Blood From a Stone

by Dolores Gordon-Smith

  With a final disgusted glare at Jack, she stalked off down the hall. Duggleby shuffled from foot to foot indecisively. Halfway down the hall Celia turned and called, ‘Leonard!’ Duggleby shrugged and went after her.

  ‘Whew!’ said Isabelle when they had gone. ‘I don’t think she’s too gone on you at the moment. It’s so unfair, Jack.’

  ‘Never mind about Celia,’ he said, making for the door. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here before anyone else collars us.’

  ‘What’s all the hurry about?’ asked Isabelle as they walked down the steps and away from the house.

  ‘I want to put as much distance between myself and Duggleby as possible. If he’s going down to the village with Celia, he’ll probably want to go up to his room to change his jacket. He’s bound to notice his book’s missing.’

  Isabelle’s eyebrows shot up. ‘So it is his copy?’

  ‘Yes, of course it is. I nicked it from his room.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Because I wanted to read it, Isabelle. I’ve got an idea about the cave and I wanted to see what Throckmorton says about it. I’ve an idea he might prove a very illuminating guide.’

  ‘So we’re going to the cave?’ asked Isabelle in dismay. ‘I can’t, Jack, not in these shoes.’

  ‘Why do girls always wear such ridiculous shoes?’ asked Jack in amused exasperation. ‘You don’t have to come at all if you’d rather not.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. I’ll go and change and meet you up at the temple.’

  By the time Isabelle, attired in what she described as walking shoes (‘What other sort are there?’ wondered Jack) reached the temple, Jack was lolling on a stone bench, cigarette in hand, deeply immersed in the works of the late Reverend Bertram Throckmorton. The temple walls were smudged with smoke and the marble floor was muddy with the marks of boots and wheelbarrow tracks from the day’s work.

  ‘Have you found anything?’ she asked eagerly as she sat beside him.

  ‘Getting there,’ he replied abstractedly. He looked her up and down and grinned. ‘Good grief, Belle, I thought you were only changing your shoes. I didn’t realise you were putting on an entirely new outfit. No wonder you took so long.’

  ‘I couldn’t possibly wear these shoes with the dress I had on. I had to change.’

  ‘We’re going to explore a cave, not go out to lunch. Why on earth have you got your handbag?’

  ‘This dress hasn’t got any pockets. Besides, I always carry my handbag. I had to change that, too, of course.’

  Jack grinned once more and muttered something which sounded like girls.

  ‘There’s one thing, at any rate,’ he said, nodding to where the gardeners were upending a wheelbarrow full of earth and rubble onto the grass. ‘My pal Sam assures me that no-one’s been in the cave all day. Not that,’ he added, ‘anyone’s had much opportunity, what with stolen sapphires, dissension in the household and Mine Host being lugged off to quod. Anyway,’ he said, picking up the book again, ‘let me see if I can get anything out of Throckmorton. He’s a long-winded beggar and far too given to classical allusions and scholarly footnotes, but informative, all the same.’

  Isabelle lit a cigarette and let him read. He wasn’t, she noticed, reading the book word for word, but skipping through it with the practised manner of an experienced reader who knew what he was looking for. It must have been nearly quarter of an hour later when he gave a muttered grunt, and, turning back the page, read it again.

  He looked up and took a deep breath. ‘Got it,’ he said quietly. He closed the book. ‘The next thing, Belle, is to see if Mr Throckmorton’s information is accurate.’

  He stood up and waved at the gardeners. ‘Oi! Sam! Can we go into the cave?’

  ‘You can, sir,’ said Sam, coming towards them, wiping his face with a large red handkerchief. ‘I reckon we’ve just about finished for the day. We’ll have to shore up and make good the entrance and the walls with some props, but we’ll tackle that tomorrow. It’s a nuisance you can’t find that diamond bracelet, sir.’

  ‘Mrs Stanton’s come to give me a hand,’ said Jack with a smile. ‘I think she’s got sharper eyes than I have.’

  ‘Especially where diamonds are concerned,’ said Isabelle, a remark which made Sam grin broadly.

  ‘Well, best of luck, sir – miss. It should be safe enough, I’d say, as long as you watch your footing.’

  Picking their way over the uneven ground, Jack and Isabelle, torches in hand, went into the passage and scrambled through the dug-out entrance into the cave.

  Instinctively keeping their voices low, they approached the altar. Isabelle couldn’t repress a shudder as she looked at

  the snarl of jagged teeth, now blackened with smoke. She reached out her hand and touched the stone, then drew it away sharply.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I felt something,’ she said shining her torch to where her hand touched the stone. ‘It’s a piece of string or cord, Jack,’ she said puzzled. ‘What’s it for?’

  A short piece of thin cord projected from the bottom of the altar. ‘It’s woven into the carving, somehow. The carvings look solid, but there’s actually a bit of space behind them. The cord looks new. I don’t think it’s been here long.’

  ‘There’s a piece sticking out of the other side as well,’ said Jack, shining his torch along the bottom of the altar. ‘That’s a puzzle, Belle. I’ve no idea what it’s for.’

  ‘This isn’t what you wanted to show me, is it?’

  ‘No,’ said Jack with a grin. ‘I’ve got something a bit more exciting up my sleeve – if Throckmorton can be relied on, that is. Let me show you.’

  She followed him up the altar steps and round the back.

  ‘Hold my torch,’ said Jack, handing it to her and kneeling down. ‘Keep the light steady, old thing.’ He stretched out his arms wide and pressed hard into the two top corners of the altar. ‘If I can just get this right ... Throckmorton says I have to lift and pull ...’ He grunted involuntarily.

  Isabelle gasped. The back of the altar, a solid block of stone, came away and slid into the ground, leaving a dark, oblong hollow.

  Jack shone his torch into the darkness and visibly relaxed.

  ‘What were you expecting?’ asked Isabelle.

  ‘A body,’ said Jack, standing back. ‘The body which has so mysteriously vanished. But,’ he said with a shrug, ‘as you can see for yourself, it’s empty.’

  ‘I can’t say I’m sorry,’ said Isabelle fervently.

  ‘No ... It’s interesting how this works,’ he said, running his hand over the pulley. ‘You can see the weights and levers. Throckmorton, bless his Victorian heart, restored it and wrote a very long piece about the mechanics of the thing into the bargain.’

  ‘I wonder if that piece of cord I found has anything to do

  with it?’

  ‘It might have, but I can’t see what, exactly. As you can see, there’s a stone slab to sit on inside and steps going down. The steps lead on to a passage, which according to the Reverend, runs right the way to the cellars of the house.’

  Isabelle crouched down and looked into the blackness. ‘I don’t like the look of that hole. The cellars are medieval, aren’t they?’

  ‘They’re at least medieval, I’d say. They stretch for a dickens of a long way, I do know that.’

  ‘I bet they’re Roman, Jack,’ said Isabelle. ‘After all, this is an authentic Roman altar, so they could be.’

  Jack nodded. ‘Yes, it’s not so great a leap of the imagination to say there once was a Roman villa on the site of the house. Throckmorton says that the altar had a trick, a way for the old priests to achieve a very scary effect. Let’s see if it works.’

  He took back his torch. ‘Go round the front and turn your torch off.’

  Isabelle did so. As she turned back to look at the altar, she drew her breath in a startled gasp.

  The face on the altar seemed to come to life. In the complete blackness of the cave, the eyes
started out, glowing, malevolent embers above the evil snarl of teeth. It was, Isabelle knew, nothing more than a trick of the light, but the mouth and the teeth seemed to be dripping with blood.

  ‘Good effect, is it?’ said Jack, climbing out from the altar.

  ‘It’s really scary,’ said Isabelle, a bit shakily. ‘Here, let me hold the torch so you can have a look.’

  Jack obediently gave up his place and went to the front of the altar. ‘Good God!’ he said involuntarily. ‘That’d scare the pants off anybody, particularly if there was chanting and wailing going on.’

  ‘And human sacrifices,’ put in Isabelle. Her voice from

  inside the altar was oddly magnified.

  Jack jumped involuntarily. ‘Blimey, Belle, that was creepy. The altar makes your voice all huge and hollow. You sound like

  the Voice of Doom.’

  ‘Do I?’ boomed the Voice of Doom.

  ‘Absolutely. It doesn’t sound like you at all and to have you say human sacrifices is really weird. I take back all I said yesterday about the artist who made the altar being no great shakes. He knew exactly what he was doing.’

  ‘Jack,’ boomed Isabelle’s voice again. ‘Shall we explore the passage?’

  Jack couldn’t help laughing. ‘Put like that, it seems like a divine command. All right, I’m game if you are.’

  He returned to the back of the altar and scrambled into it beside her. ‘Ladies first?’ he asked with a grin.

  ‘Let’s not stand on ceremony, shall we?’ said Isabelle with a smile. ‘I’m more than happy for you to lead the way.’

  ‘Okey-doke.’

  He climbed carefully down the narrow steps, feeling his way along the rough chalk walls. At the bottom a passage led away into darkness. It was tall enough for them to stand upright but not quite wide enough for them both to walk side by side.

  ‘Where are we?’ asked Isabelle quietly, after a little while. ‘D’you think we’re still in the cave?’

  ‘Maybe not. It’s hard to judge. Whoa!’ He stopped abruptly and flung his arms wide. Isabelle stopped just short of running into his back. ‘The ground slips away,’ he said in answer to Isabelle’s indignant query. He stepped to one side so she could see. ‘Look, the passage splits into two.’ He shone his torch along the two paths.

  ‘It opens onto another cave, I think, Jack,’ said Isabelle after a couple of moments. ‘Let’s see.’

  ‘All right, but watch your step. The ground’s very uneven.’

  The cave was like a high, narrow room. The path sloped steeply down and they were glad of the handholds provided by the rocky walls. Jack stopped abruptly once more.

  ‘This is the end of the line, I think. The passage simply stops. There’s just a big hole beyond. I say!’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s the cave! The altar cave, I mean. The passage opens onto the back of the cave.’

  He lay down, shining his torch out of the hole. ‘Yes, that’s right. We’re at the back, about four or five feet above the ground. You can’t see this entrance from the cave because there’s this spur of rock jutting out, shielding it. My word, put this together with that beastly altar, the old boys with their ghastly cult must have had a field day, jumping out on unsuspecting worshippers. Coming to church seems to have been a very different experience years ago.’

  Isabelle didn’t reply but made a funny little choking noise.

  He turned his head. ‘Isabelle?’

  ‘Jack,’ she said in a strained whisper. ‘Come here.’

  She had found the body.

  It was lying on a rocky ledge, away from the path, and it was easy to see how they had missed it in the flickering light of the torches and the utter darkness of the cave.

  Jack ran his torch beam over the sprawled mass and hastily turned the light away. ‘That,’ he said tightly, ‘isn’t nice. She’s obviously been dead for some time.’

  Isabelle reached out for his hand. ‘Who is it?’ she managed to say.

  ‘I think that’s Florence Pargetter,’ said Jack grimly.

  ‘Poor thing,’ said Isabelle softly. She focused her torch beam on the flap of fabric that covered the body’s legs. ‘She’s wearing a new coat.’ Her voice broke. ‘I bet it was her best coat.’

  ‘Come on,’ said Jack gently. ‘Let’s get out of here. We need to get hold of Ashley and Bill as soon as possible.’

  They scrambled back up into the main passage, then Jack froze, rigidly still.

  ‘Isabelle,’ he whispered urgently. ‘Someone’s coming!’

  From far away there was a gentle murmur of voices and a faint shuffling sound.

  ‘Back,’ hissed Jack. ‘Back to the altar.’

  As quietly as they could they retreated back along the passage, Isabelle silently blessing the fact she had chosen shoes with noiseless rope soles.

  They reached the altar. Isabelle made to climb out but Jack put his hand on her arm.

  ‘Wait,’ he said, very softly. ‘Turn your torch off.’

  The darkness was so complete it was like a smothering blanket. With her nerves as taut as piano wire, Isabelle waited, then she felt Jack’s mouth close to her ear.

  ‘I think they’ve gone the other way. We’d better stay put.’

  Straining their ears, they could hear noises. He was right. The noises were coming from inside the cave. Whoever it was – and there were obviously at least two of them – had evidently gone down the other passage and climbed down into the cave.

  Out of the back of the altar they could see a very faint, flickering light, high above them on the roof of the cave. Isabelle breathed a silent prayer of thanks for Jack’s caution. If they had climbed out of the altar they would have been seen right away.

  ‘What d’you think, Wood?’ said a voice. It was Duggleby, his voice brimming with excitement. ‘Or should I call you Paxton? That passage is a remarkable discovery, isn’t it?’

  ‘I’m not bothered about what you call me,’ said Wood genially. ‘It’s the passage that interests me. No matter what you said back at the house, it isn’t the first time you’ve been down that passage, is it?’

  There was silence, then Duggleby laughed. ‘How did you guess?’

  ‘Footprints in the dust. Also, you weren’t hesitant enough. You were far too assured about finding your way. Not that, of course, I needed you to show me. Frank was never interested, but years ago I found my way through every inch of these passages. I grew up here.’ He paused for a moment. ‘You see, I’m Terence Napier.’

  Isabelle gave a little breath of surprise. Jack’s hand tightened on hers.

  There was silence in the cave, then Duggleby spoke again. ‘Napier? You admit it, do you?’ He drew out the words slowly. ‘Terence Napier.’

  ‘At your service. Yes, I’m Terence Napier. You rumbled me yesterday, didn’t you?’

  ‘I did, as a matter of fact. Then, of course, when Mrs Hawker had her unfortunate outburst and Frank Leigh came – very clumsily – to your rescue this afternoon, I was completely certain.’

  Isabelle’s eyes had become accustomed to the very faint light and she could see the outline of Jack’s head. He nodded vigorously at Napier’s words. He knew, thought Isabelle with a shock. He knew.

  ‘Yes,’ said Napier regretfully. ‘Poor old Frank never was much of a hand at concealment and Mrs Hawker hasn’t helped at all. It took her a little while to work out who I was, but ever since, she’s been begging Frank to get rid of me. Funny, really. She used to be very fond of me. She worried poor old Frank to death about harbouring a murderer and I suppose you can see her point of view. Nasty thing to have around the house, a murderer. Incidentally, that is what you had in mind when you brought me down here, isn’t it? Murder, I mean.’

  Duggleby laughed. ‘Of course. I know the light’s not good in here, Napier, but you should be able to see the gun in my hand. It’s pointed right at you.’

  ‘You won’t use that. How on earth will you explain a body with a bullet in
it?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I do have something more interesting in mind, but a neat little suicide will probably do the trick. Sandy Paxton – you did own up to being Sandy Paxton, you know – is suddenly overcome with remorse on finding his past life catching up with him. And don’t pretend you’re armed. I know that isn’t true. Once I got rid of Celia I got you from the dining room. You haven’t got a gun.’

  ‘You’re absolutely right, I’m sorry to say. I’m not sure if you’ll get away with suicide, though.’

  ‘Watch me,’ said Duggleby. ‘Turn around and walk towards the altar.’

  ‘Another human sacrifice?’

  ‘Less of it. Move.’

  Napier heaved a deep sigh. ‘You’re quite right, Duggleby, old man, I haven’t got a gun. But, when you called me out of the dining room, I thought something was about to happen, so I had the foresight to pick up the pepper!’

  An agonised scream rang out. Jack leapt up, seized hold of the top of the altar and swung himself out. ‘Stay there!’ he hissed to Isabelle.

  By the light of the oil lamp on the floor, he could see Napier and Duggleby wrestling together. Duggleby, one hand to his eyes, was fighting like a madman. Napier must have thrown a handful of pepper in Duggleby’s eyes.

  Jack raced towards the two men and flung himself at them. Duggleby went flying. He rolled over, gave a grunt and lay sprawled out on the deep shadow of the cave floor, helpless and unmoving.

  Napier, on his hands and knees, drew a deep shuddering breath, picked up the fallen gun and got to his feet unsteadily.

  ‘Haldean! Where the hell did you come from?’

  Jack looked at the gun in Napier’s hand.

  ‘Never mind that. I’ve heard every word.’

  ‘Did you?’ said Napier, warily.

  ‘Yes. And, like our pal over there, I’d guessed who you really were. Incidentally, would you mind pointing that gun in another direction? I’ve already had Frank Leigh wave a pistol in my direction and two attempts on my life within an hour of each other don’t half strain the patience.’