The screen and projector were still set up in the same positions they had been occupying for the last several days. The two men ate and drank, lapsing into silence, as they both sat staring at the empty screen wondering whether they needed to watch the two films yet again and, if so, whether they could stand to do so. Matthew, especially, was sure that he could now recite the entire contents of each by heart.
The screen was standing against the one wall of the library which was not lined from floor to ceiling with books. Charles found himself looking beyond the screen to this wall, covered with traditional oak panelling and all those portraits in their oval shaped frames. On impulse, he rose from his chair, crossed the room and began to walk along this gallery of the great and the good. Something was trying to surface from his subconscious mind. After years as a practising solicitor he had grown to recognise the feeling. But what was it? Some detail in one of these portraits? Or was it perhaps something from one of the landscapes they had seen earlier? Maybe his brain was at last starting to piece together some hitherto unrecognised clues from Lord Alfred's films. He frowned, aware that some subliminal thought process was taking place but unable to formulate it fully, just at the moment. He walked along the rows of portraits again, on full mental alert. Here was a picture of Shakespeare. There was one of Robert Burns, and another showing William Wordsworth...and then he saw it.
"Matthew," he said, quietly. "Come and look at this."
"What is it?"
"Have a look at all these portraits. Do you see anything unusual?"
Matthew looked. "Nothing springs to mind."
"Which one would you say is the odd one out?"
"They're all pretty much the same. Oh, hang on a moment; I suppose that one's slightly different. It has a background."
And that was the crucial detail.
With this one exception, all the portraits had a dark coloured nondescript brown-grey background; but this one was different.
"The one with the scenic background," explained Charles, is a portrait of our friend, Shelley."
He looked up, sharply. "Ok, you have my attention."
"Look at it, Matthew. Don't you see what I see?"
He looked back at the face of Shelley staring impassively from the frame, and moved closer.
Then he gasped, speaking softly. "This is an old portrait," he whispered, "but I do believe that the background was added only recently."
"I think so too, but why?"
"How am I supposed to know?"
"For crying out loud, Matthew, look at it! Doesn't it strike you as being rather familiar?"
He looked again...and his mouth fell open as realisation dawned.
Lord Alfred had given them a poem entitled 'Shelley's Grave.' Here was a portrait of Shelley with a recently added background. This new background showed, of all things, a cemetery; one which they both knew about - the very one which was only a short distance away from where they now stood.
"He added a picture of Heston Grange cemetery into the background of the portrait," said Matthew, suddenly full of excitement.
"Yes, but look again. What else can you see?"
As Matthew pondered, Charles could no longer contain himself; he reached out an excited finger and pointed.
Among the various graves now familiar to them both, this newly added detail also showed a large flat white slab embedded into the ground. It was overshadowed with cypress trees.
"The sun bleached stone?" asked Matthew.
"I'd put money on it. We didn't see it before because it's hidden under all those creepers and brambles!"
"Do you fancy exploring some tombs?"
"I thought you'd never ask. Let's go!”
Chapter 17
This time Charles and Matthew all but sprinted to the cemetery, roughly throwing open the gate and rushing inside in a manner which was quite the opposite of that adopted by most visitors to such places. Walking slowly back and forth, they carefully picked their way over the tangle of vines and branches. Taking the relative positions of the various graves into account, they eventually made an estimation as to where the crucial sun-bleached stone was likely to be concealed. The corner of the cemetery housed an old wooden shed, virtually hidden from view behind a straggling privet hedge. This shed was found to contain a selection of gardening implements which had certainly seen better days. Charles and Matthew returned, each armed with a rusty rake, with which they began to pull at the overgrown vegetation. Dozens of insects went scurrying away as their homes were ransacked, and clouds of spores and seed heads became airborne, lodging in their hair and clothing, but they paid no attention. It was but the work of a few seconds before a white stone began to appear beneath the numerous layers of old leaves and twigs. There was no need to speak. They moved and acted as one man, and soon the entire white rectangle was uncovered. They paused and stood, gardening tools still in hand, gazing down at it.
A plain, white slab.
Nothing else.
No cryptic poem this time.
"I was expecting it to have had some sort of inscription," said Charles.
"I don't want to be the one to spoil the party," said Matthew, "but do we know for certain that this is the stone we're looking for? There could be others hidden beneath all this rubbish."
They turned and surveyed the graveyard and it was immediately apparent that to clear the whole site would be a mammoth task.
"But we both saw the painting. This must be the right place. Look where the cypress trees are."
Matthew had to agree that this did seem to be the correct location.
Charles spoke again. "Alright, let's assume for a moment that we have uncovered the same stone that we saw in the portrait. It would appear, however, that there is no message waiting for us here. So what should we be looking for instead?"
"I hope we're not expected to go hunting for something underneath it. It must weigh a ton!"
Suddenly, Charles dropped his rake. His arms hung loosely at his sides and he stared straight ahead into mid-air.
"Are you ok?" asked Matthew.
"Could it really be that simple?" Charles murmured.
"What do you mean?"
"However unwittingly, you may well have hit the proverbial nail squarely on the head."
"In what way?"
"If there is something underneath this slab, given that we are standing in a cemetery, what might it be?"
"Well, I would hope it would be that wretched sapphire!"
Charles shook his head. "Not quite yet, I think. Matthew, what are cemeteries for?"
"Oh, I have no idea. Might they sometimes be used for burying dead people?"
"Are dead people ever put anywhere else?"
"Yes, there's the crematorium although I don't see many of those nearby. Sometimes they'll be entombed in a mausoleum, or perhaps a crypt."
Charles smiled.
"In both films, Lord Alfred has been constantly referring to the cryptic lines," he said. "I wonder if what he meant was literally 'crypt-ic'?"
"Are you suggesting that there might be an actual crypt underneath this stone?"
Charles picked up his rake, held it with its metal comb uppermost, and brought the wooden handle down onto the stone with a sharp crack. The dull thud which they would have expected did not occur. What they actually heard was a resonant, hollow sound.
"You have any better ideas?"
"Now that you mention it, no I don't.
Matthew ran back to the old wooden shed and returned with a couple of shovels and pickaxes. Charles examined the edge of the stone carefully, looking for any indication that would suggest how they should try to lift it.
"I think it'll just have to be trial and error," he said.
They each pushed the sharp edge of a pickaxe into the turf immediately adjoining the edge of the stone, working it downwards, then pulling back on the handle to try and gain purchase underneath the slab itself. As they applied leverage, the stone began to give, and they heard the earthy s
ound of soil and turf starting to separate.
"It's working!" shouted Matthew. The slab was lifting, albeit reluctantly.
They heaved and strained, through gritted teeth. It wasn't just a little heavy; it was seriously weighty. As the angle of the stone increased, beads of sweat fell from their foreheads. Charles thought he was going to faint.
"Keep going!" Matthew yelled.
Charles shut his eyes and summoned all his strength.
"We'll do a big pull on three!"
With the sinews in his neck clearly outlined, Charles managed the smallest of nods to show that he understood.
"One!....Two!....THREEEEE!!"
They both let out a roar, and pulled on their pickaxe handles with every ounce of effort they could muster. The stone slab reached the vertical, teetered for a moment, then fell over completely, landing on a mound of tangled branches. There was the sound of dry wood snapping as the stone came to rest, but neither Charles nor Matthew noticed. They stood transfixed, their attention held by the narrow flight of stone steps descending into the ground. Scarcely able to contain himself, Charles spoke a line from the poem, 'Here doth the little night owl make her home'. At the same moment, he pointed down at the first step. There, clearly engraved in the surface, was the carving of an owl.
Chapter 18
The stairs were extremely narrow. Matthew led the way down but had to turn almost sideways to avoid brushing against the sides of the passageway. Where the steps ended there was an arched opening with a tunnel disappearing into the gloom and it was immediately apparent that they would need to fetch a torch. Charles went running back to the house but when he returned a few minutes later Matthew was nowhere to be seen.
"Matthew?" he called. He began to descend the steps and shouted into the darkness, "Matthew?"
There was the sound of some coughing and spluttering, and Matthew emerged from the dark tunnel, brushing brick dust from his clothes.
"I was too excited to wait for you," he grinned, "so I thought I'd explore the tunnel on my own."
"Did you find anything?"
"No, it's too dark. Once you get inside, after a short distance the passageway turns a corner and there appears to be something blocking the way, but I couldn't tell what it was without the torch."
"Well, now we have the torch so let's take a look."
They began their descent and eased their way somewhat gingerly into the tunnel. As Matthew had said, the passageway soon turned a sharp right and then as Matthew shone the torch they realised that blocking their way was a closed wooden door. Matthew passed the torch back to Charles who, in the confined space, had to duck and weave to keep it trained on the door since Matthew was occupying the whole width of the narrow passage. Matthew turned the knob and pushed. It remained closed but it felt jammed rather than locked.
"I think that perhaps the door has absorbed moisture and expanded," said Matthew.
He pushed again, and then put his shoulder to it. At last, after several attempts with an increasing amount of brute force each time, the door finally admitted defeat and opened reluctantly with much creaking and the sound of wood scraping and splintering against the stone floor.
Moving slowly and cautiously, Matthew and Charles stepped inside. They were met with a blast of cold, salty air and became aware that the sound of the sea could once again be heard, somehow echoing from somewhere within the dark cavern.
Charles had been right; this was, indeed, a crypt.
Fortunately, as the beam of light from the torch swung left and right they discovered a dangling string which, when it was pulled, switched on a couple of rather dim light bulbs. As they looked about them, with everything bathed in this somewhat surreal glow, it became clear that this was quite a large underground chamber with a variety of passages leading from it. One, in particular, was the source of an icy draught and, to judge from the distant crashing sound which came from it, possibly led straight to the sea. Long years ago, numerous alcoves had been built into the walls and each now contained a coffin. Some of these were obviously very old indeed.
Despite the noise of the waves in the distance the place possessed a certain stillness, but the feeling of decay was unmistakable, and those areas which had once displayed some handsome blue paintwork were now, little by little, flaking and crumbling away as the ravages of time took their toll.
"the blue cavern of an echoing deep," said Matthew, quietly. "Surely we must be very close to journey's end now."
As they had been moving around the crypt, Charles had noticed that some of the brickwork displayed elaborate carvings. In particular, each alcove had an animal engraved immediately above it. This one was a tiger; over there was a fish of some sort; and that one was an eagle, among numerous others.
"It would appear that we're supposed to become grave robbers," he said.
"You're surely not telling me we should be opening all these coffins," Matthew answered.
"Not all of them, no; just this one." He pointed to the alcove at the end of the crypt.
"Why that one, especially?"
Charles pointed to the animal which was carved into the apex of the arch above it, and said "the slight lizard show his jewelled head."
Sure enough, the stone-carved creature was definitely a lizard, but both Charles and Matthew hesitated as they stood staring into the alcove and down at the coffin lid.
"Are we really going to do this?" Charles asked.
"If the sapphire really is inside that box we don't have any choice."
"But it might not be; like you said before, there might be just another roll of film waiting for us."
"That still doesn't give us any choice."
"True."
They knew they were going to break open the coffin. But still they hesitated.
"I can't believe that we're really contemplating this; it's like a scene from a Dracula movie."
"Do you think the lid will be nailed down?"
"Who knows? Only one way to find out."
A further hesitation.
"Let's not forget that there is a time limit to this whole ridiculous business," said Matthew, which was as much to increase his own fortitude as it was to encourage Charles to take action.
They each took a deep breath and, without another word, they took up positions at opposite sides of the alcove. Reaching inside, they carefully manoeuvred the heavy coffin towards the edge, inch by painstaking inch. Then, grasping one of the old brass handles fastened to each end, they gently lowered the casket to the floor. They then crouched and placed their fingers beneath the wooden rim which ran round the edge of the coffin. They looked at each other from their respective ends, hesitated for just one moment longer, summoned all their nerve, then nodded and suddenly stood up, bringing the coffin lid with them. Steeling themselves for a putrid stench and the sight of decaying flesh they lifted the lid and moved it sideways - and all but dropped it on the floor in surprise.
The coffin was completely empty.
Empty, that is, except for a small pouch made from thin black fabric laying serenely in the centre. Matthew immediately grabbed it and looked inside. Letting out a hopeful yelp he put his hand into the small bag and pulled out a small velvet-covered box. Charles stepped closer as Matthew slowly opened the lid.
And there, at long last, was the sapphire!
"Yes!" screamed Matthew. "Yes! YES!" His voice rang exultantly round the stone chamber.
Charles reached out his hand. "Let me see it."
He lifted it carefully from its container and held it up to the light. The gem was perfect. Even in this dim light its beautifully crafted facets both reflected and refracted the light in a way that was truly mesmerising. We’ve done it, he thought to himself. We’ve actually gone and done it! He heaved a sigh of relief and felt a rush of exhaustion suddenly descend upon him. There was nowhere to sit down, apart from either on the floor covered with stone dust, or on the edge of the alcove where the coffin had been. He opted for the latter.
Meanwhile, Matthew had reached into the black pouch again and this time pulled out a piece of folded paper. Written on Lord Alfred's personal stationery, bearing his coat of arms, and in the same cursive script which had provided them with that vital first clue several days ago, was a message:
"Congratulations, whoever you are. The fact that you are reading this message means that you have correctly solved the trail which I laid for you. Contact my lawyer, whose details are below, and all the necessary arrangements will be made. My final request is this: Please, please use the money wisely."
Still sitting down, Charles gave a small laugh. "Well, it seems that we need to go and make a certain phone call." He reached forward to shake Matthew's hand.
"Not quite yet," said Matthew.
Charles looked surprised. "Why ever not? We've found the sapphire and solved the mystery."
"We need to have a little chat first."
Charles felt a cold shiver go through him. There was a steely edge in Matthew's voice which he hadn't heard before. He tried to retain a measured tone and said, "What's on your mind, Matthew?"
Matthew spoke in a slightly higher pitch now, and his eyes were a little glazed. "I've got debts, Charles; big ones. And the fact is, as I'm sure you would agree, that I am the rightful heir to my father's estate. How about if we went, say 80-20?"
In the same calm voice, Charles replied, "Matthew, we made an agreement. I do hope you're not going to try and change its terms now."
"But it should all be mine, shouldn't it? I'm his son. His son! I could go to 75-25 but that's my final offer. I need the money, Charles."
"Your father's fortune is so vast that even receiving half of it will set you up for life. If we hadn't made our agreement there is every chance that I might've found the sapphire ahead of you and then you would've received nothing."
"Oh yes, you're right. Poor little Matthew could never achieve anything on his own. Poor little Matthew always had to have someone to hold his little hand. Poor little Matthew always had to go running to Daddy for help!"
The Cryptic Lines Page 10