“He had sacked a score of cities in his time, but Grizzelstein appealed to him tremendously. It would be highly entertaining to unlock the gates of the city and just walk in to butcher all the people. Still, it was never his way to be too sanguine. Desperation, he well knew, will often make weak cowards put up a brave and soldierly fight, so it was as well to draw up plans in case of accident. And so with his mind he worked, and with his subconscious mind he listened to the distant laughter of his men and the moaning of the Abbess he had given them. Then his subconscious mind began to hear another thing—a noise of a swinging rope, and grating of the flag-post in the bell-chamber overhead. Yet there was no sound of a wind. The rushlight on the table burned quite steadily, although there were two great arched windows open to the night. The grating noise increased. It continued to increase. Mechanically he stopped his work. It sounded as if the body outside was swinging! Yes! It certainly sounded like it, and looked like it too, for although the cloak of the Outlaw hid the body of the Mayor from the moonlight path upon the floor, the rope was still visible—and the rope was moving backwards and forwards with a tremendous rhythmic swing. With an oath the Outlaw leapt to his feet, and at the same instant a black shadow struck the cloak on the window. Simultaneously, with the noise of a snapping rope, the cloak was torn from the nails and folded itself round the shape that had shot in through the window. The Outlaw looked out—the rope was still hanging, but it was empty—the body of the Mayor was in the room!! He tried to call out, but he couldn’t. He seemed to have lost his voice. He was petrified with terror. Think of it! The great soldier was terrified. The figure in the cloak rose from the floor. The Outlaw’s sword was leaning against the wall. The figure took this in its thin, claw-like hand and dropped it through the window. It fell into the churchyard on the grass. It made no noise. Then the figure shot the bolts of the tower door. It removed the cloak from its head and came through the circle of dead aldermen.
“The Outlaw stepped back till the table was between them, and looked with horror at the awful face that confronted him. He would not have believed that hanging could have made a face so entirely abominable. The head was puffed and swollen and the neck so thin and feeble that it seemed unable to bear its weight, for the flabby face lolled about from side to side, as if twitched back and forward by some strong vibrating nerve. He could see no resemblance to the Mayor whom he had hanged after sunset, but perhaps that was because the nose was eaten away.
“The creature indicated the hanging bodies, and said in a voice that began low, but cracked into a treble continuously: ‘So you have hanged my poor aldermen!’
“The Outlaw’s voice returned. He despised fools, and this little Mayor, though excessively horrible to look upon, was a fool.
“ ‘You know that I did. You saw it done!’
“ ‘You are labouring under a slight delusion,’ replied the creature. ‘You are taking me for somebody else.’
“ ‘I am doing nothing of the kind. You are the Mayor of Grizzelstein—you were unskilfully hanged—you have got off your rope, and you are going to be put back on it.’
“ ‘The Mayor of Grizzelstein lies at the present moment broken and bespattered upon a tombstone in the churchyard below. The rope snapped as it swung, and down he went—my poor old Mayor!’ And the creature gave a curious sigh. ‘You had ordered that no man should disturb you, so I secreted myself on the roof and climbed down the rope.’
“ ‘But you are the Mayor,’ retorted the Outlaw. ‘You must be the Mayor of Grizzelstein.’
“ ‘I am not,’ replied the creature.
“ ‘Then who in hell’s name are you?’ cursed the Outlaw.
“ ‘I am a diplomat,’ squeaked the creature.
“ ‘You’re a madman—filthy—half-alive,’ ejaculated the Outlaw.
“ ‘I am the Prince of Grizzelstein,’ replied the figure.
“ ‘The Prince of Grizzelstein?’ cried the Outlaw.
“ ‘Yes,’ said the figure.
“ ‘And what do you want with me?’ asked the bewildered soldier.
“ ‘I want to play a game of catch with you—a game of cat and mouse. Go on—run round!’
“And slowly round the table the little swollen-headed, pockmarked creature began to walk, and the Outlaw walked too, keeping the table between them.
“ ‘Yes—I am the Prince of Grizzelstein,’ he continued as he walked, ‘not such a coward as I am made out. I am a far-seeing diplomat. I knew that my city was helpless to fight against you, and so I went away to Baden-Baden!!! Do you know why I went to Baden-Baden? Come—answer me!’ All this as they walked round the table. ‘Why do you think I went to Baden-Baden?’
“ ‘I don’t know,’ faltered the Outlaw as he walked. ‘Why did you go to Baden-Baden?’
“ ‘I’ll tell you why I went to Baden-Baden,’ he said, walking faster and faster. ‘But you are quite sure you want to know why I went to Baden-Baden?’
“ ‘Yes,’ said the Outlaw, getting out of breath with walking. ‘Why did you?’ For they were now going at a good pace, though not running—no—they were not running. ‘Why did you go? I want to know why you went to Baden-Baden.’
“ ‘Then walk a little faster, or I shall be treading on your heels, and you wouldn’t like that, would you?’ And the pace increased so much that they almost ran, but the creature continued to talk in that horrible piping, breaking voice. ‘I knew and I know that your army would and will be quite useless without you. You are the great commander, is it not so? Eh? Yes—you command—your men are just machines—beasts without brain, egged on by you with hope of spoil and rapine. So knowing that I could not think to stop your army, I began to think of stopping you. And that is why I went to Baden-Baden. You know now, don’t you?’ The little diplomat was almost shrieking, for by this time they were running.
“ ‘I don’t know,’ shouted the Outlaw. ‘I don’t see why you went to Baden-Baden.’
“Suddenly the little man stopped. The Outlaw, who was prepared for a feint of that kind, stopped too. The table was still between them. The little man stretched across it and picked up the rushlight. A moth flew from the light and settled on his face. Its wings began to beat. It clung to the horrible face creeping and fluttering up towards the piece of flesh that was the remnants of a nose. It beat with its wings in the air once more, then slithered from the man’s face, and fell with a fluttered thud on to the table. It was dead.
“The Outlaw gasped. The creature laughed.
“ ‘The moth is dead. You know now why I went to Baden-Baden. Look at my face.’ And he held the naked flame against his puffed cheek and piece of nose, and there came to the nostrils of the Outlaw a loathsome smell of singeing, putrid flesh. ‘My God——’ cried the Outlaw. ‘What hell’s traffic is there in Baden-Baden?’
“ ‘The Devil’s Plague!!—the Eating Plague. It’s eaten the flesh of a million men—it strikes down the weak—it strikes down the strong—it is Death—and I am Death—and I am going to catch you and kiss you!’ And hurling the light in the other’s face, and upsetting the table, he leaped straight at the Outlaw.
“The Outlaw dodged behind one of the bodies of the aldermen, swinging it with such force that it pushed the Prince off his feet, but he was up again and running in and out among the bodies of the men—and as he dodged the Outlaw kept swinging the bodies back, to check the advance of the little death man that was after him. Round they went—round and round—playing a game of Death’s Catch, and the faster they went, the faster they swung the bodies. Sometimes the little diplomatic Prince would swing himself right round the room on the shoulders of a corpse, then let himself go in the direction of the terrified Outlaw. He shrieked for help, and begged for mercy as he dodged, but that little Thing had no mercy.
“Soldiers were already pounding on the door, but the bolts were strong, and their cries were drowned in the shrieks of the two men as they played their grim game of Catch and Dodge, round and round and in and out—cat and mouse
—cat and mouse. And the aldermen swung and jolted on their ropes—and the bells rang and jangled overhead, and the bats flew round—and a screech-owl shrieked—and still the Outlaw dodged and ducked and swung the bodies at the awful thing that never gave up the game. It was mad hell in the belfry of Hanech.
“And then an awful thing happened. The moon went out. It was entirely dark. The game stopped—or rather the tactics stopped. The Outlaw was afraid to move, for fear of betraying his whereabouts to Death. But Death knew instinctively—but he didn’t move for a long time—he enjoyed torturing the Outlaw. And then the game changed. The Outlaw began creeping towards the door—but it wasn’t the longing to get free that made him go—it was the longing to find that Thing in the dark and beat it to a pulp, even though it meant death to do it. So the deathly Thing waited by the door, and drawn by the unseen hands of some hideous and fascinating influence, the Outlaw came towards it.
*
“When the soldiers finally broke down the door they found the Outlaw lying dead, and over him was crooning a shape of flesh which bore small resemblance to a man. And from the hole where once a mouth had been, there came a stream of glutinous saliva.
“Then a soldier ran his sword through the thing. The horrible and unspeakable result of that thrust sent him reeling sick against the wall; and as the sword slipped from his hand with a clatter to the floor, the dawn broke over the adjacent city of Grizzelstein.”
*
I think our host enjoyed the telling of that story more than all the others. Perhaps because it was of his own choosing, or because the added presence of the Rector and Doctor gave him a larger audience.
One odd effect the story had and that was concerning the Doctor. Although the Rector was more than willing to go up the tower with Carnaby, the man of science stated unblushingly that nothing on earth would make him leave the house. He intended to stay the night. Hogarth willingly agreed to this, for he was again suffering the tortures of the damned with every bone throbbing. He therefore proposed keeping his chair, with the Doctor using my deckchair on wheels.
I was frankly exhausted, and before Carnaby returned had been put to bed in the Tapestry Room by Nurse Hoadley, who assured me I should sleep well now that the ghost was laid. But I was to find that I had by no means finished with the hateful Porfirio yet.
The moment I turned out my light he was there. I suppose I was asleep: in any case, I dreamt that he woke me, and I could see that this night he meant business. He tried to compel me to follow him, and when I wrestled against his will for hours, or so it seemed, he dragged me from my bed and down the stairs to the Chapel. I could see no heap of rubble on the floor now, and wondered whether Hoadley had cleared it away. But I saw the door that wasn’t there. The same door that I had seen when I slept there. Through this he dragged me, past the courtyard and into the orchard. I counted the fruit trees as we passed them: six, seven, eight. Then I looked at him and he had gone. But from beneath my feet I heard a voice—and I knew it was his voice muffled, crying, “Let me out! Let me out!” The very words that she had used. My ankle suddenly seemed to grow strong. I had no need of crutches. I ran to the tool-shed and found the pickaxe which Carnaby had used that morning. His crowbar, too. With these I hurried back, counting the trees to guide me, though I could have found the spot by his voice which went on incessantly, “Let me out! Let me out!” Feverishly I dug with the sharp, flat edge of the pick. I had soon got down into the hard earth some three feet when the steel struck a stone. It was a large flagstone. I cleared it of earth and then went to the cowshed to get the lantern, so that I could examine it. When I returned I saw looking up at me Porfirio’s evil face. It was carved on what I thought had been the flagstone, but was, I now could see, the heavy stone lid of a great coffin with his face carved upon it. I was about to flee when it moved and a skeleton arm appeared. My head was seized in its bony fingers, and I felt myself being dragged into that grave. I seized the ghastly wrist and wrestled with it, and then from the darkness of the grave a brilliant light leapt up and blinded me. But I clung on to the bone, and then I found it was the bedpost, and Carnaby was standing by me in his dressing-gown.
“Aren’t the ghosts laid yet?” he laughed—and oh—how blessed it was to hear it. “I heard you cry out, old chap, and dashed in from Hogarth’s room where I was sleeping quite peacefully. He’s downstairs, you remember, in the Library. The old frightened doctor’s there, too. Do you want to sleep again?”
“No,” I cried. “You said, when we’d found the cup, ‘We’ve worked it to a finish.’ But we haven’t. Put some clothes on quick. Here—help me with my trousers. This damned ankle—do you feel like digging—I know the spot—out in the orchard—do you know what we’re going to find?”
“Not an earthly idea,” he laughed. “Take it easy.”
“We’re going to find the top of your bath in the Chapel.”
“In the Chapel?” he repeated.
“No. In the orchard. The top of the Chapel bath—the tomb. It’s got his face carved on it. The dream can’t go back on me this last time. It never has. Hurry.”
In less than five minutes I was outside the front door on my crutches, instructing Carnaby what to do. “Pick, crowbar and a spade. I didn’t have a spade, but that was a dream. A spade will be quicker. And the lantern from the cowshed.”
“I’ve got a strong torch. New battery I put in for the trick in the tower. Come on—you shall hold the light and I’ll dig where you say. How deep?”
“Three feet, I should think.”
“That’s easy enough. Here, go steady. It’s slippery for scratches. Don’t crash on the last lap.”
“What the blazes are you two doing?” cried the Doctor from the front door, which we had already left behind us. “Hogarth says, ‘What’s up?’”
“Going digging,” I shouted back.
“Yes——” echoed Carnaby. “Tell him we’re digging for the top of the bath.”
We heard afterwards that the Doctor went back to the Library very scared, saying, “It’s been too much for both of them. Carnaby and the tower was bad enough—but they’ve got bats in their belfries.”
“Now, then, are we right?” asked Carnaby, ahead.
“Two trees farther on—then stop,” I answered.
Then I held the torch and he began to dig.
“The only difference so far is that I can’t hear his voice,” I said. But he was not listening—only digging feverishly. At last I heard what I was listening for—the ring of the steel on stone. “Just the same,” I cried, “you’re on the stone now. Use the spade. You’ll break his face with that pick.”
Carnaby went carefully and in a few minutes had uncovered the top of the lid, and from a heap of earth that evil face that had haunted me so long, looked up at us with a smile.
“It’s Porfirio,” I said. “He’s brought us to his grave.”
“According to the records,” said a voice behind us.
We turned and saw Hogarth leaning on the Doctor’s shoulder. They had put on overcoats and followed us. “It’s the top of the bath all right—the lid of his coffin which he had prepared against his death. But so the record runs: ‘His death was not in the odour of sanctity, for he did much trafficking with the Devil, so that they were constrained to bury the body naked in the earth, face downward, facing fire, the worm and his master the Devil, according to the usage of Holy Church against all sorcerers and heretics. The lid of his coffin shall be placed upon him to restrain him from arising while his consecrated sarcophagos shall be used as a trough for swine-food.’”
“By now there will be no body beneath it,” said the Doctor.
But Carnaby and I held the view it would be as well to remove the lid and see if there was anything of interest underneath. How to remove such a weighty stone was the problem. Carnaby was the only one with us who had strength at the moment, and he was getting weary with continually clearing the stone.
Help, however, came from an unexpected quarte
r.
The four Indians had heard the noise of the digging and had crossed the field to see. Immediately Carnaby assumed the manners of Ramsbottom, and began to talk to them.
Under his direction they used the crowbar, till they had levered the stone from its earthy bed. Then Carnaby began to dig again carefully. The only thing there, was a crook, but it was firmly fixed in the ground. It needed a deep hole round it before it would give. By the time it was loosened, the bell of the Church began to toll for early service, and the Rector on his way, entered the orchard to see what they were doing.
After some minutes they drew the crook from the ground and found it was surmounting a six-foot staff of steel. The foot end of it had been sharpened like the head of a spear.
“It is his pastoral staff,” said the Rector. “It was said of him that no Bishop nor Abbot could lift it other than he. As he faced the Devil with his back turned towards Heaven, they must have plunged it through his heart.” He turned to Old Hoadley who had been a bewildered spectator. “Will you go to the Church and tell my curate to proceed with the service, for I think there is more need of me here.” Then raising his voice he intoned the Office of Exorcism, while we stood round that grave with bowed heads listening to the Latin prayers. Afterwards, on the way into the old house, Hogarth turned to the Rector and with a surprised expression on his face, he smiled. Then he took the priest’s hand in both his and patted it affectionately as he said, “The pain that has been so unbearable has gone. I feel splendidly well. And look, my limbs are all supple again.”
The Master of the Macabre Page 25
