“I see,” Hamilton nodded, then looked sharply at the other. “Have you ever been down into the crypt?”
“No, sir, not I! I wouldn’t meddle with such things.”
“Are you game to come down with me now? I came over this morning to find out what was going on, and I believe that is the place to start.”
Lorrimer was silent for several seconds, and Hamilton could see the sweat glisten in tiny droplets upon his forehead. Then he stood up, saying quietly:
“I’ll come with you, sir. We’ll take a lamp from the hall.”
“Good man!” Hamilton jumped to his feet, clapping him on the shoulder. Mrs. Lorrimer said nothing.
“Are you coming, too, Mrs. Lorrimer?” Hamilton asked.
She shook her head.
“No, sir. I’ll stay here and pray for you both.”
Hamilton knocked out his pipe and thrust it in his pocket; a thought occurred to him.
“Have you any sort of weapon?” he asked. “We may as well be prepared for anything.”
Lorrimer looked wonderingly at him.
“I don’t think weapons’d be much use against the powers of darkness, sir,” he said.
Hamilton smiled grimly.
“Probably not, but the powers of darkness sometimes have mortal agents. Anything will do — an old shot-gun, for instance.”
The other scratched his head.
“I can do better than that, sir,” he said at last; “there should be a pistol in the library. Old Sir Anthony used to keep it there. Souvenir of the war, I think it was.”
“Fine. Let’s go.”
They went out of the kitchen, along the passage, and into the library. Going to the desk by the window, Lorrimer began to rummage in its drawers. Hamilton stood by the long table, idly turning over the books which still littered it. As far as he could see they were harmless enough, though they all dealt with the occult. There was no suggestion of Satanism, certainly. He was knitting his brows over Levi’s Rituel de la Haute Magie when he heard an exclamation of satisfaction, and, looking up, saw Lorrimer with a heavy automatic pistol in his hands.
Hamilton took the weapon gingerly and examined it. It was a pre-war Luger, and he was unfamiliar with the mechanism, but a little fumbling released a cartridge-clip from the butt, and he saw the blunt noses of seven bullets lying meekly side by side. The thing was fully loaded. Laying the clip on the table, he attempted to pull the jacket back. It was immovable, so he pressed the trigger gently, pointing the muzzle at the floor. It was as well he did, for a heavy report shook the room, the pistol almost leaped from his grasp, and he found himself looking ruefully at a neat black hole in the carpet, while the acrid smoke rose in wreaths about his head.
Lorrimer came to his side and took the gun from him.
“I think I know how to work it, sir,” he said, and jerked the jacket back. The empty shell spun through the air and tinkled in the hearth.
“Sir Anthony showed me once. I didn’t know it was loaded though; there must have been a cartridge in the breech.”
He demonstrated the mechanism to Hamilton, replaced the clip and, clicking down the safety-catch, handed the weapon back to him.
“It’s ready now, sir. But be careful. It’ll shoot off the whole magazine before you know where you are.”
He bent down and retrieved the cartridge-case from the hearth and then opened the window.
“Best not leave any traces for them to see, sir,” he explained. “I don’t think Sir Anthony knows the gun was there. You’d better keep it, sir.”
They went out into the corridor, to find Mrs. Lorrimer standing at the open door of the kitchen, one hand on her breast. Her startled face framed a wordless question.
“It’s all right, Mrs. Lorrimer,” Hamilton assured her. “Just a little target-practice. No damage done.”
She nodded and withdrew, closing the door.
As they entered the hall Hamilton threw back his head and sniffed sharply. But he could detect no smell, though there had been a distinct change in the atmosphere. Putting it aside as indefinable, he helped Lorrimer to light one of the vapour-lamps which hung on brackets round the walls, holding a match ready while the other worked the little pump to give the initial pressure. In a few minutes the lamp was hissing cheerfully and giving a good light. Lorrimer took up the lamp and they went to the stone trap beneath the great staircase, and Hamilton lifted it.
Gingerly they crept down the spiral stair, Hamilton going first. As they descended he began to be more and more aware of an intense oppression, which seemed to weigh upon him like an invisible cloud. Strange and horrible thoughts, quite foreign to his nature, began to crawl about his mind, and by the time they reached the bottom step he was in the grip of a dreadful wave of despair, which well-nigh overwhelmed him. This visit, his efforts to save Tony from himself, all seemed utterly useless, ridiculous in their pitiful futility. How typical of Life itself, he thought, this miserable struggle against hideous Destiny! His knees shook, and he would have fallen, quite overcome by the dark clouds of evil which swirled about that silent place, had not Lorrimer gripped his arm and held the lamp close to his face.
“I know how you feel, sir,” whispered the old man. “I can feel it too. It’s the same upstairs sometimes, only not so bad. Try and shake it off, sir. Remember, God’s with us everywhere.”
Feverishly Hamilton caught at that last assurance, striving to fix his mind upon the service he had attended that morning, and That which he had received there. Immediately he felt stronger, and was able to make the sign of the cross with a trembling hand.
“The Cross of Christ between me and all harm!” he whispered, and felt strength flow back into his limbs.
Clinging to each other, the two crept down the middle of the crypt, between the rows of pillars supporting the vaulted roof. They had almost reached the centre when Lorrimer, who was a little in front, stopped with a sharp cry. Hamilton, his heart thudding in his throat, asked what was the matter.
“I can’t go any further, sir. There — there seems to be something in the way.”
Feeling that his brain was going, Hamilton took a step forward, only to find himself brought up sharply against an invisible barrier. For a moment stark panic rose screaming in his soul, and he all but fled incontinently. When he had got hold of himself again he took the lamp from the other’s shaking fingers, which threatened to drop it at any moment, and held it aloft.
There was nothing to be seen, only the avenue of pillars disappearing into the darkness beyond the rays of the lamp. There was no tangible obstruction, but, strive as he would, he could not advance one foot farther forward. It was as if a transparent sheet of rubber was stretched tightly across their path. Sweating with a curious combination of fear and baffled rage, he lowered the lamp and scanned the ground. Then he saw the diagram. Its outermost circle, a brilliant, luminous red against the dark stone flags, marked the limit of their progress. The complexity of lines within stretched away from them in the gloom.
Intense curiosity partly overcoming their dread, the two made a complete circuit of the outside edge of the figure, but at no point could they penetrate into its interior; the invisible force restrained them always. Dimly they could make out the dark mass of the altar, with its white tapes, but their light was not strong enough to see it clearly. At one point they came upon Vaughan’s two trunks, standing outside the circle, but both were locked, and to have forced them would have meant leaving visible traces of their visit, and this they were loath to do. At length they were obliged to confess that there was nothing more to be done, so they retraced their steps to the floor above.