Bourne laughed, but I could see that he was disturbed. ‘We’d better try to get some sleep and see what the morning brings,’ he said as he made for the door. I was a long time settling down again, but eventually I slept. There were no more cats’ concerts and the sun was shining through the windows when the maid brought my morning tea. I rose leisurely for I knew that Bourne was conducting early service and breakfast would not be until 8.30. I was downstairs before he returned and as, through the dining-room window, I watched him crossing from the church, I could see that he was either very weary or still troubled. We said little until we were seated at the breakfast table and then he blurted out, ‘Jim, I think I’m beginning to imagine things.’
‘Why, what’s wrong?’ I asked with my mouth full of bacon.
‘I went over to the church about seven o’clock and unlocked the door in the north aisle. As soon as I stepped inside the building something like a large cat came up to me and, purring loudly, began to rub itself against my cassock. At first, in the semi-darkness, I thought I could see the animal. But, as my eyes became accustomed to the gloom, I realized that no cat was visible although I could still feel its warm body against my legs and hear the low purring. I felt a little afraid and turned to make my way to the sacristy. As I stepped forward I distinctly heard the soft pad of feet preceding me and, believe it or not, I saw paw-marks on the stones. It was just as though a cat with damp feet was walking in front of me and leaving imprints which dried immediately.’
‘This cat business seems to have got on your nerves,’ I replied. ‘Were you troubled by any similar manifestations whilst you were at the altar?’
‘None at all. The only other incident out of the ordinary was when I returned to the sacristy to remove my vestments. I laid the stole on the press, with one end hanging down almost to the floor. Suddenly I got the impression that something clawed at the embroidered cross and pulled the whole thing to the ground. I picked it up and there was a tiny tear in the silk—just as if it had really been clawed.’
‘Perhaps the little tear was there all the time,’ I suggested, ‘and the other part of the business was some sort of optical illusion brought on by thinking too much about cats. A round of golf will put the whole affair out of our minds.’
But we did not get to the golf course. We had hardly finished breakfast when visitors began to arrive at the rectory and their business was all concerned with cats. It seemed that the favourite domestic pets in Upton Southwold were all behaving in a strange manner. Old Abel Radford, returning from attending to a sick animal at a neighbouring farm soon after one o’clock in the morning, had been set upon by a wild black creature. Abel struck out hard with his heavy walking stick and laid his attacker low—in fact he beat the life out of it before he discovered it to be Mrs Crook’s black cat, Sable, which was normally a most inoffensive animal. Other cats in the village had clawed children and, in two cases, so severely that the victims had to be treated by the doctor. He, the doctor, came to the rectory soon after lunch to discuss the situation with the vicar. His only explanation of the phenomena was that the cats were afflicted with a form of madness. But he couldn’t explain why this complaint should have affected them all at the same time, nor why the animals should now appear as docile and tame as usual. As he was a hard-headed Scot neither Bourne nor I dared to hint at any supernatural reason for the curious outbreak.
The most exciting item of news did not come in until much later in the day, and then it was Bourne himself who brought it. Before tea he was summoned to attend a parishioner who was dying—an aged lady, named Beatrice Turner, who lived in one of the Queen Anne houses. The call did not surprise the vicar for it seemed that the lady had been ill for some time and the end was not unexpected. He was away for over an hour and, on his return, told me that Mrs Turner was dead. Her end had undoubtedly been hastened by the fact that, in the early hours of the morning, a huge cat had gained access to her room and had attacked the poor old lady. She had been badly scratched and mauled before her cries brought assistance, and the shock had proved too much for one in her enfeebled condition. Mrs Turner’s niece, who had given the information to Bourne, had seen the cat when she entered the room in response to her aunt’s cries. With great presence of mind she had seized a hair-brush from the dressing-table and thrown it at the creature. According to her the brush appeared to pass right through the cat which turned, spat at her, and then jumped out of the window.
Another curious thing must be recorded in connection with that day of strange events. The workmen in the crypt asserted that they were troubled all the time by the mewing of a cat, but all their efforts failed to locate the animal. No further work was done on the tomb as the man, who was responsible for the removal of the slab, had been taken ill. We found that a kind of paralysis was affecting his right arm. I visited the undercroft during the afternoon and tried to chip away some of the mortar which sealed the tomb. But it was as hard as concrete and my efforts made little impression upon it.
When we had finished dinner that evening I asked Bourne if he had any kind of rifle in the house. He produced a nice little Savage .22 which, he informed me, was used for rook shooting. I loaded the weapon and placed it by the window in my bedroom. I have always been accounted a good shot and had no doubt but that I could deprive the monster cat of one of its nine lives if it should decide to treat us to another nocturnal concert.
We retired soon after midnight and, within half an hour, the discordant din commenced. Jocelyn came into my room at once and, from the window, we saw the same enormous cat seated on the same tombstone and surrounded by its company of admirers. The noise they made set one’s nerves on edge, for it was like the wailing of a hundred banshees. The moon was bright and, resting the gun on the window-sill, I took careful aim. I was certain I could hit the creature at that range. Yet, after the noise of the explosion had died away, the animal still sat there undisturbed and the caterwauling increased in volume. I was annoyed at my failure and, hastily donning trousers and coat, I told Bourne I was going down into the churchyard to endeavour to get a close shot. He hurried after me, snatching a cloak from a cupboard as we passed through the hall, and we crossed the lawn as silently as possible, keeping to the shadow of the trees. The cats appeared oblivious of our approach, for they were making such a terrible noise. I got within ten yards of the monster on the tombstone and, raising the gun to my shoulder, fired point-blank. It was impossible to miss. The explosion echoed like a thunder-clap and I saw the cats scatter with plaintive screams. Yet, when the smoke cleared, that infernal creature was still sitting on its perch apparently unscathed. It turned its baneful eyes in my direction, gave a shrill howl of rage, and jumped away into the bushes.
Both Bourne and I were now convinced that there was something uncanny about the affair. We also decided that it was in some way connected with the opening of the crypt and the figure on the tomb. We made up our minds that the next day should be devoted to a thorough examination of the church and the undercroft in an effort to clear up the mystery. It was time the matter was cleared up for that very night, although we did not know of the tragedy until the following day, Laura Weston’s baby was literally torn to pieces by a clawed animal.
I was over at the church before the morning service had ended. The congregation consisted of a few middle-aged ladies, two men and a few children. For a moment or so I watched Bourne standing at the altar and reciting the English version of the Mass. Then I quietly made my way to the crypt entrance and descended into the vaulted chamber. As soon as I entered the place I became aware of the unmistakable smell associated with cats. It seemed to be particularly strong near the tomb. The three windows had been cleared and the early morning light filtered through the openings. There was also a chilly breeze as, of course, the spaces had not yet been glazed. Suddenly something rubbed against my right leg and I heard the dull sound of purring. I looked down, but there was nothing there. I felt where the animal should have been, but my hands encountered nothing solid.