Sergeant Patterson nodded to the constable, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "Ah've just come from yon
railway station. There's three truckloads o' machinery an' buildin' materials arrived there. They've been sent to
Smithers, from Jackman an' Company of London. Aye, all shunted intae a sidin' for unloading an' cartin' tae the
village square, where they plan on stackin' et! So ah told the stationmaster tae put a stop on the operation.
"Your man Smithers was there, too. Weel, ah soon put a flea up his nose! Told him he's not allowed tae unload
a single nail until the morrow, when the court order comes intae force. Auld Smithers roared like a Heeland bull, so ah
read him the riot act an' said that if he disobeyed the law, ah'd arrest him an' lock him up! Ah cannae take to the man,
he's a pompous windbag, if ye'll pardon mah opinion, Mr. Mackay."
The lawyer nodded. "That is my observation of Smithers also, Sergeant."
Patterson parked his bicycle against the garden wall. "Mah thanks tae ye, sir. Constable, ah want ye tae go down
tae the railway station an' stand guard over those wagons, d'ye ken? Oh, an' take a Prohibition of Movement order
form. Pin it tae the delivery. Mind now, make sure et all stops right there!"
The constable saluted needlessly. "Right away, Sarn't. Leave it t'me! Permission to borrow your bike?"
Patterson looked as if he was trying to hide a smile. "Permission granted, Constable, carry on!"
They stood watching Constable Judmann wobble ponderously off down the lane. The sergeant chuckled.
"Will ye look at the man go! Och, he loves ridin' mah old bicycle. Weel now, an' what can I do for you good
folk?"
Eileen answered. "We wanted to have a look at the old execution place, but the constable didn't seem too happy
about it."
Will swelled out his chest and stomach, in a passable imitation of Judmann. "Invasion of police property, if I
ain't mistaken, Sarn't. Sort of a peasant's revolt!"
The sergeant pretended to look grave. "Och, sounds serious tae me! Ye'd best all come in, ah'll put the kettle on
for tea, an' we'll discuss the matter. Just hauld yer wheesht a moment!"
Patterson took an apple from his pocket and fed it to the mare, rubbing her muzzle affectionately. "Stay out o'
this revolt, bonny lass. Mah gaol couldnae cope with ye!"
The walls inside the police station were covered thick with countless applications of whitewash on the top, and
equally heavy layers of bitumen and tar on the bottom. All the woodwork had been painted dark blue many times over
the years, some of it showing blisters around the blackleaded iron fireplace. A notice board by the window was
crowded with official-looking posters, old and new. Patterson made tea, seating Mr. Braithwaite, Mr. Mackay, Will,
and Eileen on tall stools at the charge office desk. Amy and her brother sat on a long bench with Jon and Ben.
Ned lay under the desk, gnawing a thick, gristly mutton bone, making his thoughts known to his master. "Good
man, Sergeant Patterson, what d'you think, pal?"
Ben returned the thought, sipping tea from a brown pottery mug. "I don't know what it is, but I don't feel right in
here. I'm starting to go cold and sweating at the same time."
The Labrador crawled from under the desk, carrying his bone. "Hmm, you don't look too good. This is a creepy
old place. Let's go outside and sit with Delia in the sun."
Amy saw the pair leave, she followed them out. "Are you all right, Ben? You look rather pale."
He leaned on the garden wall, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "I'm all right now, thanks. There
was something about the atmosphere in there. Don't know what it was, but I didn't like it."
She patted his hand. "There's no need to go back in if you don't want to. We'll stay out here and let the others
talk to the sergeant.
"You're a strange one, Ben, not like anyone in the village, and certainly not like me or my brother. I hope you
don't mind me asking, but where were you born? What other places have you lived in, before you came here?"
Avoiding the girl's face, he looked off into the distance. "I'd like to tell you, Amy ... but.. ."
She watched her friend's fathomless blue eyes cloud over. It was like looking at a faraway sea when a storm
broods over it. Without knowing why, a wave of pity for the strange boy swept through her mind. "Ben ... I'm sorry."
When he turned and looked at her, his eyes were clear, and the color had returned to his cheeks. Best of all, he
was giving her the smile she had come to like so much.
"You've no cause to be sorry. You're my friend, that's what counts."
The old ship's carpenter provided most of the story, but Patterson let his gaze rove from Alex to Eileen, to Will,
Mr. Braithwaite, and Mr. Mackay, as they put in their contributions to the intriguing narrative.
The sergeant sat gazing into the dregs of his mug before speaking. "Ah was posted tae this village four years
ago, as ye know. 'Tis a grand wee place. Ah've come tae like it fine. But tomorrow modern progress is due tae move
in here. Och, they cannae turn us out of the police station, 'tis Crown property ye ken. Though who in their right mind
would want tae stay here, amid a dusty great quarry an' cement factory?
"Judmann's auld now, he'll take his pension an' move. As for me, och, I'll prob'ly put in tor transfer tae another
post. Though 'twill sair grieve me to go. Friends, if ah can help ye in any way, then ah will. D'ye want tae take a look
'round the auld hangin' ground out back, eh? Then be mah guest!"
Jon was like a big child on a Sunday school outing. He dashed out of the station, rubbing his large, tattooed
hands together gleefully, calling to Amy and Ben. "Come on, mates, away boat's crew! We've got permission to
search around the back—in fact, we've got the sergeant's blessing!"
His two young friends seemed glad, but not overim-pressed. "You go, mate, we'll go around the outside of the
building. See you there later."
The ex-ship's carpenter's craggy face showed concern. He ruffled the boy's tow-colored hair. "D'you feel all
right, son?"
Ben managed a cheery grin. "Never felt better, shipmate!"
The old seaman stared oddly at the pair for a moment. "Righto, see you two 'round there, eh. Hah, look at Ned,
snoozin' away like an old grampus there!"
The black Labrador was curled up in the gig, asleep under the shade of a seat. Amy wrinkled her nose
sympathetically. "He's keeping Delia company, poor old boy. He must be tired in this heat—let him sleep."
36.
IT WAS SHADY TO THE POINT OF BEING gloomy in the walled courtyard at the back of the police station.
The wall enclosing the ancient execution site was over twelve feet high, totally covered by dark green clinging ivy,
giving the impression it was built of vegetation and not limestone. It had a heavy timber door for access to the outside,
the wood layered with countless coats of dark blue paint. Jon had to work vigorously on the rusty latch and bolts until
the door creaked open to admit the two friends.
The feeling of dread Ben had experienced about the station returned, much stronger this time. He had an urge to
run a mile from the drear, forbidding place. However, the presence of the girl at his side and the sight of Eileen, the
policeman, and the rest of his companions was reassuring. Bracing himself, he strode in over the moss-grown cobbles.
Sergeant Patterson was addressing the party.
"Ah'm afraid the history of this auld place is a mystery tae me. When a
h first arrived here, I discovered that
damp an' mildew had ruined the auld records. My orders were tae clean up the station, so ah made a grand wee bonfire
o' the soggy documents. Och, ye should've seen Constable Judmann's face.
He never spoke tae me for a fortnight. Mr. Mackay, will ye read out yon poem again, sir?"
The lawyer donned his pince-nez and coughed officiously.
" 'Twould seem at the wicked's fate
that bell ne'er made a sound,
yet the death knell tolled aloud
for those who danced around.
The carrion crow doth perch above,
light bearers 'neath the ground."
Braithwaite shrugged apologetically. "So, er, as you see, Sergeant, we're searching for, hmmm, a gibbet. That is,
er, a hanging place, as it were. Hmm, yes, very good."
Eileen shuddered, rubbing at her upper arms nervously. "Well, I don't see any sign of where they 'anged folk.
Brrr! I feels it, though. Ma would, too, if she were 'ere!"
The dairyman nodded his agreement as he took stock of the courtyard.
An indefinable air of doom did seem to hang over the place. Snails and slugs had left their glistening silver
trails over a border of smooth limestone blocks, which separated a garden area running around the walls on three sides.
The soil was mainly clay, oozing damp. A few straggling shrubs were struggling to survive, overhung by a sickly
laburnum and two purple rhododendrons. The whole atmosphere was hemmed in, dark and claustrophobic, eerie and
silent.
The sergeant smiled wanly. "Nae much tae look at, is it? 'Twas over a hundred years since the last man was
hanged here. Ah took a glance at the auld records before burnin' them.
All written in curly, auld-fashioned script, an' very hard tae decipher. Here now, young Somers, d'ye ken how
they used tae execute murderers?"
Alex shook his head dumbly, swallowing hard at the thought.
Patterson explained the process, his Scottish brogue severe as he told of the manner in which legal sentence was
carried out. "Weel now, a magistrate, priest, sergeant, an' constable had tae be present, an' the auld hangman, o' course.
Yon door, the one Jon opened, they let the public in through there tae watch—as an example of what happened tae
criminals an' evildoers. Then the condemned man was brought out in chains, from the holdin' cell.
"Aye, 'twas a terrible ceremony. The shiverin' wretch was made tae stand on a box 'neath the gallows tree, while
the hangman put the noose 'round his neck. That was when the magistrate read out the death sentence, then he stood
aside for the priest tae pray with the condemned man. When the reverend was finished, they usually allowed the man
tae say a word tae everyone watchin'. The doomed man'd tell them what a wicked fellow he'd been, an' how sorry he
was tae suffer the penalty for his crimes. He'd then tell everyone tae live good lives an' profit from the sight of his
punishment.
"When all that was over with, the magistrate tipped the hangman a nod, the executioner kicked the box from
under the unfortunate wretch, an' the deed was done!"
Amy clapped both hands over her eyes as if she had witnessed it. "Ugh! It sounds so horrid and cruel!"
Eileen placed an arm about the girl's shoulders. "Indeed it was, my dear. From what I've read, it was quite
primitive in small villages . . . they never died instantly. I suppose that's why the poem says they danced around.
Sometimes it took as long as ten minutes before their legs stopped kicking. What a dreadful sight. I can't think why
folks wanted to watch!"
Will clapped his hands, breaking the spell. "Enough of all this! Let's get searching, friends. Is there a gibbet,
tree, or post around here? If there isn't, we're stumped!"
37.
LOUD BARKING AND SCRATCHING ON THE yard door sent Jon hurrying to open it. The big, black
Labrador dashed in and straight across to his master. Nobody had noticed the towheaded boy not taking part in the
discussion. He had quietly sat on the step of the station house. That was where he now slumped in a faint. The dog
licked his master's face furiously, transmitting thoughts. "Ben, Ben, wake up, pal. Open your eyes. Oh, please!"
Jon sat down on the step and took the boy's head in his lap. Eileen bustled past and returned with a mug of cold
water and a damp cloth, which she applied to the strange boy's forehead, while Jon patted his cheek lightly,
murmuring, "Come on, me old shipmate."
Ben's eyelids fluttered, then he came around. Amy seized his hand and rubbed it. "Jon, get him out of here. It's
this place that's caused him to faint, I know it is!"
Ben pointed to the corner of the garden, right by the angle of the wall. "No ... wait... it's there!" Struggling from
Jon's grasp, he made his way over to the corner, with the girl still holding his hand. He made a mark in the soil with
his heel. "Here ... dig here!"
Leaning on his dog and holding on to Amy, with Alex hovering anxiously behind, Ben allowed himself to be
led outside.
Eileen followed out with the glass of water, and found them seated on the pathside by Delia. "Good 'eavens, you
poor lad. What 'appened in there?"
Ben took a sip of water and began feeling better. "I felt dreadful when I walked into the yard, so I sat on the step.
Couldn't trust my legs to hold me up. It was while the sergeant was talking, all that stuff about how they used to hang
murderers. I suddenly felt myself drawn to look at the corner of the garden. There was a dark shape there. I found I
couldn't stop staring at it, and the longer I gazed, the clearer it became..."
The younger boy shuddered and cried out shrilly. "What was it, Ben?"
"It was a man, dressed in tattered, olden-day clothes, chains around his hands and ankles. He was hovering
about two feet from the ground, neck all on one side, his face horribly twisted, tongue sticking out. He was kicking as
if he was dancing a silly jig. The man was looking straight at me. His hands kept twitching and pointing down to the
ground beneath his feet. . . I've never seen anything so horrible. That must have been when I passed out."
He stroked Ned, leaning his head against the dog's neck. "Good old boy, you were the one who rescued me. I
felt you coming to me, barking from far off."
Eileen clapped a hand to her cheek in wonderment. "You felt that, Ben? But how did the dog know?"
Before he could answer, Jon's voice rang clear over the wall to where they were sitting. "We found it. Here 'tis,
lad, we're comin' out!"
Will and Jon came running, waving their spades, followed by Mr. Mackay and Mr. Braithwaite, their clothing
stained with soil and clay, bearing between them a bright green bucket. Sergeant Patterson was bent double,
supporting the bottom lest it burst and fall. They flopped down on the grass with Ben, and he touched the object.
"What is it?"
Sergeant Patterson passed a forearm across his brow. "Och! "Tis heavy, that's what it is. Auld bronze pail, either
bronze or copper. See how green it is? Must've been very thick, because it's only gone through in one or two places.
Ye'd be surprised at the weight of it!"
Amy chuckled. "Probably because it's filled with tallow."
Will lifted the pail and turned it upside down on the grass. "Well, we'll soon see. Loosen it off, Jon."
The old seaman began hitting it gently with the side of his spade, all around the sides. He tapped the pail's
bottom sharply and lifted it off, just like a child making sandpies with a
bucket at the seaside. The solid tallow wax
was dark and dirty from soil and clay leaking into it.
Will spoke to the sergeant. "Have you got a big knife? Jon's old clasp knife ain't big enough to slice through this
lot."
The sergeant hurried into the station house and was soon back with a large, fearsome-looking blade.
"Russian Crimean War bayonet, a souvenir brought back by Private Judmann. Ye should hear the tales he tells
of how he came by it, a different one each time!"
The bayonet was more than adequate. In Jon's capable hands it sliced through the tallow, until he brought forth
two slender objects with heavy, spreading bases, still caked with the stuff.
Mr. Mackay identified them immediately. " 'Light bearers 'neath the ground.' A pair of candlesticks!"
The three young friends searched through the shorn-off tallow, Mr. Braithwaite hovering anxiously around
them.
"No, er, sign of any, er, further clues, scraps of, er, er, parchment and so forth?"
Amy looked up. "None, sir. Maybe the next clue is scratched on the bottom of the candlesticks, same as the
cross."
Jon handed the candlesticks to the sergeant. "Put these in a basin of hot water. It'll clean 'em off, then we can
take a proper look."
Mr. Braithwaite followed Sergeant Patterson into the station house, his dusty black scholar's gown flapping.
"Very good, very good, go, er, careful now, Officer. Don't, er, drop them. Precious objects, yes, er, precious indeed!"
When cleaned up in soap and hot water, the candlesticks were things of great beauty, gold-fluted columns
spreading to broad elegant bases, each of which was inset with three of the bloodred, pigeon-egg rubies, to
complement the chalice and crucifix. Mr. Braithwaite was ecstatic, running his fingertips over the fine Byzantine
tracery patterned onto the heavy gold pieces. However, when he looked at the bases of both candlesticks, they were
smooth and untouched by any messages scratched on either one.
The only noise in the still midday air came from Delia's hoof as she struck it against the ground. The six sat
staring at the treasure of St. Matthew glittering in the sun, the rubies shining as if they were afire.
Ben broke the silence by announcing to his crestfallen friends, "Listen, we can sit here all day looking at the
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