Within That Room!

by John Russell Fearn

  “I should go easy on calling it murder,” Vera said, “until we’ve got some proof that the malign influence is caused by material means.... Just what good did it do to eliminate uncle anyway?”

  Dick said: “I can only assume that the Falworths got rid of your uncle under the impression that his death would release the castle for sale if the executors of the will were agreeable. Then they discovered that you had inherited it—or maybe they knew of it already if your uncle had mentioned you to them—so they figured that you would be more concerned with selling the castle than living in it. When they found otherwise, they tried to get rid of you in the same way they had got rid of your uncle.”

  “Yes, it all fits in,” Vera agreed, “even though you seem to be taking a lot for granted. But why, Dick? What has that castle got to warrant murdering the owners?”

  “That,” Dick said, “is the problem we have to solve. But once let me get the evidence I want, and I’ll pay that woman Falworth out for everything! I don’t forget how your brain and nerves went in that room, how you clutched at the dust in an effort to crawl out. Nobody’s going to do that to you and get away with it!”

  They both became quiet for a moment. In the bright sunlight of Waylock Dean, the terror of that room in Sunny Acres seemed like something of a distant world—but for a moment Dick had brought it all back in all its venomous nakedness. Through his apparent levity Vera could sense the deep, warm regard he had for her, his outraged horror at the nameless thing that had struck her down.

  “You realize that we shall go with our lives in our hands again this evening, don’t you?” Vera asked.

  “I know—but we’ll not be such fools this time. A mere glimpse of the ghost is all we want. We won’t go straight into the middle of the room and stand looking round. If the ghost is there this evening, it will certainly be there tomorrow evening, and by then we will have devised some scheme or other....”

  Dick broke off, laughing suddenly as they wandered along the road towards sunny Acres. Abruptly his emotions seemed to have performed an about-turn.

  “To heck with the ghost!” he said. “I’m sick and tired of it—for the moment, anyway. There are other things I want to know.”

  “Such as?”

  “About you, for instance. All I know about you is that you come from Manchester, own a castle with a spook, and are mighty independent. What other information have you got?”

  They settled under the shadow of a giant oak and Vera said:

  “My parents are dead, the Blitz took care of that.”

  “Oh! I’m sorry, Vera. I’m in the same boat. The Southampton air raids got my people.... Well, anything else? Is there any genuine boy friend hanging about who is keeping me out?”

  “No,” Vera answered. “I’m quite truthful about that, Dick. You are the only boy with whom I’ve ever had such close acquaintance—and for a first attempt, it’s pretty satisfactory. I’m the kind of girl, though, who likes to weigh things up, and for that reason I prefer you on...on approbation, so to speak.”

  “All right—but don’t forget that it works both ways. All the time you are summing me up, I’m returning the compliment. I’m not looking for an angel, because I know they don’t exist—but I was looking for a girl who behaves like a girl without making an idiot of herself. Far as I can see, I’ve found her!”

  Vera glanced at her watch and switched the conversation.

  “I think it’s about time we started back,” she decided. “Just in case your feelings run away with you....”

  Dick smiled and got to his feet, held down his hand to help her up.

  * * * * * * *

  It was nearly five o’clock when they reached Sunny Acres again, and they decided to stroll around the grounds. The further they moved into the unkempt jungle of weeds and massive trees, the more they could appreciate Sunny Acres’ imposing outline.

  “All else apart, Vera, you’ve got a nice property here.” Dick commented, surveying the gray battlements and stained-glass windows. “These grounds, too, properly cultivated, could be made very beautiful. I’ve got plenty of ideas about landscape gardening which I could turn to account.”

  “You are expecting to be around a lot!” Vera murmured, slanting a provocative blue eye.

  “I hope to earn the right—as the fruits of the victory we shall achieve!” Dick said. Then he ceased his banter while he studied the castle.

  “Let’s see now. Which is the haunted room?”

  They surveyed the east wing of the great place from the driveway.

  “That empty west wing takes up a good deal of space too,” Dick mused. “As you remarked, the place would make a first-class institution of some sort. Say, isn’t that the ghost room?”

  He pointed up to a recess in the castle’s outlines, where a massive stained-glass window lay in the shadows of the watch tower opposite to it, a parapet running round the outjutting section of stonework. It was this watchtower, they remembered, that contained the bathrooms.

  “Yes,” Vera assented, “that’s it. And precious little it tells us. Ivy all the way up the wall and a sheer drop of about thirty feet to the drive.”

  “Yes. In the shadow, too—at present. Wonder if that means anything?”

  “Such as?”

  “I don’t know—but June 21 is the longest day in the year, and the 20th and 22nd are only slightly different. It might mean something.”

  Vera thought it out but arrived at no conclusion. She sighed.

  “The ideas you get!” Vera said. “After dinner we’ll see if we really can discover something about that confounded room.”

  They went inside and once upstairs separated to their respective rooms. When they met again in the dining hall, Mrs. Falworth was present as usual, and this time she had no comments to make. What few remarks she did pass were directed entirely to matters of cuisine and nothing more. Nor did Vera or Dick give her any encouragement by indulging in vital conversation. Altogether the meal passed in uncommon quietness, and the moment it was over Vera and Dick glanced at the big timepiece ticking solemnly on the heavy stone mantelshelf. It was exactly a quarter to eight.

  “Time for a smoke,” Dick said, “and then to the evening’s business.”

  He got up from the table and Vera did likewise. Together they strolled across the hall to the drawing room and sat down in easy chairs to enjoy their cigarettes.

  “I rather think,” Dick said presently, “that we have got the dragon on toast. She must know by now that we’re on to her game, whatever it is, and she is probably racking her brains to think of a way out.”

  “Or else trying to think of some way to put us out of commission more quickly,” Vera murmured. “I don’t trust a dead silence; it makes me uneasy.”

  She got to her feet suddenly, as though she felt an impelling urge to keep moving.

  She said: “There is no surer way of fraying the nerves than sitting here. Let’s go and get the business done with.”

  Dick got up and followed her and just as the grandfather clock in the hall was striking eight o’clock, they were outside the door of that deadly room once more. Propped against the frame in readiness was the screwdriver.

  “We’re nearly half an hour too soon,” Dick remarked, “so let’s hope the ghost will be ahead of time. We’ll take a look, anyway.”

  He tried to sound cheerful by whistling, then, realizing he was only being unconvincing, he gave it up and instead applied all his energies to withdrawing the one solidly driven screw. It came out at last and a crack of light appeared down the side of the door as it swung inward slightly.

  “Go on,” Vera urged. “A flashing glimpse—no more.”

  He nodded and held the doorknob tightly, leaned his body inward with arm out-thrust. The door creaked to its limit. They had time to gaze into that empty space, to note that some sunshine was pouring through one corner of the great stained-glass window—then the door had shut again.

  “Whew,” Dick whispered, drawing the back
of his hand across his moist forehead, “That took a bit of nerve—like taking the fuse out of a time bomb. And there’s nothing in there—no ghost—as far as I could see.”

  “Not time yet, perhaps,” Vera said. “Have to wait a bit. Did you notice any queer sensations? I didn’t.”

  “We were probably too quick for that.”

  They waited through the most wearying, nerve-racking twenty-five minutes they had ever known. And not once during this period did either Mr. or Mrs. Falworth appear. Apparently, they had decided to give up their protests and let things take their course.

  “Half-past eight,” Vera said at last in a hushed voice, looking at her watch. “Here we go!”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  BACK STAIRWAY

  Dick opened the door again swiftly, Vera clinging to him—and they were so astounded at what they saw that he forgot for the moment to slam the door shut again.

  For the phantom was there—clearly visible in the sunlight, which now blazed across the upper half of the great window. A strange, incredible caricature of a being hung in the dusty air, a haze of blurry light surrounding it from the back. There was the pointed tail, the simian ears, the long, needle-chinned face, bent arms flexed as though to pounce forward. He seemed to be grinning horribly. Yet he was in mid-air, and through him the ancient stone wall could be distinctly seen.

  Dick slammed the door and found himself looking into Vera’s dumbfounded eyes.

  “Then it...it does exist,” she gasped, shocked by incredulity. “It’s not...not just a legend, after all! Look, dare we try again, just long enough to study it!”

  Dick opened the door once more and they peered in on the apparition for the second time, then suddenly they began to feel the awful sensations of the previous evening. Dick slammed the door immediately, his face damp and sickly white. Firmly he drove home the imprisoning screw.

  “That’s enough of that,” he muttered. “The ghost’s there—but so is that awful influence. We’ve seen enough. Unless—” His eyes gleamed abruptly. “Come with me!” he said.

  Vera didn’t ask questions. She followed him at top speed as he raced down the staircase and into the hall. At the door leading into the basement he stopped and pulled at it. It was locked.

  “Penny to a pound, if my theory is right, that the Dragon and her husband are down here,” he panted, as Vera came hurrying up to him. “Haven’t you got a duplicate key?”

  “Sorry, I haven’t.”

  “All right—we’ll wait.”

  Dick stood by the door, grim-faced, then he looked around and gave a start as Mrs. Falworth appeared from the kitchen regions with vague surprise on her features.

  “Oh, it is you, sir! I thought I heard somebody knocking on the front door.”

  Dick looked at her blankly, then recovered himself.

  “I was rattling this basement door,” he explained. “Have you been down there at all this evening, Mrs. Falworth?”

  “Why should I?” Her voice was flat and hard.

  “That doesn’t answer the question. Have you or not?”

  “Most certainly not!”

  “What about your husband?”

  “He is tidying up the coke in one of the outhouses if you wish to speak to him.”

  “Oh!” Dick rubbed his chin and scowled. Mrs. Falworth fixed him with her abysmal eyes for a while, then she glanced at Vera.

  “Have you seen the phantom, Miss?” she inquired, her tone so offhand she might have been referring to a visitor.

  “Yes, not ten minutes ago, and we both felt that aura of evil. But I still believe that there has got to be an explanation.”

  “If you persist,” the housekeeper shrugged. “And now, if you do not require me any further—”

  Dick waved a dismissal impatiently and the woman turned and glided back towards her own domain. Vera gave Dick a puzzled look.

  “You’re making Mrs. Falworth decidedly suspicious. If she isn’t up to anything, I’m afraid she’ll be resenting our attitude before very long.”

  “She’s up to something all right!” There was no uncertainty in Dick’s statement. “The only trouble is that I’m a bit stumped at the moment.”

  “Why did you expect to find Mrs. Falworth and her husband in the cellar?”

  Dick glanced around, then motioned across to the drawing room. Once they were within it he closed the door and began to speak in a lowered voice.

  “I’ve been having plenty of hard thinking about this horror business, as you know—and it seems pretty obvious to me that if it isn’t genuine terror-manifestation then it is a gas.”

  “A gas!” Vera looked at him incredulously.

  “What else can it be?” he insisted. “It’s invisible, impalpable—and we know that there are gases which can cause unconsciousness, which can deaden the nerve centers to kill severe pain, which can maim and destroy—so why not one which acts on the nerves? That would cause those awful sensations? The brain becomes deranged because of it.”

  “Well, it sounds a bit wild, but granting you are right, how does it ever get into the room with nobody but ourselves present?”

  “That,” Dick said, “is the point! There is only one way—the fireplace! Is it coincidence that the back of it is knocked out so that we can see the flue behind? Is it coincidence that the back of the fireplace in the basement is also knocked out? If gas fumes were directed up from the basement fireplace they would go up between the walls and gush out again in the horror-room! That is, providing there was a stoppage in the chimney. The horror-room is exactly over the basement, wall for wall, I mean. Now you can see why I expected the Falworths to be in the cellar, directing a gas up the chimney in an attempt to wipe us out when we went in that room. That they were not down there rather upsets my theory.”

  “But it’s a good theory!” Vera said. “It might be possible—”

  “It is possible. If only I could remember what I have at the back of my mind!” Dick said. “I’ve looked right at the stuff that causes such terror, here in the house somewhere. Anyway, I’m convinced that a gas is at the back of all this horror, and that means that the Falworths engineer it.”

  “And the ghost?” Vera questioned.

  “Afraid I don’t know.” Dick shrugged and looked at her moodily. “It has me stumped. If it is not the genuine psychic article, it is the nearest thing to it that I’ve ever seen. Still, one thing at a time. We want this gas problem solved first, to prove if we’re right. I wonder if there are two ways to the basement? We had no chance for a proper look.” He snapped his fingers. “Gosh, I wonder! That map of the house that I found torn out of the Sunny Acres book would show a second stairway, if there is one. Maybe that is why it was removed! Just a thought, but I’ll bet it isn’t far wrong. The map was taken for some reason, obviously.”

  They fell silent, evening gloom creeping into the room.

  “It can’t be the only copy of the book, surely,” Vera said. “There might be one in the nearest public library—or Dr. Gillingham might have one, or know of one.”

  “Gillingham!” Dick exclaimed, his eyes widening. “Of course! Too late now to search for a library, but we might catch him in. Grab your hat; we’re on our way.”

  It was a still, warm evening outside. Without giving the forbidding housekeeper any inkling of their intentions, they hurried out, and when they reached Dr. Gillingham’s home they found him off duty, with pipe in hand.

  “Well, well!” He gave a welcoming smile. “What’s it this time?”

  “To ask a favor, doctor,” Dick answered. “Do you happen to have a copy of a book called The History of Sunny Acres?”

  “Yes, I have. It’s a pretty popular volume in this district. Do you want to borrow it?”

  “Only for a moment, if you don’t mind.”

  “Keep it as long as you wish. I’ll get it for you.”

  With a nod he hurried out of the room, to return shortly with the book in his hand. Dick glanced at the flyleaf and noted that
it was a copy of the same edition.

  “Thanks, doctor. It’s very good of you. I’ll let you have it back in no time. Sorry to have disturbed you.”

  “Not at all.” He saw them to the door and then said: “You seem to be a most energetic young couple! Are you doing a little detective work?”

  “Just that,” Dick assented. “I believe I was right when I told you that I thought Cyrus Merriforth had been murdered.... Incidentally, there’s something that you might be able to tell me. Do you think it is possible for a gas or poisonous fumes to exist which might cause a feeling of intense horror?”

  Dr. Gillingham reflected.

  “Well, I wouldn’t be so hasty as to deny the possibility,” he said slowly, “but to the best of my knowledge none exists, at the moment. I admit, though, that my medical powers by no means constitute the last word.”

  “But it might exist?” Dick persisted. “It isn’t a hare-brained theory?

  “By no means. Human nerves are responsive to the most amazing things sometimes.”

  “Well—thanks again,” Dick smiled. “Come on, Vera; we’ve taken up quite enough of the doctor’s time.”

  He took her arm and they went down the front pathway together, Gillingham waving a genial farewell.

  As they walked back along the street, Dick already peering at the book in the fast dying daylight, studying, Vera noticed, a glossy-surfaced plate intently. Then he came to an abrupt stop.

  “There are two cellar exits,” he said.

  Vera halted too, astonished. “What?”

  “It’s right! Look here—” He moved to the grass bank and sat down, Vera squatting at his side. He traced his finger quickly over the interior plan of the house. “See, here is the ordinary entrance where we went down. Here’s the big cellar with the fireplace and chimney clearly marked; and here’s the little cellar where the queer business seems to be going on. But from that, in this corner here, there is another exit—a backway set of stairs which come up in the kitchen regions!”