“Young Jarnock seemed very grateful for my advice, and after shaking my hand, pretty hard, took my key, and let himself out of the Chapel. He came back in about an hour, looking rather upset. He told me that my conclusions were perfectly correct. It was Sir Alfred Jarnock who had set the trap, both on the night that the butler was nearly killed, and on the past night. Indeed, it seemed that the old gentleman had set it every night for many years. He had learnt of its existence from an old MS.-book in the Castle library. It had been planned and used in an earlier age as a protection for the gold vessels of the Ritual, which were, it seemed, kept in a hidden recess at the back of the altar.
“This recess, Sir Alfred Jarnock had utilised, secretly, to store his wife’s jewellery. She had died some twelve years back, and the young man told me that his father had never seemed quite himself, since.
“I mentioned to young Jarnock how puzzled I was that the trap had been set before the service, on the night that the butler was struck; for, if I understood him aright, his father had been in the habit of setting the trap late every night, and unsetting it each morning, before anyone entered the Chapel. He replied that his father, in a fit of temporary forgetfulness (natural enough in his neurotic condition), must have set it too early, and hence what had so nearly proved a tragedy.
“That is about all there is to tell. The old man is not (so far as I could learn), really insane in the popularly accepted sense of the word. He is extremely neurotic, and has developed into a hypochondriac; the whole condition probably brought about by the shock and sorrow resultant on the death of his wife, leading to years of sad broodings and to overmuch of his own company and thoughts. Indeed, young Jarnock told me that his father would sometimes pray for hours together, alone in the Chapel.”
Carnacki made an end of speaking, and leant forward for a spill.
“But you’ve never told us just how you discovered the secret of the divided post, and all that,” I said, speaking for the four of us.
“Oh, that!” replied Carnacki, puffing vigorously at his pipe. “ I found on comparing the photos that the one taken in the daytime, showed a thicker left-hand gate-post, than the one taken at night by the flashlight. That put me on to the track. I saw at once that there might be some mechanical dodge at the back of the whole queer business, and nothing at all of an abnormal nature. I examined the post, and the rest was simple enough, you know.
“By the way,” he continued, rising and going to the mantelpiece, “you may be interested to have a look at the so-called ‘waeful dagger’. Young Jarnock was kind enough to present it to me, as a little memento of my adventure.”
He handed it round to us, and whilst we examined it, stood silent before the fire, puffing meditatively at his pipe,
“Jarnock and I made the trap so that it won’t work,” he remarked, after a few moments. “I’ve got the dagger, as you see; and old Bellett’s getting about again, so that the whole business can be hushed up, decently. All the same, I fancy the Chapel will never lose its reputation as a dangerous place. Should be pretty safe now to keep valuables in.”
“There’s two things you haven’t explained yet,” I said. “What do you think caused the two clangey sounds when you were in the Chapel in the dark? And do you believe the soft tready sounds were real, or only a fancy, with your being so worked up and tense?”
“Don’t know, for certain, about the clangs,” replied Carnacki. “I’ve puzzled quite a bit about them. I can only think that the spring, which worked the post, must have ‘given’ a trifle, slipped, you know, in the catch. If it did, under such a tension, it would make a bit of a ringing noise. And a little sound goes a long way, in the middle of the night, when you’re thinking of ‘ghostesses’. You can understand that—eh?”
“Yes,” I agreed. “And the other sounds?”
“Well, the same thing—I mean the extraordinary quietness—may help to explain these a bit. They may have been some usual enough sound, that would never have been noticed under ordinary conditions; or they may have been only fancy. It is just impossible to say. They were disgustingly real to me. As for the slithery noise, I am pretty sure that one of the tripod legs of my camera must have slipped a few inches; if it did so, it may easily have jolted the lens-cap off the base-board, which would account for that queer little tap which I heard directly after.”
“How do you account for the dagger being in its place above the altar, when you first examined it that night?” I asked. “How could it be there, when at that very moment it was set in the trap?”
“That was my mistake,” replied Carnacki. “The dagger could not possibly have been in its sheath at the time; though I thought it was. You see, the curious cross-hilted sheath gave the appearance of the complete weapon, as you can understand. The hilt of the dagger protrudes very little above the continued portion of the sheath—a most inconvenient arrangement for drawing quickly!”
He nodded, sagely, at the lot of us, and yawned; then glanced at the clock.
“Out you go!” he said, in friendly fashion, using the recognised formula. “I want a sleep.”
We rose, shook him by the hand, and went out presently into the night and the quiet of the Embankment; and so to our homes.
The Gateway of the Monster
IN RESPONSE TO CARNACKI’S usual card of invitation to have dinner and listen to a story, I arrived promptly at Cheyne Walk, to find the three others who were always invited to these happy little times, there before me. Five minutes later, Carnacki, Arkright, Jessop, Taylor and I were all engaged in the “pleasant occupation” of dining.
“You’ve not been long away, this time,” I remarked, as I finished my soup; forgetting momentarily, Carnacki’s dislike of being asked even to skirt the borders of his story until such time as he was ready. Then he would not stint words.
“No,” he replied, with brevity; and I changed the subject, remarking that I had been buying a new gun, to which piece of news he gave an intelligent nod, and a smile, which I think showed a genuinely good-humoured appreciation of my intentional changing of the conversation.
Later, when dinner was finished, Carnacki snugged himself comfortably down in his big chair, along with his pipe, and began his story, with very little circumlocution:—
“As Dodgson was remarking just now, I’ve only been away a short time, and for a very good reason too—I’ve only been away a short distance. The exact locality I am afraid I must not tell you; but it is less than twenty miles from here; though, except for changing a name, that won’t spoil the story. And it is a story too! One of the most extraordinary things I have ever run against.
“I received a letter a fortnight ago from a man I will call Anderson, asking for an appointment. I arranged a time, and when he turned up, I found that he wished me to look into, and see whether I could not clear up, a long-standing and well-authenticated case of what he termed ‘haunting’. He gave me very full particulars, and, finally, as the thing seemed to present something unique, I decided to take it up.
“Two days later, I drove up to the house, late in the afternoon, and discovered it a very old place, standing quite alone in its own grounds.
“Anderson had left a letter with the butler, I found, pleading excuses for his absence, and leaving the whole house at my disposal for my investigations.
“The butler evidently knew the object of my visit, and I questioned him pretty thoroughly during dinner, which I had in rather lonely state. He is an elderly and privileged servant, and had the history of the Grey Room exact in detail. From him I learned more particulars regarding two things that Anderson had mentioned in but a casual manner. The first was that the door of the Grey Room would be heard in the dead of night to open, and slam heavily, and this even though the butler knew it was locked, and the key on the bunch in his pantry. The second was that the bedclothes would always be found torn off the bed, and hurled in a heap into a corner.
“But it was the door slamming that chiefly bothered the old butler. Many and m
any a time, he told me, had he lain awake and just shivered with fright, listening; for, at times the door would be slammed time after time, thud! thud! thud! so that sleep was impossible.
“From Anderson, I knew already that the room had a history extending back over a hundred and fifty years. Three people had been strangled in it—an ancestor of his and his wife and child. This is authentic, as I had taken very great pains to make sure; so that you can imagine it was with a feeling that I had a striking case to investigate, that I went upstairs after dinner to have a look at the Grey Room.
“Peters, the butler, was in rather a state about my going, and assured me with much solemnity that in all the twenty years of his service, no one had ever entered that room after night-fall. He begged me, in quite a fatherly way, to wait till the morning, when there would be no danger, and then he could accompany me himself.
“Of course, I told him not to bother. I explained that I should do no more than look round a bit, and, perhaps, fix a few seals. He need not fear; I was used to that sort of thing. But he shook his head, when I said that.
“ ‘There isn’t many ghosts like ours, sir,’ he assured me, with mournful pride. And, by Jove! he was right, as you will see.
“I took a couple of candles, and Peters followed, with his bunch of keys. He unlocked the door; but would not come inside with me. He was evidently in quite a fright, and renewed his request, that I would put off my examination, until daylight. Of course, I laughed at him, and told him he could stand sentry at the door, and catch anything that came out.
“ ‘It never comes outside, sir,’ he said, in his funny, old, solemn manner. Somehow, he managed to make me feel as if I were going to have the creeps right away. Anyway, it was one to him, you know.
“I left him there, and examined the room. It is a big apartment, and well-furnished in the grand style, with a huge four-poster, which stands with its head to the end wall. There were two candles on the mantelpiece, and two on each of the three tables that were in the room. I lit the lot, and after that, the room felt a little less inhumanly dreary; though, mind you, it was quite fresh, and well kept, in every way.
“After I had taken a good look round, I sealed lengths of bébé ribbon across the windows, along the walls, over the pictures, and over the fireplace and the wall-closets.
All the time, as I worked, the butler stood just without the door, and I could not persuade him to enter; though I jested with him a little, as I stretched the ribbons, and went here and there about my work. Every now and again, he would say:— ‘You’ll excuse me, I’m sure, sir; but I do wish you would come out, sir. I’m fair in a quake for you.’
“I told him he need not wait; but he was loyal enough in his way to what he considered his duty. He said he could not go away and leave me all alone there. He apologised; but made it very clear that I did not realise the danger of the room; and I could see, generally, that he was getting into a really frightened state. All the same, I had to make the room so that I should know if anything material entered it; so I asked him not to bother me, unless he really heard or saw something. He was beginning to fret my nerves, and the ‘feel’ of the room was bad enough already, without making things any nastier.
“For a time further, I worked, stretching ribbons across, a little above the floor, and sealing them so that the merest touch would break the seals, were anyone to venture into the room in the dark, with the intention of playing the fool.
“All this, had taken me far longer than I had anticipated; and, suddenly, I heard a clock strike eleven. I had taken off my coat soon after commencing work; now, however, as I had practically made an end of all that I intended to do, I walked across to the settee, and picked it up. I was in the act of getting into it, when the old butler’s voice (he had not said a word for the last hour) came sharp and frightened:— ‘Come out, sir, quick! There’s something going to happen!’ Jove! but I jumped, and then, in the same moment, one of the candles on the table to the left of the bed went out. Now, whether it was the wind, or what, I do not know; but, just for a moment, I was enough startled to make a run for the door; though I am glad to say that I pulled up, before I reached it. I simply could not bunk out, with the butler standing there, after having, as it were, read him a sort of lesson on ‘bein’ brave, y’know.’ So I just turned right round, picked up the two candles off the mantelpiece, and walked across to the table near the bed. Well, I saw nothing. I blew out the candle that was still alight; then I went to those on the two other tables, and blew them out. Then, outside of the door, the old man called again:— ‘Oh! sir, do be told! Do be told!’
“ ‘All right, Peters,’ I said, and, by Jove, my voice was not as steady as I should have liked! I made for the door, and had a bit of work, not to start running. I took some thundering long strides, though, as you can imagine. Near the entrance, I had a sudden feeling that there was a cold wind in the room. It was almost as if the window had been suddenly opened a little. I got to the door, and the old butler gave back a step, in a sort of instinctive way.
“ ‘Collar the candles, Peters!’ I said, pretty sharply, and shoved them into his hands. I turned, and caught the handle, and slammed the door shut, with a crash. Somehow, do you know, as I did so, I thought I felt something pull back on it; but it must have been only fancy. I turned the key in the lock, and then again, double-locking the door.
“I felt easier then, and set-to and sealed the door. In addition, I put my card over the keyhole, and sealed it there; after which I pocketed the key, and went down-stairs—with Peters, who was nervous and silent, leading the way. Poor old beggar! It had not struck me until that moment that he had been enduring a considerable strain during the last two or three hours.
“About midnight, I went to bed. My room lay at the end of the corridor upon which opens the door of the Grey Room. I counted the doors between it and mine, and found that five rooms lay between. And I am sure you can understand that I was not sorry.
“Just as I was beginning to undress, an idea came to me, and I took my candle and sealing-wax, and sealed the doors of all the five rooms. If any door slammed in the night, I should know just which one.
“I returned to my room, locked myself in, and went to bed. I was waked suddenly from a deep sleep by a loud crash somewhere out in the passage. I sat up in bed, and listened; but heard nothing. Then I lit my candle. I was in the very act of lighting it, when there came the bang of a door being violently slammed, along the corridor,
“I jumped out of bed, and got my revolver. I unlocked the door, and went out into the passage, holding my candle high, and keeping the pistol ready. Then a queer thing happened. I could not go a step towards the Grey Room. You all know I am not really a cowardly chap. I’ve gone into too many cases connected with ghostly things, to be accused of that; but I tell you I funked it; simply funked it, just like any blessed kid. There was something precious unholy in the air that night. I backed into my bedroom, and shut and locked the door. Then I sat on the bed all night, and listened to the dismal thudding of a door up the corridor. The sound seemed to echo through all the house.
“Daylight came at last, and I washed and dressed. The door had not slammed for about an hour, and I was getting back my nerve again. I felt ashamed of myself; though, in some ways it was silly; for when you’re meddling with that sort of thing, your nerve is bound to go, sometimes. And you just have to sit quiet and call yourself a coward until the safety of the day comes. Sometimes it is more than just cowardice, I fancy. I believe at times it is Something warning you, and fighting for you. But, all the same, I always feel mean and miserable, after a time like that.
“When the day came properly, I opened my door, and, keeping my revolver handy, went quietly along the passage. I had to pass the head of the stairs, on the way; and who should I see coming up, but the old butler, carrying a cup of coffee. He had merely tucked his nightshirt into his trousers, and he’d an old pair of carpet slippers on.
“ ‘Hullo, Peters!’ I said, fee
ling suddenly cheerful; for I was as glad as any lost child to have a live human being close to me. ‘Where are you off to with the refreshments?’
“The old man gave a start, and slopped some of the coffee. He stared up at me, and I could see that he looked white and done-up. He came on up the stairs, and held out the little tray to me.
‘I’m very thankful indeed, sir, to see you safe and well,’ he said. ‘I feared, one time, you might risk going into the Grey Room, sir. I’ve lain awake all night, with the sound of the Door. And when it came light, I thought I’d make you a cup of coffee. I knew you would want to look at the seals, and somehow it seems safer if there’s two, sir.’
“ ‘Peters,’ I said, ‘you’re a brick. This is very thoughtful of you.’ And I drank the coffee. ‘Come along,’ I told him, and handed him back the tray. ‘I’m going to have a look at what the Brutes have been up to. I simply hadn’t the pluck to in the night.’
“ ‘I’m very thankful, sir,’ he replied. ‘Flesh and blood can do nothing, sir, against devils; and that’s what’s in the Grey Room after dark.’
“I examined the seals on all the doors, as I went along, and found them right; but when I got to the Grey Room, the seal was broken; though the visiting-card, over the keyhole, was untouched. I ripped it off, and unlocked the door, and went in, rather cautiously, as you can imagine; but the whole room was empty of anything to frighten one; and there was heaps of light. I examined all my seals, and not a single one was disturbed. The old butler had followed me in, and, suddenly, he said, ‘The bedclothes, sir!’
“I ran up to the bed, and looked over; and, surely, they were lying in the corner to the left of the bed. Jove! you can imagine how queer I felt. Something had been in the room. I stared for a while, from the bed to the clothes on the floor. I had a feeling that I did not want to touch either. Old Peters, though, did not seem to be affected that way. He went over to the bed-coverings, and was going to pick them up, as, doubtless, he had done every day these twenty years back; but I stopped him. I wanted nothing touched, until I had finished my examination. This, I must have spent a full hour over, and then I let Peters straighten up the bed; after which we went out, and I locked the door; for the room was getting on my nerves.
The House on the Borderland and Other Mysterious Places Page 19