"When he spoke to me, it was in the most quiet whisper he could manage, and even then he looked as if the noise itself pained him.
"'Excuse me, Mr. Carnacki, sir. But may I have a word? In the vestibule?'
"I saw by the look on his face that the matter was of a serious nature so I left my books on the table and followed the old chap out. My own footsteps were not so muffled as his, and I drew some glares and pained glances for my trouble before I got safely out from under the echoing dome.
"'I am dashed sorry to disturb you, sir,' old Masterson said once we were out in the main hall with the heavy library door shut behind us. 'But as you know, I am familiar with your areas of study, and I believe you might be able to do the museum a great service, if you are so inclined?'
"As you can imagine, he had now caught my attention. I lit up a smoke, and motioned that he should continue. He lowered his voice and leaned in close so that he would not be overheard, although there was no one else in the hallway but we two.
"'We've got a haunt, sir,' he said. 'Well not here, not in the library, although some nights I hear things here too. But that's merely sounds, and whispers in the rafters. No, it's in the museum's main storerooms where the problem is. And it's more than sounds; things are moved around at night when nobody is watching, and there's a smell too, so I've heard. I've never noticed anything myself of that nature you understand, but I've heard the tales from men that I know are not prone to flights of fancy.
"'It's got so that the staff won't go down there alone any more, and rumors are spreading. And these are all members of staff who've been here for years, some nearly as long as I have myself. They're not flighty chaps looking for a pay rise. I've been told all of this in confidence, but I’m afraid the tales might spread. And what if the public, or even, God forbid, the newspapers got wind of it? The museum's good name is at stake here, Mr. Carnacki, and I know you are a man who values tradition and history. Can you help us?'
"It had all come out from him in a rush, as if he had been bottling it up in readiness for this occasion. His worried fretting, and the way he bowed and scraped and wrung his hands made the old chap seem rather comical, but I refrained from smiling, for he appeared to be genuinely distressed. And he had aided me many a time in my quests for ancient tomes on dusty shelves. I could do little else but to return the favor, at least in going as far as to hear him out and get the full detail of the story.
"So it was that, after returned it the library and retrieving my notes and satchel, I was led off into the museum proper than down, via a series of stairwells and brickwork passages, into the storerooms below the main building."
*
"By Jove, lads, there are treasures there the like of which I have never before clapped eyes on. The history of our civilization is all laid out, some of it in full view and gathering dust, other parts stacked in a maze of crates that stretched away as far as the eye can see into a gloomy distance. I saw statues and paintings and carvings and suits of armor and huge sarcophagi built of blocks of granite, so heavy that must have taken scores of men days to move into their position. One could be down there for many years, lifetimes even, and one would only begin to uncover the wonders to be seen. But I had no time to tarry. Old Masterson was already hurrying me on, leading me ever deeper into the stacks.
"The whole storeroom was rather gloomy. There are electric light fittings, but not quite enough bulbs to do the job properly, and those that it does have are set high in rows in the ceiling, and ran some ten feet above our heads. They glowed little brighter than a candle might have done, and only provided the most basic of illumination.
"'Are you sure you know where you're going, old chap?' I asked after we had dodged left and right several times in what was becoming a proper warren.
"'Almost there,' he replied, and kept going.
"After several more minutes, and a few more twists and turns, we rounded a corner past an enormous, and exceptionally grotesque statue of a grimacing lion with an eagle's wings, and I nearly walked into Masterson's back when he stopped abruptly in front of me.
"'Oh, my dear Lord,' he whispered, the sound echoing around and about us.
"'Is there a problem, Masterson?'
"'Oh, my dear Lord,' he said again.
"I had to peer over his shoulder to see what had stopped him. The crates at this point were spread apart leaving a twelve-feet on a side clearing in the maze. They were also stacked high, three or four on top of another, so that it almost felt like we stood at the entrance to a narrow canyon. And there, right in the center of the empty area, a body was spread-eagled on the floor.
"The chap was clearly dead. His eyes, pale as milk, stared sightlessly at the dim bulbs that looked down at him from the ceiling. But, of course, I had to check. I pushed Masterson aside and went to bend over the body.
"There was no sign of any foul play, but the poor chap looked like he had died in abject terror. He had his left hand gripped across his chest, balled into a fist, and his lips were pulled back from this teeth in a grimace. He had bitten into his tongue, and blood filled his mouth. I have seen dead men before, but never one that looked to have had such a hard time in the passing.
"Masterson hadn't yet moved an inch, and the old chap could not take his eyes from the body.
"'It's John Jennings, isn’t it?' he said.
"'I wouldn't know,' I replied. 'But I take it you know the man?'
"Masterson was still staring at the body.
"'I've known him for years. He's the curator of the Grecian exhibits. He must have been down here looking for something and…'
"He didn't finish the sentence. All color had leeched from his face, and he looked like he might be about to collapse in a dead faint. I realized that I had to get his mind onto a subject other than the dead chap at my feet.
"'Fetch a policeman,' I said, then had to repeat myself, for he clearly wasn't listening.
"'And where would I find one?' he finally replied.
"'Go out into the street and shout,' I said, with a tad more exasperation than I probably should have shown. 'One will find you, if you yell loudly for long enough.'
"The old chap left at a run as if pleased to have been given leave to depart. I heard the soft pad of his footsteps head away into the stacks, then I was left there alone in the dimly lit storeroom, in the quiet.
"I was suddenly only too aware that there was a dead body at my feet."
*
"It did not take too long for the quiet to start to work on me as I stood there in the silence and gloom. I knew, of course, that I could follow Masterson and walk out at any time, but somehow I felt that if I left now, I would be doing a disservice to the poor dead chap below me.
"Besides, I had completely failed to take note of the twists and turns by which I had been led here, and blundering around in the maze of stacks in the gloom did not appeal to me in the slightest. I stepped away from the body and leaned against a wall of crates while I got a pipe lit.
"The simple mechanics of lighting up a smoke going did much to steady my nerves. But the only noise after that was any that I made myself; the suck of my lips on the pipe's stem or the hissing of tobacco leaf as it burned. The smoke I produced hung around me rather than dispersing. The fug hovered and swirled like an angry rain cloud, mere feet above my head, and it spread out below the closest of the light bulbs, thick enough to be casting everything in a dim gray glow.
"My brain started to give me ideas and unwanted thoughts of what might have brought the chap on the floor to his fate. In trying to avoid thinking about that, I only stirred up memories of my own, those born from standing alone for too long in dark places.
"I strained to hear any sound that might tell me there was another worker down here in the dark, a curator or a janitor or a delivery man, I cared not who it might be, as long as they were keeping me a distant company. But there was only a dead, seemingly muffled, silence.
"And then I hear
d it.
"It was no more than a quiet sniff at first, like someone trying to clear his nasal passages. I thought that my wish for company had been granted, and I called out.
"'Hello?'
"I was answered by a shriek that I took to be a bat at first but proved to be the squeal of a crate being moved aside on the floor. It was not too close by, but the quiet of the storeroom amplified every sound tenfold.
"'Hello?' I said again.
"This time I got another sniff in reply, and this one was a dashed sight closer than the first. I can tell you I was soon in a bally blue funk, and I am not afraid to admit it.
"There was yet another sniff, more of a snuffle this time, as if something was testing the air, seeking a smell. I had the sudden feeling that I might be the one who was being sought, and when the air moved, as if something heavy was creeping around on the other side of the crate on which I was leaning, I finally had enough.
"As I started to walk away, I smelled something, thick and cloying, animalistic and heavy, like a dog that's rolled in a cowpat. Then it snuffled again, and the crate at my back trembled, as if a weight were leaning against it.
"I took to my heels."
*
At this point Arkwright interrupted. I'm afraid that the poor chap was unable to contain his outburst.
"Tell me now, Carnacki. Is it those blasted swine things again? For if it is, I shall retire to the dining room for a quiet smoke on my own and leave you chaps to it. I cannot abide to hear of them again. The bally things haunt my dreams enough as it is."
Carnacki smiled thinly.
"No, old friend," he said. "You can safely stay in your seat. I can assure you that it was not swine that haunted the Museum storeroom that night; although, like you, those beasts haunt my own dreams, and were the first thought that came to my mind even as I fled."
*
"I ran through the stacks, full pelt, aware that I had not the slightest clue where I was headed, but also aware that something followed me, at every twist and turn, something large, heavy enough to brush crates aside as it came. It was closer. I smelled it again, stronger now, a powerful stench of an animal on the hunt, but any time I chanced a look back I saw nothing but the alley of crates through which I was currently running.
"Even above my hurried footsteps, and the rasp of my own breath, I heard another snuffle, and a louder grunt, almost at my back now. I put on a spurt of speed, taking a quick left, then right. I was looking backward, anticipating an attack and not really paying too much attention to the way I was going.
"I ran into something warm, and let out a panicked yelp, thinking the thing that was after me had somehow got in my way. I struggled for an instant, then felt strong arms grip at my shoulder.
"'I say. It's Carnacki, isn't it? What the blazes are you doing here, man?"
"When I was able to catch my breath, I looked at the man who had grabbed me. Now that I was no longer in such a funk, I recognized him immediately. It was Whittaker, Inspector Whittaker of the Yard, the same inspector who had brought me the case of the Egyptian Scarab I related to you some months back. And to say I felt jolly foolish to have been so startled to meet him would be somewhat of an understatement. At that moment, I could not think of a single word to say in reply to him.
"Masterson was standing behind the inspector, and it was the old librarian who spared my blushes.
"'Mr. Carnacki is a long time friend of the museum, sir,' he said, 'and he was with me when I found the body.'
"'Was he indeed?' Whittaker replied, and gazed keenly at me, as if trying to discern any culpability in my being there. He saw nothing untoward, and turned back to Masterson. 'Well then, lead on. We can't be traipsing around here in the murk all day. Where's this bally body of yours?'
"I was dismissed, and once again I had an opportunity to beat a hasty retreat should I have wished to. But I felt dashed sheepish and not a small bit ashamed at my panic of moments earlier, so I gave myself a stern talking to, and followed as Masterson led the inspector deeper into the stores."
*
'There was a small troupe of us as we returned through the stacks, Masterson, Whittaker, a doctor, Whittaker's sergeant, two constables, and me bringing up the rear. I was alert to any small sound, and sniffed at the air, ready to flee if I smelled the animal again. But now that I was among people again, my previous experience was already fading, taking on an almost dreamlike quality, as if it had happened a long time ago, to someone else rather than myself.
"When we arrived back at the open area where the body was lying, I half-expected the body to have vanished, like in some lurid Penny Dreadful plot, but the poor chap was still there on his back, staring at the ceiling. Masterson could not approach beyond the entrance to the canyon of crates. Nor could he speak; he merely pointed, mutely, at what we could all see in any case.
"It did not take the Yard's doctor long to confirm what I already knew. The man Jennings was as dead as dead can be. The doctor's diagnosis of heart failure was an obvious one in the circumstances, but I saw Whittaker look over to me, then away again, as if he had something he wanted to ask of me but did not want the others present to hear. His attention was only taken from me when the doctor let out an exclamation.
"'I have something here,'
"He pried something out of the dead man's clenched hand, and passed it to the inspector. Whittaker looked at whatever it was, then back at me again. He raised an eyebrow, but still said nothing."
*
"He finally got a chance to say his piece when the doctor was done, the sergeant and the constables took the body away, and everyone departed the scene but the inspector and myself. We stood over where the body had been lying, and he passed me a cigarette before lighting us both up with a safety match.
"'You think there's more going on here than meets the eye, don't you, Carnacki?'
"I told him of how I had got involved, of Masterson's tales of night haunts and spooks, and I told him of my own experience in that same spot, before running into him as he arrived.
"'It's like that thing you had in your library in Chelsea? Another bally nasty Egyptian serpent?'
"I shook my head.
"'I don't know yet what manner of thing we are dealing with. This feels different to me; it feels a lot stronger. I shall need to spend more time with it to determine its true nature. And for that, I shall need permission to spend the night down here. Old Masterson is unlikely to give it to me, despite my friendship to the museum. I'm not staff, you see.'
"'Permission can be arranged,' Whittaker said softly. 'But surely it is dangerous? Don't you run the risk of coming to the same end as the unfortunate chap we have found?'
"'Rather me than some other poor soul,' I said. I was not sure I meant to sound quite so bally brave about it, but Whittaker took me at my word.
"'Then I shall stand with you,' he replied. 'And perhaps this may help you in your investigation. The dead man had it gripped tight in his hand.'
"He passed the thing that the doctor had given to him over to me. It was a small charm, the kind a lady might hang on a bracelet, although in this case, it would have to have been a rather well off lady. It appeared to be made of solid gold, and it was most finely sculpted. It depicted a heavy-set bull's head, broad, and with wide, arching horns that almost touched each other above a glowering black-eyed stare."
*
"I arranged to meet Whittaker again in the museum vestibule at seven in the evening, and he in turn agreed to arrange the appropriate permissions for the night's vigil. This time, as we made our way out of the storeroom, I remembered to take note of the twists and turns through the stacks, before taking my leave of the inspector on the Museum steps.
"I made my way back here to Chelsea. By the time I had negotiated the traffic, got home, prepared my box of defenses, and arranged for a carriage back to the Museum, it was already almost five. I had time for a quick bite of bread and cold ham, and then I was b
ack out on the street again, and soon making my way north once more.
"Whittaker, as good as his word, was waiting for me at the museum doors. He helped me inside with the box of defenses, and between us we lugged it down through the passageways and through the maze of the stacks, until we were finally able to let it down on the floor in the empty space where we'd found the body.
"I had a break for a smoke before starting with the preparations; even with the inspector's help it had been quite an effort to lug the kit down, and I was not in the slightest looking forward to the return journey. It felt like it had been a long day already, and I had a feeling I had a way to go yet before I would be granted any real respite."
*
"None of the sounds of the great city above penetrated down to us and, surrounded as we were by the relics of antiquity, it felt as if we were completely cut off from the modern world and had been dropped down into a point of some remote history. However, such musings were not doing anything for my nervous disposition, so I finished my smoke quickly and got to setting up the defensive circles.
"Whittaker had not seen this part of the process, having previously only encountered the circles I have inlaid on the library floor, so he was most attentive as I made the lines in chalk. He was also full of questions about the why and wherefore of the protections, the answering of which slowed me considerably. I was forced to get a move on when I heard the first snuffling and grunting come from somewhere out in the darkness of the stacks.
"Once I got the chalk work done I had the inspector step inside the circles to the center of the pentacle. He did so with a smile and a raise of an eyebrow that told me that, despite my explanations as to the need for protection, he was, as yet, not taking this quite so seriously as I would have liked. But I had run out of time to educate him otherwise; a grunt came out in the stacks. I smelled it again; the heavy, musky odor of some huge beast, as out of place among these crates and artifacts as I was myself.
Carnacki: The Edinburgh Townhouse and Other Stories Page 17