied Vereker with a note of satisfaction.

  “Great Scott! What the blazes is that?” suddenly asked Ricardo with alarm.

  “What do you see?” asked Vereker calmly.

  “See? Nothing, but something brushed against my feet!”

  “I felt it too, Ricky, but don’t get the wind up. It was only a large rat. I’ve seen several as we came along.”

  “Then let’s get a move on. I bar rats polishing my shoes.”

  “I think we can light up again now,” remarked Vereker, and added: “Let me see, looking from the crypt of the church, the tunnel we’re in is on the right. This alley must be a connecting subway to the central tunnel. The question is, shall we go on or turn to the right? What do you think?”

  “The scenery is so interesting that it’s hard to choose. Where does the central tunnel lead?”

  “Supposed to lead to Riswell Manor.”

  “Well, I’ve seen the church, so let’s take a toddle to Riswell Manor.”

  “It’s three miles away and they won’t be expecting us,” replied Vereker with a smile. “In the meantime, I’d like to explore this connecting passage, so we’ll try it out.”

  After a spell of marching in single file, they eventually came upon another and larger tunnel into which the connecting passage debouched at right angles.

  “Just as I thought,” said Vereker, “the subway we’re traversing cuts across the Riswell Manor tunnel and proceeds, I reckon, to tunnel number three.”

  “What’s the terminus of number three?” asked Ricardo.

  “It hasn’t been explored in recent times. Even the writer of your history of Yarham throws no light on the subject.”

  “Then I vote for clearing up the mystery. It may not prove exciting, but it suggests a saleable magazine article to me. I’m a firm believer in money and money’s worth. Go ahead!”

  Crossing the major tunnel, they pushed steadily on for another quarter of an hour without speaking, and finally reached the third and ostensibly the last tunnel. Without halting Vereker turned to the right and pushed forward, with Ricardo following close on his heels.

  “This adventure has cleared my mind on one thorny topic, Algernon,” said Manuel at length.

  “Then it has been worth while,” remarked Vereker.

  “Well worth while. It has absolutely settled for me the controversial subject of miners’ wages. I’d give ’em a rise of five bob a shift from to-morrow onwards.”

  He had hardly spoken the words, when coming to a sudden halt, he exclaimed: “I say, Algernon, the candle seems a bit querulous. What’s your opinion?”

  “Must be some carbon dioxide about, but I’m going to push on. We’re clearly nearing the end of the journey and I think we ought to risk it. Besides, I’ve come across the impression of that lady’s shoe again, and where she ventured, we can go.”

  “Oh, definitely, Algernon, definitely! I’d forgotten her, but the recollection revives my interest. A woman is always charmingly mysterious, but a mysterious woman is simply irresistible.”

  Another hundred yards brought Vereker to a standstill.

  “We’ve arrived at last!” he exclaimed with a note of excitement, and as the tunnel at this point opened out into a fairly large chamber, Ricardo came abreast of him.

  “Decidedly whiffy, Algernon, and the candle has gone out,” he remarked.

  “So I see. We mustn’t linger too long in case we’re overcome, but we must make a rapid inspection.”

  “Strange smell about the place. What is it, and what on earth is that large wooden tub?” asked Ricardo.

  “Just what I expected,” said Vereker, as if speaking to himself. “The strange odour comes from that tub. That tub is used for fermenting wort or wash, and is technically called a wash back.”

  He had hardly spoken the words, when he stumbled over something and nearly fell. Recovering his balance he quickly flashed his torch on the floor and discovered that the object over which he had tripped was a heavy baulk of timber very much decayed at one end. Swiftly examining it, he noticed that it had recently been broken off at the rotten extremity. A further search disclosed a stump, sunk into the chalk floor of the chamber, and, judging from its fractured end, obviously a portion of the balk. He was on the point of crossing the chamber to the wooden vat, when he uttered an exclamation of jubilant surprise and stooped to pick up some objects from the floor.

  “What’s the treasure, Algernon?” asked Ricardo eagerly.

  “A cap and some pieces of rope. This is stupendous! Shove the cap into your pocket and take charge of these strands of rope. Don’t lose them for heaven’s sake; they’re priceless clues,” replied Vereker as he handed his finds to his companion.

  “That vat intrigues me, A
lgernon. What’s in it?” asked Ricardo.

  “Probably empty, but have a look while I examine the wall of this chamber. Don’t make any noise and talk in a whisper or we may be heard and discovered.”

  Ricardo crossed to the vat and noticing a small ladder leaning against it, made a cautious ascent. He flashed his torch into the vessel only to find that it was empty. When he had satisfied his curiosity, he descended once more to discover that Vereker, with a jack knife in his hand, was cutting away lumps of chalk from the wall of the chamber.

  “What the devil are you up to, Algernon?” he asked.

  “Got it!” replied Vereker mysteriously as he extracted some object from the hole he had excavated and thrust it quickly into his pocket. “Now, come on, Ricky; this place isn’t healthy. Let’s go into the still room,” he added, and swiftly passed through a narrow and rising passage into a further chamber, with his companion close behind.

  “What in the name of Smith...” began Ricardo excitedly, when Vereker cautioned him to speak in a whisper, and added:

  “You’d better take the safety catch off your automatic and be ready to shout, ‘Stick ’em up,’ to any intruder. If we can make an examination and get away without being interrupted, so much the better.”

  “I prefer “Hands up’ to ‘Stick ’em up,’ Algernon; it’s shorter and more dignified,” whispered Ricardo, “but for heaven’s sake tell me what those pear-shaped grotesques are.”