Джорджетт Хейер - Footsteps in the Dark

"I didn't. We're all here…'

"All? Do you mean two strange men are mixed up with my clothes?"

"No, but there's a way on to the secret stair at the back of your wardrobe. Come and look."

Mrs. Bosanquet clutched at the bed-post. "Are you telling me that I have been sleeping in this room and the whole while that Monk-person has been able to get in?" she asked faintly. "No, I don't want to see it. And I don't want those men pushing their way through my dresses. Go away, please. I am about to transfer all my belongings into Margaret's room."

Charles retreated, and closed the panel behind him. "Very unpleasant shock for the lady," the inspector said gravely.

"All things considered," Charles said, "I think we'd better go down stairs."

"Yes, sir, I think we had. I'll post a man in that room to-night, inspector."

"It would be as well," Michael agreed. "That seems to be the only entrance up here. Will you go ahead?"

"You take the lead," Tomlinson replied, and made room for him to squeeze past, "Take care how you tread," Michael warned them, and began to descend.

They went down, and down, past the library, past the moving stone, which Michael pointed out to them. At every step the atmosphere grew colder and danker. "I'm glad I'm not alone," said Charles. "I don't like it one little bit."

"Nor do I," confessed the inspector. "Like going into a grave. My word, it's damp, isn't it?"

"I think in all probability we are going into a grave," Michael said. "Something very like it, anyway."

"Smells filthy," said Peter. "I can't stand must."

"We're at the bottom now, anyway. Look out for your heads."

"I shall have to have someone to hold my hand soon," Charles remarked. "Do I understand we're likely to come out at the chapel?"

"That's what we're hoping," Michael answered.

"Speak for yourself," Charles recommended. "I'm not hoping anything of the kind."

The inspector gave a chuckle, which echoed rather eerily.

"Please don't do that again!" said Charles. "It unnerves me. Of course we only want a few bats to complete the picture."

"What's that ahead?" Peter asked suddenly, peering over Michael's shoulder. "By Jove, you're right, Draycott! We've got to the crypt! Well, we always knew there must be one under the ruins."

In a moment they were all standing in a low vaulted space. The vaults were supported by stone pillars, and as Michael's torch slowly swept the place they saw grim relics on the flagged floor. There were old worm-eaten coffins; one or two had rotted away, and a few bones, crumbling to dust, lay amongst the remains of the wooden shells. The lid of one coffin had been prised open, and when they looked into it they saw that it was empty.

"You bet that's where our skeleton came from!" Peter said. "Gosh, what a gruesome place!"

Charles wiped his brow: "Yes, not my idea of the ideal entrance-hall," he agreed. "I'm shortly going to develop the horrors."

"Postpone them for a bit," begged Michael. "We've got to discover the way out. You've got torches, haven't you? Then let's get on to it."

They set to work to explore the crypt. The first thing to attract their attention was a flight of stone steps, that had once obviously led up to the floor of the chapel, but these only mounted for a few feet before they were blocked by fallen masonry, and the earth that had accumulated on top with the passing of years. Michael tested them in vain, and sprang down again.

"Hi!" Charles called from the other end of the crypt. "Come over here! I always said I'd missed my vocation. I've found the gentleman's front-steps."

With one accord they all hastened to where he was standing. He played his torch up the wall where the vaulting had broken away. A set of iron rails ran up, like a ladder.

"That's it!" Michael said. He inspected the dust and the jagged bits of stone at his feet. "What's more, that vaulting has been deliberately broken down. What do you think, inspector?"

"It looks like it," the inspector answered. "Especially as the roof's good nearly everywhere else." He stood directly beneath the broken roof and turned his torch upwards. "That's queer. There's a sort of square place forming what looks like a second roof. Can you see, Draycott?" He stepped back to make room for Michael. "It's a good bit higher than the rest of the vaulting too. What do you suppose it can be?"

"Unless I'm much mistaken it's one of the tombs," Michael answered. "The whole of the bottom has been taken away, and the floor of the chapel. Good Lord, I hand it to the Monk! He's thorough. I'm going up. You might keep your torch on it, to show me the way, one of you." He pocketed his own, and started to climb the vertical ladder. They waited anxiously for the result. "To think of the hours I've spent examining all those beastly tombs!" Michael said from above their heads. "I suspected them right off, but I couldn't get one of them to open. Hullo!"

"What?" came from three pairs of lips at once.

"A sort of handle. Wait a bit." He removed his right hand from the rail above him and reached up to turn the handle. "It seems to be something on the same sort of principle as a Yale lock," he said, and pressed upwards. "Yes, by Jove, it moves! Throw the light more to the side, will you? I thought so! It's hinged. That accounts for my being able to lift it. Take the light away now; I'm going to open it."

They switched off their torches, but they were not long in darkness, for the solid stone slab that Michael was pressing, opened slowly upwards, and a shaft of daylight filtered into the crypt.

Michael climbed carefully higher, until he could see over the top of the tomb. "It's all right. There's no one here. I just want to see how this works from outside." He swung the slab right back, and climbed out. He was gone for perhaps five minutes, and they saw him swing a leg over the side of the tomb again, and pull the slab to after him. They heard the lock click as it shut.

He came quickly down the ladder again. "No wonder I couldn't find it. Unless you knew exactly where to look you never would. There's a slit in the carving on the side of the tomb. Beautiful bit of work. It's just wide enough to take a very thin flat key. The Monk's put a complete lock on the lid of the tomb, and a couple of hinges. Well, I think that's settled his little hash once and for all. We've got him, inspector."

Then they got back to the library, after a thorough examination of the secret cellar, it was nearly one o'clock, and Celia had received several callers. Even Mrs. Pennythorne had bicycled over to inquire after the missing couple, and Mrs. Roote, and Mr. Titmarsh had also come to offer their sympathy.

Since Charles had seen the underground passage and the rooms that led out of it he and Peter had had a quiet consultation. As a result of this Peter took Michael Draycott aside just before they all went in to lunch, and tackled him frankly.

"Look here, Draycott," he said, "I'm going to ask you a plain question, and I want you to answer quite honestly: isn't Margaret's and my escape from that cell going to make your job to-night rather ticklish?"

Michael hesitated. "Well, of course, it does complicate things, I admit," he said. "Still, it can't be helped."

"It might be helped," Peter said. "If we went back."

"No, that wouldn't do at all, sporting of you though it is to suggest it. I couldn't allow it."

"Don't you run a risk of failing to bring off your coup if we're discovered to have escaped?"

"I'm hoping for the best," Michael answered lightly. "If it were only you I'd ask you to go back, but to let Miss Fortescue go down again is out of the question."

"Go down where?" Margaret had come up to them, and caught the last words.