Denis Smith - The Mammoth Book of the New Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes

‘I see that you must be right,’ I remarked. ‘Indeed, it seems perfectly obvious, the way you describe it. But if we assume that it is so, where does that get us?’

‘It gets us to the point where we must penetrate to the secret chamber tonight,’ said Holmes. ‘Yes, Watson, we must. For therein lies the source of all that has occurred to so distress our client.’

‘But no one knows where it is!’

‘It is not the location of the chamber which presents the problem, but its entrance. He who knows the entrance can scarcely fail to find the chamber itself. So our position is not so hopeless as you suppose.’

‘You know the entrance, then?’ I cried in surprise.

‘One of them, at least. There will almost certainly be an entrance to the chamber in the house itself, but we might look for a year and not find it. Fortunately, however, there is also an entrance in the ruined chapel, which has proved somewhat easier of discovery. I had suspected already that there would be an entrance there – Lady Davenoke’s account of the noises she had heard there, and the lights and the dark figure she had seen, indicated as much – and my close examination of the chapel this afternoon confirmed all my suspicions. The secret entrance is beneath one of the flagstones. It was simplicity itself to identify, for it was the only one which did not have thick grass growing in the cracks around it. The grass had evidently been cleared away, quite recently, presumably to facilitate the opening of the stone, which must hinge up in some way.

‘I was also able to discover,’ Holmes continued after a moment, as he refilled his pipe, ‘that the man who has been using that entrance and exit is around five foot six inches tall, wears size eight boots with steel tips, smokes a Latakia mixture and wears a very long plaid coat or ulster. So our midnight prowler begins to sound somewhat more like Edward Davenoke and somewhat less like a monster from the deep!’

‘How can you tell all these things?’

‘His boots had chipped away the stones in no fewer than seven places and left clear impressions in the rain-softened ground at the edge of the ruins. His height I gauge from his stride, a piece of elementary reasoning with which you are no doubt familiar. He had knocked his pipe out against a corner, and some of the unmistakable dark tobacco had remained unburnt. Woollen fibres were caught on the rough edge of a stone, and similar traces where he must have stepped over a raised row of stones at the edge of the ruins indicated clearly that his overcoat must reach almost to the ground. The dog was killed in the chapel, by the way, and dragged to where Lady Davenoke found it. But, come! We must now turn our minds to tonight’s enterprise. I have informed the landlord that we shall be out this evening and may be late in returning, and he has agreed to leave a back door open for us. I also took the opportunity when downstairs to locate a stout iron rod in the courtyard. Its usual employment is in the manipulation of refractory cart-wheels, but it should serve us well when we come to lever up the secret door. Incidentally,’ he added after a moment; ‘I should be obliged if you would fill your brandy flask before we leave. The sky is clear and the night may be a cold one. Now let us rest a little while, and compose our minds in silence, for later we shall need to be alert.’

The sun had already set when we left the inn and, away to the west, where a dark line of trees stood on the horizon, the sky met the land in a band of dull orange. High above us a noisy rabble of crows flew steadily westwards, home to their roost. By the time we reached the Shoreswood gateway, the sky was quite dark and the tree-lined drive ahead of us presented an impenetrable wall of blackness to our view. Down this dark alley we walked, and as we did so there came from time to time slight rustling noises in the undergrowth beside us, as some nocturnal creature scurried away at the sound of our footsteps. Once I was startled as an owl hooted loudly, directly over our heads. It wanted no great imagination to understand the fear and superstition with which primitive man had regarded the long hours of the night, and the unseen creatures which move abroad then. Beside me, my friend walked on steadily in silence. If he were entertaining thoughts like those that filled my own mind he gave no sign of it.

Presently there came to our ears the soft silvery babbling of water, and I knew we were approaching the small river which skirted the house and the chapel. Moments later we reached the bridge. Ahead of us in the darkness lay the yet darker mass of Shoreswood Hall. A single candle shone weakly in an upstairs window.

In silence Holmes motioned me to follow him, as he left the path and crossed the wet turf to the ruined chapel; in silence we sat for perhaps forty minutes, each on our block of stone, like a bizarre pair of statues. The night was indeed a chill one, and when I felt Holmes’s hand tap my arm lightly I passed him the brandy flask without query. Shortly afterwards, the candle in the window was extinguished and the blackness of the Hall was complete. Turning, so that his heavy cloak shielded the light from the house, he struck a match and lit a small pocket-lantern, then immediately closed the shutter. ‘Come,’ said he, rising to his feet.

It was chiefly by the sense of touch that we found the flagstone we sought, and I was able to confirm with my fingers my friend’s earlier observation that the grass had been cleared away from its edge. In its place, I felt a narrow space all around, from which a faint whisper of cold, dank air seemed to rise to my finger-ends. He handed me the lantern, and by the tiny slit of light which escaped from it I saw him push the narrower end of his makeshift lever into the crack and press down upon it. There came a scraping noise, as of stone upon stone and the flag lifted an inch or two. I took the weight and, together, with as little noise as possible, we turned the slab right back until it rested upon a block behind it. Lying flat on his stomach, Holmes plunged the lantern into the black hole which had opened before us and from which a foul, mephitic odour now arose. The yellow light of the lantern showed the earth floor below the hole to be some six or seven feet down. An old rotten-looking chest stood immediately beneath us, and had evidently been placed there to provide a step, for its edge was splintered and caked with mud. To one side of this sinister pit, a dark opening indicated where a low-roofed tunnel led away in the direction of the house.

Without a word, Holmes lowered himself into the darkness. ‘Be careful of your footing!’ he whispered sharply as I made to follow him. ‘The lid of this chest has no more strength than a rotten apple!’

In a moment I had joined him and, stooping, we entered the tunnel. Like the pit before it, the walls were clad in crumbling and ancient-looking brickwork, which narrowed to an arch at the top, the whole blotched all over, and covered with slime and the revolting excrescences of mould. In one or two places the brickwork had crumbled to dust and loose earth had fallen in and lay in heaps upon the floor. From these heaps, foul insects scurried and slithered as we passed, like figments of some evil dream. The smell of the damp earth was thick and unpleasant now, and mingled with the more penetrating smell of rot and decay in an almost overpowering stench.

For perhaps thirty yards this vile corridor led us on, now rising slightly, now falling a little, and all the time our backs were bent, for the roof was scarce four foot in height. Glad I was when my companion paused and held out his arm as a warning and I knew that we must be approaching the end. He closed his lantern down to the narrowest of slits and we proceeded then with great caution, our footsteps making no sound upon the earth floor. Presently the tunnel opened out slightly and the roof sloped up to about six feet, and we found ourselves before a stout, ancient-looking oak door. Its hinges were rusted and frail, but appeared from the sheen upon them to have been recently oiled. Through the crack beneath the door came a thin line of light. Holmes motioned me to silence and placed his hand upon the latch.