“And we are grateful for your views, my dear fellow, but we must stick to the facts and India is far from my thoughts at this moment. Pray continue, Mr Mulvane.”
Six: TERROR IN THE VAULT
“There is little more to tell, Mr Pons, and I fear I weary you. When I say there is little more, that little filled me with such horror that the memory of it is with me most vividly, as though it were present in the room at this very moment. I crept forward and then froze as through the mist I heard that strange, unearthly whistling. The tune was, as you have informed me, The Devil’s Waltz.”
Pons’ eyes were very bright now and he kept them fixed upon Mulvane’s face.
“As you may imagine, Mr Pons, in that place and in that sombre atmosphere with funeral monuments all about me, my knees went to water. But I kept going forward, as there was a stubbornness within me. I had come that far and I would not go back without penetrating the sinister mystery surrounding Chalcroft Manor.”
“Highly commendable, Mr Mulvane,” I muttered.
“Imagine my astonishment, Mr Pons! I had gone no more than a dozen yards or so before I saw light shining from the depths of the cemetery.”
“Light, Mr Mulvane?”
I had never seen such interest on my companion’s face as he stared at our visitor.
“Indeed, Mr Pons. I had been walking on the grass verge, though I had to go carefully even there as the turf was bonded with frost. I rounded one of the large monuments and saw a strange, unearthly light, low down near the ground. I summoned up all my courage and crept forward again until I could see that it came from the vault entrance of one of the tombs.”
“The vault entrance? Presumably the Hardcastle family vault mentioned in the press reports?”
“That is so, Mr Pons. It was originally the village churchyard in the fifteenth century. There was a flight of steps leading down to this particular tomb, and an iron gate giving on the entrance to the vault below had been thrown back. I had set my hand to the matter and I had no intention of quitting. There was no-one about that I could see.”
“The whistling still continued, Mr Mulvane?”
“No, Mr Pons. It had stopped.”
Pons gave a sudden intake of breath. I looked at him sharply. “You think that of significance, Pons?”
“It may be, Parker. It may be.”
“Well, Mr Pons, I was almost at the tomb entrance now. The light was a golden, mellow one, like that shed by an oil lamp. Somehow my fear fell from me. I went quietly down the steps and found myself in a sort of stone tunnel. It was much warmer in here and the passage led downward, the glow coming from the far end. The light naturally increased as I crept forward and then the passage broadened out into a large chamber set about with funeral monuments. The light indeed came from an oil lamp which was set down on one of the tombs. I had stopped by this time because it was an eerie place and I realised that I was alone and vulnerable there.”
Mulvane paused and took another sip from his glass, looking anxiously from one to the other of us.
“There was a sudden breathless hush as though I were not alone in the place. I eased out from behind the marble sarcophagus which shielded me from the light and my movement revealed to me a canvas camp-bed and an oil-stove which were set down upon the vault floor.”
“A camp bed?” I could not resist interjecting.
“Yes, Dr Parker,” Mulvane said seriously. “You may well think with me what strange objects they were to find in such a charnel place. As though the dead were merely sleeping and might wake at any moment.”
“Quite,” said Solar Pons succinctly. “But you may be sure there is a more prosaic explanation.”
“Perhaps, Mr Pons,” said Mulvane soberly, “but I am afraid I am unable to enlighten you further. My boot made a sudden grating noise on the floor of the vault and at the same moment I heard a horrid screaming noise behind me.”
“A screaming, you say?”
“Yes, Mr Pons. Like a soul in torment. It froze my blood and I turned rapidly toward the source of the noise. As I did so a great shadow fled across the roof of the tomb and I knew no more.”
Mulvane drained his glass sombrely.
“When I came to myself I was lying on the grass verge near the graveyard, deathly cold, and with a throbbing headache.” Solar Pons smiled grimly.
“It was certainly no supernatural force which struck you, Mr Mulvane, and I am equally certain that no extra-terrestrial power transported you there.”
Mulvane nodded.
“I felt sick, Mr Pons, and indeed I found a large lump on the back of my skull, with blood crusted there. I staggered to my feet and was making my way out of the graveyard when I heard a terrible cry. I recognised the voice as being that of Tolpuddle, as he continued calling for help. Fortunately, the mist was still thick, and by circling round I was able to approach the butler from the direction of the house. I told him I had just returned from the village and had heard his cry when I was coming down the drive.”
“Why was that, Mr Mulvane?”
“Because I did not wish to incur my uncle’s displeasure, Mr Pons. However, I was then horrified to see the body of my uncle lying on the ground near the closed cemetery gates. I did not tell Tolpuddle of my adventure and, fortunately, he was too upset to notice my condition, for I confess that when I returned to the house I found there was dust on my clothes, my features were chalky white and traces of blood were still on my hair and scalp.”
“You have had a dreadful experience, Mr Mulvane,” I said warmly.
“Has he not, Parker,” remarked my companion. “What time was it when you saw Tolpuddle standing over your uncle’s body?”
“Close upon twelve, Mr Pons. The butler had gone to the front door and opened it, as he later told me, because he was worried that I had not returned from the village. Some time later, as he was standing in the porch smoking, he heard a screaming sound from the direction of the stables. With commendable courage, it may seem to you, he lit a lantern and hurried to the spot, where he found the corpse of my uncle.”
“Hmm.”
Solar Pons was silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on the dancing flames of the fire.
“And what did you find when you searched the vault?”
“All that came later, Mr Pons, when the local police, headed by Inspector Stapleton, had arrived. I had my uncle’s body removed to one of the stables but it could not have been until between one and two in the morning before we made a search of the graveyard. A C.I.D. man called Inspector Stone then took over from Stapleton.”
Pons had been making a few pencilled notes on a pad of paper on his knee for the past few minutes and now he scribbled energetically.
“It was a dreadful business, Mr Pons. The Inspector and his men found some of those horrible footprints I have drawn for you imprinted in the ground. There was no sign of anyone, of course, and no strangers had been seen in the neighbourhood.” “No Indians?” said Pons with a malicious little smile in my direction.
“No, Mr Pons.”
Pons gave our visitor a sharp look. “The footprints are curious, are they not? For the ground was frozen hard, as it had been for some weeks, Mr Mulvane.”
The teacher shrugged.
“Well, there it is, Mr Pons. Whatever made those diabolical footprints must have been a terrific weight.”
“Perhaps. And you say there were wet imprints down the steps leading to the vault?”
“Yes, Mr Pons. And along the corridor. The thing seems quite impossible but there they were.”
“You found nothing in the vault, of course?”
Mulvane gave my companion a wry smile.
“You are correct, as ever, Mr Pons. There was no trace of a bed, stove, or anything else, except the bare stone walls and the tombs. Perhaps that part of my experience was pure hallucination, due to the knock on my head.”