The Cryptic Lines

by Richard Storry

  "There now," she said.

  It took a moment for their eyes to adjust but, after a few seconds, as they peered into the gloom they were able to just about make out the shape of an old wooden door set back in an alcove in the brick wall. Meg reached out, all but snatched the bunch of keys and pushed the large iron one into the keyhole. There was a satisfying click as the door was unlocked.

  "Told you so," she crowed.

  "Meg," began Charles, as calmly as he could, "it's really very kind of you to bring us down here but-"

  "Oh, don't patronise me!" she snapped, in a rare moment of lucidity. "Do you want to get into my old room or not?"

  "Well...yes. Yes, of course we do."

  "Well then," and she pointed towards the door, "there's your way in."

  Charles glanced with Matthew in the semi-gloom then reached forward and opened the door. It swung inwards noisily on hinges that desperately needed oiling.

  "You'll be needing that," said Meg.

  They turned and saw her pointing to a shelf a few feet away, on which lay a large battery-operated torch. Charles nodded and picked it up. Pointing it into the darkness he switched it on. The light from the torch revealed a short brick-walled passageway which opened up, after a few feet, into what appeared to be an extensive catacomb. They both gasped in amazement. Although Charles swung the beam of light left and right he was unable to gauge the extent of this vast underground cavern. Pillars supporting the vaulted ceiling stretched away from them in all directions.

  Meg called after them, "you'll be alright as long as you walk in a straight line, it's not really very far...at least, I don't think it is...oh, I can't really remember. You need to be on the lookout for a staircase on the far side. Shall I put the kettle on for when you come back?"

  The floor of the catacomb was damp and slippery. Water dripped from the ceiling and moss grew on many of the supporting columns. With only the light from the torch to guide them, Charles and Matthew edged forward cautiously, shivering each time another icy droplet fell and began to trickle down their necks.

  "Do you really think we're going to find what we're looking for down here?" asked Matthew.

  "To be honest, I'm not sure, but for a change Meg seemed pretty convinced that this was the way we needed to go. In any case, just at the moment I don't really have any alternative suggestions. Do you?" Matthew didn't reply. "And anyway," Charles continued, "You should look at this as an educational experience. How often do people ever get the chance to examine such a splendid piece of underground architecture?"

  Matthew snorted and they continued their trudge further into the gloom.

  Back in Heston Grange, meanwhile, James and Mrs Gillcarey were taking a well earned tea-break before resuming their duties.

  "How do you think they're getting on?" asked Mrs Gillcarey.

  James took a long gulp of tea. "They are making some progress," he said, "but Mr Seymour told me that at one point he thought he might have heard some rats behind a wall in the library."

  Mrs Gillcarey looked at him over the top of her steaming mug and giggled.

  After a while, Charles asked, "How far would you say it was when we walked from the house to the lodge?"

  "I was just wondering the same thing. Surely we ought to be at least close by now."

  "This place is vast! Why would anyone build an underground chamber like this?"

  "Well, the sea is close by. Maybe it was used by smugglers in times past."

  At length, the torchlight revealed that they were approaching another brick wall. Shining the light along its length they spotted an opening about thirty feet to the right. Their attempt at walking in a straight line through the darkness hadn't been too badly judged. The opening was, in fact, another short passageway, much like the one through which they had entered. After a few feet they found themselves standing at the bottom of a flight of spiral stone steps. Charles shone the torch into the gloom, but could only see the first few steps before the staircase curved away from view.

  "I suppose these must be the steps Meg told us about."

  "Unless there are other staircases out there in the dark?"

  "Don't even think about it. Come on."

  They had to tread carefully; the steps were eroded and uneven, so they were forced to ascend slowly. Not only that, but the staircase proved to be a high one. Eventually, their progress was blocked by what appeared to be a trapdoor above them.

  "Could this be our journey's end?" wondered Charles aloud as he shone the light upwards.

  "One way to find out," said Matthew. "Can you push it open?"

  Charles handed the torch to down to Matthew and, with both hands now free, placed his palms against the flat surface above and pushed. Remarkably, it opened quite easily, swinging upwards and away from them on its hinges, reaching a resting position at just past ninety degrees. Without any further word being spoken both men quickly scrambled up and into the darkness beyond.

  The illumination from the torch revealed a light switch on the wall and, a moment later, through blinking eyes they saw what they guessed must be the inside of the secret room. All those steps had brought them up to the top floor, under the eaves, so the most immediately eye-catching feature of the room was its shape. The walls sloped inwards, all meeting at a central point and looking rather like-

  "It's like the inside of a pyramid!" exclaimed Charles. "What were the words of that poem?

  "In the still chamber of yon pyramid

  Surely some Old-world Sphinx lurks deeply hid."

  "We must be on the right track then," said Matthew. "Meg was right about the key after all. Do you suppose there's a sphinx of some sort hidden somewhere in here?"

  "I presume so, and I guess we need to find it."

  The room appeared to contain nothing, except for two items. The first was a large wooden chest placed across one of the room's corners. They stood looking at it for a moment.

  "Do you suppose a sphinx might be hiding in there?" asked Charles.

  Expecting it to be locked they were delighted to find that it was not, but opening the lid revealed nothing; it was just an empty chest.

  "Somehow, I knew it was never going to be that easy," Matthew grumbled.

  The second item was a small key which was hanging on a hook by a door. The key fitted the lock and the door opened into the dark corridor where the two of them had stood just a short time ago.

  "So not an entirely wasted trip," said Charles, a little sarcastically, "At least we've managed to find the key."

  "The poem said that the sphinx was hidden deeply," said Matthew. "Might that mean it's under the floor?"

  They began to examine the bare floorboards to see if there was any suggestion of some sort of concealed cavity beneath but, again, their search proved fruitless.

  Matthew's feelings of frustration were starting to rise again.

  "Damn!" he shouted. "So what are we supposed to do now?"

  Charles didn't respond. He was thinking. After a long moment he spoke.

  "I wonder how long ago Lord Alfred created this little treasure hunt?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, if he made the film while this room was still occupied by Meg, then the sphinx in the poem could well have been something that was here in this room at that time. He wouldn't necessarily have spent time re-thinking all his carefully constructed clues just because a maid left his employment."

  "Are you suggesting that we need to search through that mountain of packing cases in Meg's cellar?"

  "We can hardly just go rifling through all her personal possessions. I mean, at least one of us wouldn't be comfortable with doing that; but I think we at least ought to go and have another talk with her."

  Matthew sighed. "Oh, goody goody. I can hardly wait."

  Chapter 10

  "But why?" Meg was asking. "Haven't you got better things to do than spend time looking for something like that? I've already told you it's worthless. It only holds sentimental value."


  It wasn't that Charles was unwilling to explain the situation; he just knew that he wouldn't be understood. Once again sitting in Meg's small parlour, it occurred to Charles that trying to get the required information from Meg was rather like it had been in the old days trying to find out train information from a branch line ticket office.

  "Meg," he tried again. "I am Lord Alfred's solicitor and in order that I can correctly settle his estate, according to his wishes, it is of the utmost importance that I find that missing sphinx. Can you tell us anything about it? Please."

  "Why isn't James here? I thought you said he was going to visit me."

  "As soon as I see him I will tell him."

  "Thank you."

  Another pause.

  "Well...?"

  "Well what?"

  Matthew interrupted. "The sphinx, Meg! Where is it?"

  "There's no need to shout. I'm not deaf, you know."

  Motioning for Matthew to be silent, Charles spoke again, more softly. "Please, Meg. The sphinx?"

  "Ah yes, the sphinx. Do you know where I got it? Many years ago, Lord and Lady Willoughby went for a holiday in the country and asked me to go along, to help look after them - not that I had any choice in the matter, naturally; a good servant knows their station in life, that's what James always says. Oh, I do wish he’d come. Anyway, one afternoon, Lady Willoughby wanted to take a nap, so Lord Willoughby and I went out walking by ourselves."

  Meg paused, her gaze fixed on nothing in particular. Nothing, that is, except the memories in her mind at that moment.

  "It just so happened that we came upon a country fair with all manner of stalls and sideshows. One of the stalls was selling something called 'do-it-yourself' sculptures. They weren't real sculptures, of course. You paid your money, selected a mould and filled it with plaster. Then they put it in some sort of oven and when you came back a little while later they peeled off the mould and there you were, feeling like Michaelangelo, with a little memento of your day to take home."

  "So what happened?"

  "Well, being in holiday mood, Lord Willoughby decided he'd like to have a go at this - he was quite an accomplished artist, you know? - and he asked me to choose a mould. There were lots to choose from, but in the end I chose the sphinx. When we collected the finished model later he gave it to me as a present."

  "That's a lovely story, Meg."

  "Where is it now?" asked Matthew.

  "Where's what?"

  "The sphinx!" Matthew was once again coming close to losing his temper.

  "Oh, you do keep going on about it! Where's James?"

  With a practised calmness in his voice, Charles asked, "Meg, is the sphinx in one of those packing cases in the cellar?"

  "Of course it isn't. Why would I put it down there?"

  "Did you leave it somewhere back at the manor?"

  "No."

  "Ok...well...did you put it in this room?"

  "Yes."

  Charles and Matthew were startled by this revelation and both looked round. There were ornaments aplenty throughout the room - on shelves, on the mantlepiece, on the window sill, even on top of the curtain pelmet...but none of them looked like a sphinx.

  "Where, Meg? We can't see where you put it."

  She gave a little smile and pointed to a low table in the corner, laden with knick-knacks and curios. In the centre was what looked like a jewelry box.

  "I put it in there."

  Matthew crossed the room in a single bound and picked up the box. Opening the lid he found that it was stuffed with many folds of thin black fabric, and it was clear from the indentations that something that was probably fragile had been kept inside, with the fabric used as cushioning. But whatever it had been was no longer there. Aside from the black material the box was empty.

  "Oh dear," said Meg. "Is it not there after all?"

  Matthew gave a cry of exasperation and dropped the box onto a chair.

  "Temper, temper, young man," muttered Meg, then gave one of her little-old-lady chuckles. Turning to Charles, she said, "I do so wish James was here. I like you, you know."

  "I like you too, Meg."

  "Now, don't you patronise me, young man. I may be a servant but that doesn't mean I don't have a brain. You asked me if I put the sphinx in this room and I did." She smiled. "But later I moved it to somewhere else. I was about to tell you, but with the way you two have been shouting and carrying on I thought you needed to be taught a lesson."

  There was a pause, while Meg regarded her two visitors with a stern stare as though they were naughty schoolboys.

  "Well?" she asked.

  "Well what?"

  She rolled her eyes skyward. "Have you learnt your lesson?"

  "Yes, Meg, we have and we're both very sorry - we're sorry, aren't we Matthew?"

  "Oh...er...yeah. We're sorry." They both did their level best to appear suitably penitent.

  "Hmm...well, just so long as you really are." She paused again, then seemed to reach a conclusion. "Very well then. The model you're looking for, which used to occupy that box, you'll now find on my bedside table in the other room, but please be careful with it."

  Matthew was already on his way but Charles stopped him and indicated that he would fetch it, which he did in a manner which he hoped would appear a little less hasty. Returning to the room a few moments later he had a satisfied expression on his face as he carefully cradled the all-important and elusive sphinx. It was made of white plaster and, as he turned it over in his hands, a message came into view inscribed in the base:

  To M. My tribute to Oscar's best. Love, A.

  Meg was smiling wistfully again.

  "When the stallholder passed the sphinx to Lord Alfred he warned him that the plaster would still be just a little soft. That was when His Lordship picked up a little piece of twig from the ground and wrote that message for me into the base. I felt so honoured; I mean...a personal message from Lord Alfred to me!"

  "What did he mean by 'Oscar's best'?" asked Charles.

  "I'm not sure. I did ask him, but he just smiled and said I would probably figure it out one day. I wondered whether perhaps it was something to do with the film award ceremony. Lord Alfred was well connected in those days and he so loved mixing with all those fine folk from the silver screen. What did you say your name was?"

  "Charles. I'm Charles, and this is Matthew, Lord Alfred's son."

  "Oh, I thought James was coming."

  "Meg, we have to go now. Would it be alright if we borrowed the sphinx, just for a little while? We'll bring it back just as soon as our work is finished."

  "Must you take it? I'm really very fond of it."

  "We'll take great care of it, Meg. I promise."

  "Very well, but please bring it back safely. I'm sure James would be happy to bring it back, if you asked him."

  "Thank you. You have been very helpful," said Charles, as he placed the model carefully back into its fabric-lined box..

  A moment later found Charles and Matthew standing on the short pathway leading to the gate in the white fence. The thunder had eased but the rain was heavier now, and it was decidedly chilly and almost dark.

  "A good job we brought the car this time," said Matthew, holding the box containing the sphinx.

  "True, but I think it may be about to run out of petrol."

  “Very funny”.

  They walked as briskly as possible through the splattering raindrops towards the car. Charles climbed into the driving seat and slammed the door as quickly as he could, to avoid the rainwater landing on the plush interior; but Matthew didn’t seem to care. After all, it wasn’t his car. Charles started the engine and the heavy vehicle began to move back towards the house.

  Chapter 11

  "I was beginning to wonder what had happened to you, sir," said James as he filled Charles' glass with a deep ruby Merlot from an exquisitely crafted decanter. As Charles received the glass, the flames from the hearth reflected and sparkled through the fruity liquid.


  Outside, the darkness of night had closed in and, somewhere deep below stairs, Mrs Gillcarey was busily putting the finishing touches to yet another of her home-cooked gastronomic delights.

  "That's kind of you, James. We went to pay Meg a visit at the Lodge."

  "Yes, sir, Mrs Gillcarey mentioned that she had spoken to you about her, so I guessed that to be where you probably were. Have you been able to make any progress with the...er...puzzle?"

  Matthew, sitting in a chair on the other side of the fireplace, spoke up.

  "Yes and no. We did manage to locate this, which we think may be significant." He held up the sphinx and it was immediately clear that James recognised it.

  "Dad mentioned a sphinx and a pyramid in his poem and we're confident that this is the sphinx he was referring to, but we're not quite sure how to progress from here."

  "It has been a fair while since I last saw that model, sir," said James. "I believe it was a gift to Meg from His Lordship."

  "Yes, that's correct, and she kindly agreed to lend it to us to help us solve the riddle," said Charles.

  "She always was a kindly soul," said James, and then he added, a little sadly, "Was she...quite well when you saw her?"

  "She was broadly coherent, but now and then her conversation would fly off at a tangent; and she kept saying she hoped you would visit her."

  The elderly butler nodded.

  "Yes, I do try to go and see her as often as my duties allow. I think that perhaps I should make a little more of an effort, but I find that her gradually worsening mental condition does distress me somewhat. She was always such a joy in years gone by."

  James turned away so as to keep Charles and Matthew from noticing as he dabbed a tear from the corner of his eye.

  There was quiet then, and all three men were lost in their own thoughts, gazing into the flames which danced and crackled cheerfully around the logs and red hot coals.