Dark Sanctuary

by H. B. Gregory

  While he had been speaking a thought had been stirring in Hamilton’s brain. Now it crystallized, and he voiced it:

  “Where is Johnston, Sir Anthony’s man, Lorrimer? What’s he think of all this?”

  “I was coming to that, sir: he’s gone; went this morning.”

  “So that was whom I saw in the launch. Why did he go?”

  “Said he couldn’t stick it no longer, sir. Said he’d been in some queer places in his time, but none so queer as this. He’d been whittling for quite a while now, but last night finished him.”

  “What happened last night?” Hamilton inquired.

  Lorrimer looked uneasily at his wife.

  “We heard it again, sir,” said he, “like on the night Sir Anthony died.”

  “Heard what?”

  “I don’t know what it was, sir, and I hope to God I shan’t ever know. It’d be about one o’clock this morning, wouldn’t it, my dear?”

  His wife assented, and he went on:

  “It woke us up, sir: a sort of shaking of the whole building, like an earthquake; and then such a hullabaloo as you never heard, sir. A kind of shouting and a bellowing, as if all hell was let loose under us. We heard it before, the night the old master died, but not near so bad as this.”

  “What did you do?” Hamilton was intensely interested.

  “What could we do, sir? Nothing; just lay still and prayed for sunrise. The noise stopped after a bit, but the trembling went on for hours. It finished Johnston, as I told you, sir. Wouldn’t listen to reason. Just up and went as soon as Tom was ready to take him.”

  “Amazing, Lorrimer! You’re quite sure it wasn’t the sea, or the wind, or something like that?”

  “Oh, no, sir” — the servant shook his head decidedly — “the sea was a bit rough and the wind was blowing, but you couldn’t call it a storm even. Besides, the noise seemed to come from beneath, in the rock itself.”

  “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.”r />
  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.

  When the trap was shut and the lamp replaced Lorrimer asked Hamilton what he made of it. The latter shrugged, his face a picture of bewilderment.

  “I don’t know what to make of it,” said he. “I have never believed that such things were possible. Now I see that they are. If that is Dr. Gaunt’s doing, or his colleague’s, and I suppose it must be, then it only goes to prove that they do possess an amazing power. I suppose they didn’t want anyone to go near the altar, for that’s what I presume it was, and accordingly took steps to prevent it. At all events, we don’t seem to be any nearer a solution of the mystery than we were before. I’m completely at a loss.”

  Lorrimer nodded; he was far less disturbed than Hamilton.

  “Well, sir,” he said, “I never thought I should live to see a miracle, but now I have. I wish I could believe that it was one such as Moses did, but I’m afraid that it is more like those of Pharaoh’s wizards. We’re swimming in deep waters, sir.”

  They reached the kitchen door and went in. Mrs. Lorrimer was standing by the fire, her whole body tense. As soon as she saw them she relaxed, and going to her husband, quietly kissed him.

  “Thank God you’re both safe!” said she. Her husband looked down at her gravely.

  “Amen to that, my dear,” he said. “We’ve been in a strange place, and seen queer things, Mr. Hamilton and I. But I’ll tell you about it later. Now, sir, I don’t want to rush you, or to seem inhospitable, but I’m expecting them back any time, and I think you’d better be going.”

  “Yes, it wouldn’t do for them to find me here.” Hamilton took up his coat, and Lorrimer helped him into it.

  “I shall be staying at the Three Fishermen for a while,” he continued, “and if you’re willing to stay on here you can keep me informed through Tom Tregellis. Let me know at once if anything definite happens.”

  “That I will, thank you, sir. Of course we’ll stay; we’ll do our duty by Sir Anthony while we’re able to.”

  “Very well, then. Good-bye, and God keep you both.” Hamilton shook hands with them, and Lorrimer escorted him out through a back door and round to the outer gate. He went down to the harbour alone, to find his boatman turning the boat round preparatory to departing. Seeing Hamilton, the man rowed back to the landing-stage.

  “I was just off, sir,” he explained; “you’ve been gone well over the hour.”

  “Sorry! I suppose I have. I’m glad you waited, though,” Hamilton said, climbing aboard.

  As they were rowing out of the little harbour the man looked curiously at his passenger.

  “Queer place, that, sir?” he remarked, interrogatively.

  Hamilton nodded.

  “Very queer.” He did not feel disposed to be drawn into a conversation which he knew would be broadcast over the village, and contented himself with non-committal replies to the leading questions which were fired at him from time to time.

  He was forced into revealing action, however, when, only half a mile from Pentock, he saw the white shape of the Abbey launch coming towards them. Silently cursing the unfortunate coincidence, he flung himself into the bottom of the boat and pulled a tarpaulin over his body. His pilot stared at him in astonishment as he asked in a low voice:

  “That launch; how many are there aboard?”

  The other peered under his hand.

  “There be three, sir, besides Tom Tregellis; Sir Anthony, it looks like, and two others. They’ll be his two friends, like as not. Don’t you want them to see you, sir?”

  “No,” said Hamilton shortly, and pulled the tarpaulin over his face. It was hot, and smelt abominably, but he stayed under it until the launch had passed only a cable’s-length away, and their own boat had entered the harbour and was hidden by the wall.

  After lunching at the inn Hamilton made his way to the rectory. Valerie met him at the door, greeting him gaily with:

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Hamilton. Are you hungry this time?”

  He tried desperately to echo her carefree tone, but was conscious that he failed dismally as he answered:

  “No, thanks, Miss Bennett. I’ve just had lunch. Is the rector in?”

  “I think so. Do come in! Will you stay for tea?”

  “Thanks. I’d love to.” Hamilton was peering anxiously over her shoulder towards the study. Ever since his strange experience of the morning his one thought had been to tell the old priest of this amazing confirmation of their worst fears. He scarcely noticed the girl, and she, sensing his lack of interest, gave up the attempt to entertain him and took him straight to the rector.

  “Uncle, here’s Mr. Hamilton,” she said; “he’s got something on his mind and won’t rest until he’s seen you. From his face I think he must have murdered someone.”

  Her uncle put down his book. For perhaps one second a tiny frown appeared between his brows and a reproof trembled on his lips. Then he remembered that she knew nothing of the grim secret which lay between Hamilton and himself, and he smiled gravely.

  “Thank you, my dear,” he said. “Come in and sit down, my boy. Have some tobacco — I’ve got a new tin today.”

  Hamilton sat down and began to fill his pipe in silence. The girl hovered uncertainly at the door, looking curiously from one to the other.

  “I’ll leave you to it, then,” said she. “Don’t be too hard on him, Uncle.”

  When the door had closed behind her the rector spoke:

  “Not a word until your pipe’s going, John. And take your time; I can see it was pretty bad.”

  Collecting his thoughts, the young man told him the whole story of his visit to Kestrel, and what he had found in the crypt. Not until it was finished did the other speak, but smoked his pipe quietly, betraying no sign of astonishment at the bizarre tale. When he spoke he said:

  “If your visit has accomplished nothing else, my boy, it has convinced you that these people do possess a real and terrifying power. That is very important, for we must not underestimate our opponents. I must confess that I have never actually experienced anything so objective as this barrier you speak of, but I have never doubted for one moment that such things are possible. I rather think you did at one time.”

  “Yes, Father,” Hamilton agreed. “But never again. That has settled all my doubts, once and for all. But now the question is, what is it all about, and what are we to do?”

  “We cannot do anything yet except wait for further developments. You have established communication wit
h the Lorrimers, at all events.”

  “Yes, I suppose that is something,” assented Hamilton. “The simple faith of those two old people is amazing, Father. I couldn’t have stood half what they’ve gone through.”

  “You may have to stand more before this episode is over, John. I wish I knew what they have in mind. All this seems a tremendous lot of trouble to go to to gain one convert to their beastly faith. We must not lose sight of the other possible purpose of that magic circle.”

  “Why, Father, what do you mean?” Hamilton was startled. “It could only be intended to keep intruders out, surely.”

  “It might also serve to keep something in,” the priest answered quietly.

  Hamilton could feel the colour draining from his cheeks as he said:

  “The bellowing sound?”

  The other nodded.

  “That may have been the wind, of course. I place more reliance on your own sensations when descending into the crypt. You might have imagined the feeling of evil, being prepared for it, but the assault of despair is very significant. It seems to point to the presence of some intelligent entity, which was endeavouring to persuade you of the hopelessness of attempting to interfere.”

  “What a horrible idea, Father!”

  “We may encounter things more horrible before we’ve done, my boy. I take it you are determined to see this through?”

  “Absolutely,” Hamilton answered firmly. “I shall stay here until there is no more hope for Tony.”

  “Say, rather, until Tony is saved.”

  “There is a hope, then?” Hamilton’s voice was eager.

  “There is always hope. If we could once get him out of the influence of those two wretches we might work wonders. I have been polishing up my knowledge of these matters today.” The rector picked up the book he had been reading and gave it to Hamilton, who glanced at the title, The Brethren of the Left-Hand Path.

  “It is not very edifying reading for a priest,” he went on, “but it is necessary that we should know what to expect. They are diabolically clever, these people, and I can well understand your friend getting caught up by their specious reasoning, especially if he has had no instruction in Catholic tradition and the teaching of the Church.”