Part 9 (2/2)
I took the lantern from him and we entered. I crossed the pew immediately and went up to the effigy of the old abbot.
”Let us examine him closely,” I said. I held up the lantern, getting it to s.h.i.+ne on each part of the face, the vestments and the figure. The eyes, although vacant, as in all statuary, seemed to me at that moment to be uncanny and peculiar. Giving Allen the lantern to hold, I placed a finger firmly on each. The next moment I could not refrain from an exclamation; a stone at the side immediately rolled back, revealing the steps which were spoken of by the old man in his narrative.
”It is true! It is true!' cried Clinton excitedly.
”It certainly looks like it,” I remarked: ”but never mind, we have the chance now of investigating this matter thoroughly.”
”Are you going down?” asked Clinton.
”Certainly I am,” I replied. ”Let us go together.” Immediately afterwards we crept through the opening and began to descend. There was only just room to do so in single file, and I went first with the lantern. In another moment we were in the long pa.s.sage, and soon we were confronted by a door in an arched stone framework. Up till now Clinton had shown little sign of alarm, but here, at the trysting-place to which his father's soul had summoned him, he seemed suddenly to lose his nerve. He leant against the wall and for a moment I thought he would have fallen. I held up the lantern and examined the door and walls carefully. Then, approaching, I lifted the iron latch of the heavy door. It was very hard to move, but at last by seizing the edge I dragged it open to its full width against the wall of the pa.s.sage. Having done so I peered inside, holding the lantern above my head. As I did so I heard Clinton cry out, ”Look, look,” he said, and turning I saw that the great door had swung back against me, almost shutting me within the cell.
Telling Clinton to hold it back by force, I stepped inside and saw at my feet the ghastly coffin. The legend then so far was true. I bent down and examined the queer, misshapen thing with great care. Its shape was that of an enormous wedge, and it was apparently made of some dark old wood, and was bound with iron at the corners. Having looked at it all round, I went out and, flinging back the door which Clinton had been holding open, stood aside to watch. Slowly, very slowly, as we both stood in the pa.s.sage slowly, as if pushed by some invisible hand, the door commenced to swing round, and, increasing in velocity, shut with a noisy clang.
Seizing it once again, I dragged it open and, while Clinton held it in that Position, made a careful examination. Up to the present I saw nothing to be much alarmed about. There were fifty ways in which a door might shut of its own accord. There might be a hidden spring or tilted hinges; draught, of course, was out of the question. I looked at the hinges, they were of iron and set in the solid masonry. Nor could I discover any spring or hidden contrivance, as when the door was wide open there was an interval of several inches between it and the wall. We tried it again and again with the same result, and at last, as it was closing, I seized it to prevent it.
I now experienced a very odd sensation; I certainly felt as if I were resisting an unseen person who was pressing hard against the door at the other side. Directly it was released it continued its course. I allow I was quite unable to understand the mystery. Suddenly an idea struck me.
”What does the legend say?” I asked, turning to Clinton. ”'That the soul is to guard the door, to close it upon the coffin?”
”Those are the words,” answered Allen, speaking with some difficulty.
”Now if that is true,” I continued, 'and we take the coffin out, the spirit won't shut the door; if it does shut it, it disproves the whole thing at once, and shows it to be merely a clever mechanical contrivance. Come, Clinton, help me to get the coffin out.”
”I dare not, Bell,” he whispered hoa.r.s.ely. 'I daren't go inside.”
”Nonsense, man,” I said, feeling now a little annoyed at the whole thing. ”Here, put the lantern down and hold the door back.” I stepped in and, getting behind the coffin, put out all my strength and shoved it into the pa.s.sage.
”Now, then,” I cried, ”I'll bet you fifty pounds to five the door will shut just the same.” I dragged the coffin clear of the door and told him to let go. Clinton had scarcely done so before, stepping back, he clutched my arm.
”Look,” he whispered; ”do you see that it will not shut now? My father is waiting for the coffin to be put back.”
”This is awful!”
I gazed at the door in horror; it was perfectly true, it remained wide open, and quite still. I sprang forward, seized it and now endeavored to close it. It was as if someone was trying to hold it open; it required considerable force to stir it, and it was only with difficulty I could move it at all. At last I managed to shut it, but the moment I let it go it swung back open of its own accord and struck against the wall, where it remained just as before. In the dead silence that followed I could hear Clinton breathing, quickly behind me, and I knew he was holding himself for all he was worth.
At that moment there suddenly came over me a sensation which I had once experienced before, and which I was twice destined to experience again. It is impossible to describe it, but it seized me, laying siege to my brain till I felt like a child in its power. It was as if I were slowly drowning in the great ocean of silence that enveloped us. Time itself seemed to have disappeared. At my feet lay the misshapen thing, and the lantern behind it cast a fantastic shadow of its distorted outline on the cell wall before me.
”Speak; say something,” I cried to Clinton. The sharp sound of my voice broke the spell. I felt myself again, and smiled at the trick my nerves had played on me. I bent down and once more laid my hands on the coffin, but before I had time to push it back into its place Clinton had gone up the pa.s.sage like a man who is flying to escape a hurled javelin.
Exerting all my force to prevent the door from swinging back by keeping my leg against it, I had just got the coffin into the cell and was going out, when I heard a shrill cry, and Clinton came tearing back down the pa.s.sage.
”I can't get out! The stone has sunk into its place! We are locked in!' he screamed, and, wild with fear, he plunged headlong into the cell, upsetting me in his career before I could check him. I sprang back to the door as it was closing. I was too late. Before I could reach it, it had shut with a loud clang in obedience to the infernal witchcraft.
”You have done it now,” I cried angrily. 'Do you see? Why, man, we are buried alive in this ghastly hole!”
The lantern I had placed just inside the door, and by its dim light, as I looked at him, I saw the terror of a madman creep into Clinton's eyes.
”Buried alive!” he shouted, with a peal of hysterical laughter. ”Yes, and, Bell, it's your doing; you are a devil in human shape!” With a wild paroxysm of fury he flung himself upon me. There was the ferocity of a wild beast in his spring. He upset the lantern and left us in total darkness.
The struggle was short. We might be buried alive, but I was not going to die by his hand, and seizing him by the throat I pinned him against the wall.
”Keep quiet,” I shouted. ”It is your thundering stupidity that has caused all this. Stay where you are until I strike a match.”
I luckily had some vestas in the little silver box which I always carry on my watch-chain, and striking one I relit the lantern. Clinton's paroxysm was over, and sinking to the floor he lay there s.h.i.+vering and cowering.
It was a terrible situation, and I knew that our only hope was for me to keep my presence of mind. With a great effort I forced myself to think calmly over what could be done. To shout for help would have been but a useless waste of breath.
Suddenly an idea struck me. ”Have you got your father's letter?” I cried eagerly.
”I have,” he answered; ”it is in my pocket.”
My last ray of hope vanished. Our only hope was that if he had left it at the house someone might discover the letter and come to our rescue by its instructions. It had been a faint hope, and it disappeared almost as quickly as it had come to me. Without it no one would ever find the way to the vault that had remained a secret for ages. I was determined, however, not to die without a struggle for freedom. Taking the lantern, I examined every nook and cranny of the cell for some other exit. It was a fruitless search. No sign of any way out could I find, and we had absolutely no means to unfasten the door from the inner side. Taking a few short steps, I flung myself again and again at the heavy door. It never budged an inch, and, bruised and sweating at every pore, I sat down on the coffin and tried to collect my faculties.
Clinton was silent, and seemed utterly stunned. He sat still, gazing with a vacant stare at the door.
The time dragged heavily, and there was nothing to do but to wait for a horrible death from starvation. It was more than likely, too, that Clinton would go mad; already his nerves were strained to the utmost. Altogether I had never found myself in a worse plight.
It seemed like an eternity that we sat there, neither of us speaking a word. Over and over again I repeated to myself the words of the terrible curse: ”And whoso entereth into the cell shall be the prisoner of the soul that guardeth the door till it shall let him go.” When would the shapeless form that was inside the coffin let us go? Doubtless when our bones were dry.
I looked at my watch. It was half past eleven o'clock. Surely we had been more than ten minutes in this awful place! We had left the house at eleven. I glanced at the second hand. The watch had stopped.
”What is the time, Clinton?' I asked. ”My watch has stopped.”
”What does it matter?” he murmured. ”What is time to us now? The sooner we die the better.”
He pulled out his watch as he spoke, and held it to the lantern.
”Twenty-five minutes past eleven,” he murmured dreamily.
”Good heavens!” I cried, starting up. ”Has your watch stopped, too?”
Then, like the leap of a lightning flash, an idea struck me.
”I have got it; I have got it! My G.o.d! I believe I have got it!” I cried, seizing him by the arm.
”Got what?” he replied, staring wildly at me.
”Why, the secret a” the curse a” the door. Don't you see?” I pulled out the large knife I always carry by a chain and swivel in my trouser pocket, and telling Clinton to hold the lantern, opened the little blade-saw and attacked the coffin with it.
”I believe the secret of our deliverance lies in this,” I panted, working away furiously.
In ten minutes I had sawn half through the wooden edge, then, handing my tool to Clinton, I told him to continue the work while I rested. After a few minutes I took the knife again, and at last, after nearly half an hour had gone by, succeeded in making a small hole in the lid. Inserting my two fingers, I felt some rough, uneven ma.s.ses. I was now fearfully excited. Tearing at the opening like a madman, I enlarged it and extracted what looked like a large piece of coal. I knew in an instant what it was. It was magnetic iron-ore. Holding it down to my knife, the blade flew to it.
”Here is the mystery of the soul,” I cried; ”now we can use it to open the door.”
I had known a great conjurer once, who had deceived and puzzled his audience with a box trick on similar lines: the man opening the box from the inside by drawing down the lock with a magnet. Would this do the same? I felt that our lives hung on the next moment. Taking the ma.s.s, I pressed it against the door just opposite the hasp, and slid it up against the wood. My heart leapt as I heard the hasp fly up outside, and with a push the door opened.
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