Within That Room!

by John Russell Fearn

  Dick Wilmott’s expression changed slightly. “And the counterfeiters and the smell?”

  Vera outlined every incident as it had occurred. His levity had entirely gone when she had finished.

  “You’re not lacking in nerve, are you?” Dick asked.

  “No,” Vera answered. “I got that way in the A.T.S.—but I feel sort of alone and hemmed in. I don’t know a soul in the district except you. I can’t talk to Mrs. Falworth and her husband, and so—well, it’s mighty queer. Besides, the Falworths—Mrs. Falworth anyway—don’t want wages. They had an annuity left them by my uncle. Did you ever hear of two people being willing to go on working, and in a haunted castle at that, just so that they can give service and have a roof over their heads? I’m quite sure housing shortage isn’t the answer.... Taking it all round, Mr. Wilmott, what do you think is going on?”

  “Offhand, I’d say something fishy. That castle is no place where I’d like my sister to live, or my wife—if I had either. Why don’t you sell the place?”

  “I have thought about it. According to my lawyer there is a prospective buyer who would pay £15,000 for it.”

  “Then sell! Get out! Retire and live in comfort. I would.”

  “Would you?” Vera asked. “Knowing things are not as they should be? Even knowing you have been too scared to probe into the mystery of a so-called evil presence?”

  Dick dropped his cigarette on the floor and ground it under his heel. He gave a rueful grin, then said:

  “You don’t want to feel that you ran out like a coward? You’d rather discover what’s going on?”

  “Much rather,” Vera acknowledged. “And I wondered if you would help me?”

  There was silence in the little store for a moment. Dick Wilmott stood with his thumbs hooked on his belt, staring at the floor. From his pursed-up lips Vera judged that quite a few thoughts were passing through his mind.

  “Naturally,” she added, “it would be quite ethical. Mr. and Mrs. Falworth are in themselves chaperones. But you see, I felt that if I could have somebody with me who is no more afraid of supernatural bunk than I am—and a man too—we could do such a lot. Even sort the whole thing out. After all, if there is something criminal going on, it is up to us as public-spirited citizens to stop it, isn’t it?”

  “What about getting the police?” Dick asked.

  “Show me the police who believe in ghosts! And as for the counterfeiting—well, if I should be wrong, think of the mess I’d get myself into!”

  Dick began to smile slowly. “You know,” he said, cocking a merry blue eye upon her, “you’re not fooling me a bit!”

  “Meaning?” Vera asked coldly.

  “That you’re like all the rest of your sex—barring the man-eating, flat-shoed variety. You’re enough of a woman to want a man to help you when things get alarming. Slang us all you like when things are okay, but at the least hint of the mysterious—wow!”

  “You flatter yourself, Mr. Wilmott,” Vera kept her face perfectly straight. “It is simply that you are the only person I can turn to in this dilemma, and so—”

  “Well, I’ll see what I can do. And if it comes to that, why not? I didn’t get half enough time last night to get acquainted anyway. Incidentally, why don’t you call me Dick?”

  “All right then, Dick—what are you going to do?”

  “Go back with you and try to sort the thing out—”

  “But what about your business? That’s what worries me!”

  “I can’t open in real earnest until I get my trade license from the government. Until then I’m limited to repairs and one or two pre-war radios. And anyway, what sort of a chap do you think I am? Pass up the chance to help a blonde in distress? Not likely! I told you last night that there is a lot of Sir Galahad in me. But,” Dick finished, “there is something bothering me. How do you propose to explain me to that fire-eater of a housekeeper? It’s going to look a bit odd—you coming to buy a radio and returning with me instead! You told her last night that I had merely given you a lift.”

  Vera hesitated and wished that she could control the gentle wave of color she could feel stealing over her cheeks.

  “I wondered if we might not pretend to—to be engaged? That would take care of a lot of proprieties. I would explain away your visit last night—somehow.”

  Dick’s eyebrows went up. “Gosh, you have thought of everything, haven’t you? But why should we just pretend to be engaged?”

  “Oh, really now, Mr. Wil— I mean, Dick! This is a sort of business arrangement—”

  “Well, never mind. If you want a game of ‘let’s pretend,’ I’m willing. How about the ring?”

  Vera pulled a small jewelled ring from a finger of her right hand and transferred it to the third on her left.

  “That’ll do,” she said, trying to appear unconcerned. “Now, to all intents and purposes, we are engaged.”

  “Right! Vera, you have made yourself my wife to be!”

  She looked at him rather blankly. His free use of her Christian name had sounded quite odd, but all the same—mmm—it had not sounded so bad, either.

  In a few minutes he accompanied her outside and locked the door.

  “I don’t think Bertha is quite the right vehicle for a bride-to-be,” he decided. “All right for that lift last night, but that’s about all. I think we’d better take a bus. Come on.”

  Vera nodded. She did not quite like the indulgent way he kept smiling at her, as though she were a child who had done something silly and had been obliged to confess to the fact.

  As they walked along the street, he asked, “Is there anything we should know about each other before we meet the dragon?”

  “Nothing at all. Mrs. Falworth doesn’t know a thing about me, except I am the niece of the late Cyrus Merriforth; and of course she doesn’t know anything about you, either.”

  “I shall be obliged, of course, to call you ‘dearest’ and ‘darling’ quite a lot,” Dick reflected. “You have realized that, I suppose?”

  “Yes, but take care you don’t overdo it. Just the normal endearments of an engaged couple will suffice.”

  What his answer to this might have been Vera had no opportunity to find out, for their bus was coming in sight just as they emerged from the side street. Sprinting along, they caught it with no time to spare—and alighted again in the main street of Waylock Dean.

  As they walked along the narrow road that led to Sunny Acres, Vera said: “Do you think a ghost is possible?”

  “I suppose anything’s possible,” Dick answered. “Even getting engaged to a pretty girl for business only is possible—”

  “Dick, please be serious.”

  “I think ghosts are the bunk. I have read of poltergeists and manifestations, of cheerful spooks which throw the furniture about, but I believe, seriously, that there is a mundane explanation for everything psychic.”

  “That’s what I think too. There must be an explanation for what is going on in Sunny Acres. The only thing that makes me lean towards the other side is the deadly fear people seem to have of the place. I couldn’t get a man to drive me to it last night.”

  “Thanks,” Dick said dryly.

  “I mean from the station. Don’t be so—so awkward.”

  He grinned and patted her hand possessively as it lay on his forearm. Then he began singing as they walked along the lonely trail towards Sunny Acres. Vera did not sing. She had too many thoughts crowding her mind. She owned Sunny Acres, and that made all the difference.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  INEXPLICABLE PHENOMENA

  When they reached the castle’s massive front door and hammered with the griffin knocker, Mrs. Falworth opened it to them. For a second a trace of astonishment went over her features as she saw Dick Wilmott.

  “Good morning. Remember me?” he asked.

  “Mr. Wilmott, I believe! The gentleman with the—er—car?”

  Mrs. Falworth regarded him with a composed stare, then turned her attention to Vera
. The dark eyes aimed a question. Feeling well supported at last, Vera walked into the hall with a light tread, and then turned.

  She said: “I owe you an explanation, Mrs. Falworth—and an apology,” she said as the woman closed the door quietly. “Mr. Wilmott is actually my fiancé, but last night I thought I would see first what kind of a place this was before I asked him to come over and stay with me. Besides, you had not been warned of his coming, and you might not have had the facilities for him to be a guest. Having seen the place, I know that everything can be easily arranged.”

  Mrs. Falworth said nothing. Her hands were interlocked in front of her, her face expressionless.

  “So that explains everything,” Dick added genially.

  “You have not brought your car then, sir?” Mrs. Falworth asked coldly.

  “That thing? Oh, no! It belongs to a friend of mine. I only borrowed it last night to run Vera over here.”

  “As I recall, sir, you reside in Godalming. I heard you mention that fact to Miss Grantham last evening. How convenient that she could inherit this place, so near to you! How odd that you found it necessary to remind her of your telephone number.”

  “I’d be glad if you’d have a room prepared for Mr. Wilmott,” Vera said sharply. “He will be staying indefinitely.”

  “Very well, miss.” The housekeeper looked from one to the other of them and then asked, “And your luggage, sir?”

  “Oh, that’s over in Godalming—at my friend’s house. The chap who owns the car. I’ll go over later and fetch it.”

  Mrs. Falworth walked away and Dick said: “She doesn’t believe a word we told her.”

  “Maybe not, but she can’t prove anything—and you’re in, which is all that counts. When we get a chance, I’ll show you that sealed room, but we’d better go warily in case we seem overeager. If the dragon starts to suspect anything we may find ourselves in a mess.”

  Dick followed Vera into the big drawing room. She motioned to a chair and he sat down opposite her and held out his cigarette case.

  “What I want to know,” he said, “is what you meant by that bad smell. I’ve been thinking about it. What did it smell like, exactly?”

  “Oh, like faulty drains, or maybe bad eggs.”

  “Yet when you went through the cellar during the evening, on your first tour of inspection, you didn’t notice it?”

  “Not a thing, no. As far as I could tell, on my later visit, it seemed to be coming from behind the door where all the jiggery-pokery was going on.”

  “And all you could see under the door was a piece of mechanism and two pairs of feet?”

  “That’s all. And I nearly had to stand on my head to see even that much.”

  “Queer,” Dick mused, narrowing his eyes. “And you say the dragon refused to open the door of the sealed room and as good as threatened what would happen to her husband if he tried it?”

  Vera nodded. “I did warn her, though, that I hadn’t dropped the matter by any means. And I haven’t! I mean to see in that room!”

  “And rightly—” Dick fell to thought for a moment, then both he and the girl looked up as Mrs. Falworth entered silently.

  “A room has been prepared, sir, next to Miss Grantham’s. Am I to understand that you will attend to the matter of your luggage yourself?”

  “That’s right—and just a moment before you go, Mrs. Falworth.... Miss Grantham has been telling me about the ghost which haunts this place. I understand that it appears once a year. When is that? At Christmas time?”

  “No sir—the 21st of June, at 8:30 in the evening or thereabouts.”

  Vera and Dick exchanged astonished glances and the housekeeper stood waiting, unsmiling.

  “In the daylight?” Dick queried, at length.

  “Obviously so, sir, since the sun does not set officially until about 10:20 summer time.”

  Vera commented: “I always thought that self-respecting ghosts clanked their chains when snow cakes the ground and a bitter wind is blowing!”

  “Between fiction and fact, miss, there is a lot of difference,” Mrs. Falworth remarked.

  “And for how many years has this ghost been performing?” Dick demanded.

  “To the best of my knowledge, sir, for the past fifty years at least. Of course I have only been here for ten years, but I know that it has appeared on the 21st of June for eight of the ten years. There were two consecutive years when it did not manifest, maybe due to unfavorable influences—”

  “Or else it lost its way,” Dick suggested, grinning.

  “I am afraid, sir, that I cannot regard the manifestation of an evil spirit as—humorous.”

  “Well, that depends on how you look at it.... I suppose this spirit is that of some departed person who was wiped out in feudal times.”

  “Quite the contrary, sir. The apparition takes the form of a demon—simian-eared, pointed-faced, bald, and possessing a tail. I need hardly add that a demon is an emissary of the devil, a member of his immediate retinue.”

  Dick scratched his head somewhat ruefully, and Vera looked as if she were fighting hard to avoid a smile.

  “Is there anything further, sir?” Mrs. Falworth asked.

  “How do you know what the phantom looks like when to enter the room, according to you, means either death or the blasting of all normal reason?”

  Mrs. Falworth said: “It is possible, sir, to open and close that door so rapidly that the vile influences within the room have not the time to affect you. But there is just time to see the manifestation. That has been done every year, until last year. Then Mr. Merriforth took too big a risk and went right into the room to study the phantom. As I have told Miss Grantham, he emerged—or rather tottered—outside very close to madness, and for many months was desperately ill. When he did make a slow recovery, he gave orders to screw up and tape the door and throw the key away. He said the door was never to be opened again.”

  “That applied while he was alive,” Vera remarked, “but now I own this house and I have decided to have that door opened this very evening.”

  “I shall not help you, miss, to meet your death—or you yours, sir. Nor will my husband lend assistance.”

  “All right, then, if you’re so scared I’ll do it myself!” Dick said. “Just see that a screwdriver and chisel are brought to me after dinner this evening and I’ll do the rest.”

  “Very well, sir,” the woman answered levelly, “but I would urge you to reconsider.”

  “One more question: what did Mr. Merriforth die of?”

  “Heart failure, sir—accelerated, I believe, by his terrible experience in that room. Dr. Gillingham of Waylock Dean, who attended him during his illness, also signed the death certificate, if you require verification.”

  Dick shook his head. “That’s all, Mrs. Falworth, thank you.”

  The woman swept out haughtily, and Dick tossed his cigarette end into the empty fireplace. Getting to his feet he began to prowl around, hands deep in his trouser pockets.

  “Picked yourself a nice little legacy, didn’t you?” he asked finally.

  “How could I help it? It’s just the way things have turned out.”

  Vera rose and came over to where he was standing. The sunlight through the ancient mullioned window misted the gold in her hair.

  “You’re a darned sight prettier than I’d thought,” Dick murmured, studying her.

  “Will you please remember that we have a demon on our hands, Mr. Wilmott? And will you also remember that today is the 19th of June? In two more evenings the ghost will appear and that will give us a chance to see it.”

  “I never thought of that!” he exclaimed, his eyes widening. “Of course, it is the 19th today. Still, I think we ought to have a look inside that room anyway—as arranged, just to satisfy ourselves as to whether there really is a spirit of evil.”

  “This evening,” Vera agreed. “I’m game—now that I have you!”

  Dick smiled and gripped her arm reassuringly.

  During
the afternoon Vera returned with Dick Wilmott to Godalming so that he could collect his few belongings. Apparently the mystery of Sunny Acres had got such a hold upon him that his interest in the radio store had taken second place for the time being. Either it was that, or else the idea of being with Vera attracted him. She liked to think that this was the main reason.

  They returned to Sunny Acres after a long, rambling walk though Godalming’s beautiful countryside, arriving home just an hour before dinner was due. Old Falworth took Dick’s bag upstairs without comment. Mrs. Falworth had no observations to make either. During dinner she maintained a respectful, not to say freezing, silence.

  It was only when the meal had ended that she spoke.

  “Am I to understand, miss, that you are still adamant in your decision to open up that room?”

  “I am,” Vera assented. “And there is nothing further to be gained by discussion. Tell your husband to fetch a chisel and screwdriver and we’ll get to work right away.”

  The woman hesitated, then evidently realising that further protest was useless, she turned and left the room. In a few minutes she returned and handed the chisel and screwdriver to Dick.

  “Thanks,” he said briefly; then to Vera, “Come on, dearest.”

  She gave him a disapproving glance and he grinned faintly. Together they went up the stairs; then at the top they paused and looked below. They were just in time to see both Mrs. Falworth and her husband dodge back out of sight into the dining hall.

  “Scared as rabbits,” Dick said. “Okay, dearest, let’s go.”

  “You’re overdoing it,” Vera reminded him. “One ‘dearest’ per day is all I’ll allow.”

  “As your fiancé I insist on at least two—and we’ll take up the matter of a young lover’s kiss later on, shall we?”

  “What!” Vera stared at him wide-eyed—then he smiled slyly and motioned along the corridor.

  “Come, Miss Grantham—we have an evil aura to detect.”

  They went past the evening-lit stained glass window, past the bedroom doors, to the locked chamber at the extreme end, and stood looking at the sealed door.