The Dark Water

by David Pirie

  He had kept it out of sight and now he held it aloft, waving it so that some of the letters and symbols were visible. Of course there was a small sensation in the room. Several people audibly gasped. Edward Norman clapped a hand to his mouth.

  ‘Now,’ said Bell, ‘what is this thing? A magic spell, a curse, a charm? Certainly it contains ancient runic symbols. And at first I assumed these would be impenetrable. Until I began to study the symbols more closely.

  ‘Let us look at the first.’

  I could just make out a diamond shape with continuing lines at the bottom. The Doctor pointed to it as he spoke: ‘I had a vague idea what it meant, but as it happened I purchased a book on witchcraft before I came here and it has been enormously useful, for it also contains a chapter on ancient runic symbols. We must first recall that, above all else, and whatever powerful superstitions have been attached to them, runic symbols are a language. And it turns out this first rune is one of the earliest, a Germanic rune standing for ownership. It is considered as the rune of ancestry and of the home and therefore of possessions in general. Considering the connection to this house, it seemed therefore wholly appropriate as the announcing rune of a document that had come into Jefford’s possession with his inheritance and might well be connected to that very inheritance.

  ‘I therefore moved eagerly to the next rune.’ He pointed to it.

  ‘And here was a brick wall, for I had never seen anything like it. I was sure it was not a runic symbol from any of the known sources and there was certainly nothing like it in my book. The next, an embellishment of the one before, seemed equally baffling,’

  ‘And yet, though they meant nothing, I could not help noticing the symbol of the key on the end of the line where an arrow had appeared in the second rune. This struck me, for I was in need of a key and now these two runes taken together were pointing to one.

  ‘I turned to the next rune along.

  ‘And at once I felt great excitement for if I was not mistaken here was the runic symbol for water. Surely then this was telling me that water was the key, and possibly a secret source of water as I already suspected. And not just a key to the tragic events of Harding’s death but possibly another kind of key entirely, a key to the secret code of this rune.’ The Doctor’s tone was passionate. It was easy to imagine his excitement the previous night as he set about his decipherment. ‘I moved,’ he said, ‘on to the next in the line.’

  ‘This quite specifically stands for a yew tree. But it also means transformation. For me this signified that a yew tree must point to the key, which in natural terms was more than possible. But with the next …

  ‘I was in difficulties again.’ The Doctor’s shrewd face was picked out now largely by lamplight as he talked.

  ‘I did not recognise it but when I consulted the book I found it a not uncommon runic symbol, standing it seems for God or mouth or blessing. It was the second reading that interested me most, for the idea of a mouth could indicate the mouth of a spring.

  ‘The sixth I knew at once, for it is one of the most common of all runes.’

  ‘This is Ing for fertility or God. But fertility seemed the appropriate reading here, for it supported in a general sense the notion of a spring. So finally I arrived at the last and eighth rune of the line which is …’

  ‘And here was surely the conclusion of the runic message, for I knew quite well this stands for happiness. So now if we look back, it is not difficult to read the progression.’ The Doctor turned away to the window a moment. He frowned as if he might have caught a glimpse of something in the orchard trees but clearly could make nothing out and after a time he faced us again. ‘Consider then all of them taken in order. The line starts with a possession bequeathed by ancestors. There follow two unknown runes which nevertheless point to something which seems to be a key. The key leads us directly to water and this water stands beside a yew tree. After the yew tree is a mouth, which could well be the mouth of the spring with an additional association of blessing. And finally comes happiness.

  ‘All of this then seemed fairly clear, if only I could but understand the second and third runes. I examined them over a considerable time last night and at last decided they were not so difficult to read at all. The square could stand for a house, indeed it is exactly the way a child draws a house. If so, it would logically be this place in which we are standing, not only because all the associations point to The Glebe but because it is here we have been told the rune was found.

  ‘The diagonal line on the second and third rune was in each case, I discovered to my great excitement, meticulously drawn, showing a forty-eight-degree angle, diverging three degrees from what must be cartographically the north-western corner of this house. Now there was no indication of how far this line might extend but it did not take me long to realise that if you lengthened it far enough you would be in the vicinity of the clearing where we found Harding. And so it was, using a compass glass, I was led to that yew tree and finally to the spot itself. There I discovered the spring, but I believe I may also have found much more.’

  The Doctor put down his paper. It was now so dark in the room it was fortunate he had the lanterns, though one of them looked to be badly trimmed and was flickering, adding to the bizarre lighting effects.

  The wind had reached its full strength now and rain had started to splatter on the windows.

  ‘And so,’ he said, ‘it is time to test that belief.’

  Nobody moved. There was no sound other than the wind and the rain. The Doctor ignored the flickering lantern and took the good one in his right hand. The shadows were now becoming truly fantastic, a great crooked one of Bell played on the wall as he advanced to the side of the room.

  He moved to the recess beside the empty fireplace and stood at the edge of it, though there was absolutely nothing there that I could see.

  For a time, the Doctor waited. ‘I think I would ask you to keep your distance, gentlemen,’ he said. Then he moved forward, placing the lantern down on the floor in the corner.

  The light from the other lantern being increasingly feeble, it was much harder to see anything in detail now. I could make out the Doctor was standing bolt upright, and then he seemed to kneel. I strained to hear but the tempest was so loud that sound offered no clue to his movements. I was aware of the stillness of the other men behind and beside me. To an outsider it would have looked as if we were participating in some strange spiritual ceremony, a black mass perhaps, with Bell as its leader.

  Now he was crouched down and turning backwards in a contorted movement and I heard a great gasp from Bulweather. For, impossible as it seems, the figure before us was disappearing into darkness. Soon I could see nothing of him and suddenly the lamp too had vanished, leaving only an empty space.

  We all moved forward, of course, despite his interdiction, and Bulweather had now picked up the other lantern. While dim, it was better than nothing. He held it aloft where we had last seen the Doctor to no avail. There was nothing at all here. Just the plaster and the engraved chair rail and the flagstones. In the corner his silver-topped cane lay where he had left it. Naturally we tapped and banged, pressing on the engraved rail and the skirting board and other places too, looking for a secret entrance of some sort but without the slightest result. Bell had been swallowed up by the house.

  THE NIGHT OF THE STORM

  After some minutes of fruitless searching, I turned and stared at the faces around me. The lamp was at shoulder height and I could make out most of them, but if anyone in that room knew the secret of this place and was in some way prepared for what had just happened, they showed little sign of it.

  Each man looked startled and baffled, though also certainly intrigued. After a time, some decided to look elsewhere in the house in case Bell was in a passage that came out upstairs or next door. Other intrepid souls thought to go outside into the storm and examine the wall from the outside, something was certainly seemed logical but I suspected would yield nothing. That left only H
are who moved to study the fireplace beside the alcove, where the wind howled with a particular fierceness and I joined him there. But the Doctor had been nowhere near it when he disappeared and the brickwork seemed utterly impregnable.

  Eventually Hare left me to examine the other rooms and I walked over to the smaller window to peer out at the storm. Suddenly I was assailed by a foul foetid odour, like putrefying beef.

  Turning around, I saw Bell crouching on the floor close to where he had disappeared, looking pale and nauseous. I ran over to him at once but he said nothing, simply raising the lantern for me to see.

  There was a perfect rectangular space in the plaster, in itself this seemed miraculous, and below it the beam picked out steps. They were covered in dried blood and at first I could see no further. But Bell raised the lantern a little and I glimpsed something of what lay below the steps. It was among the most grotesque sights I have ever seen. The space was small, with some kind of ancient bench and stone table. Slumped forward in the table was a figure whose skin was starting to give way to flesh and even in places to bone, putrefaction having set in quickly because I suppose the area was so ill-ventilated.

  For the same reason, this figure was not alone. Everywhere were insects, with gossamer webs so thick and plentiful that in some places it was impossible to see anything at all because of them. The dark cloud of cobweb shrouded every surface in the place, untouched, it seemed, for years. Jefford must have disturbed this teeming life when he slumped forward to die, for they were all about him. In his hair, in his neck, even in his eyes. Most of the builders of the webs were no doubt long dead, but their modern counterparts were visible enough, and very large. A great beast of a black spider worked its way along the side of the table by Jefford’s skeletal hand as I watched.

  I was having to cover my mouth against the stench of the place but now I made out something else. A strong box lay on the table and had recently been opened, presumably by Bell. It was obvious that a huge quantity of money lay within it, but this was not some ancient trove. Jefford must have decided to put this room to work as a useful and secret bank vault.

  There was something so horrible about the whole spectacle that I almost forgot about the others. But Bell had not. He was already up and out and calling for Langton. Bulweather appeared and took one look at our faces, before he too caught a glimpse of what was below.

  ‘I think you should keep the others away, at least for the moment,’ said Bell to him. ‘It is not something they need to see at close quarters and I want to make sure at all costs the place is not disturbed.’

  Bulweather nodded and went to summon Inspector Langton, one of the brave souls who had decided to face the storm in order to examine from outside the wall into which Bell had disappeared. There would have been little enough to see out there, for the room lay directly under that dank forgotten orchard. Little wonder its trees had failed to flourish.

  ‘He was tortured, Doyle,’ said Bell when we were alone. ‘One of his ears is mutilated and worse. Cream, perhaps aided by others, was trying to obtain the whereabouts of the money. I am sure it was his sole purpose in befriending Jefford. But Jefford guarded his secret. Even when tortured, he still would not tell. Then when he was alone he managed to crawl down there, wiping away traces on the floor that would lead them to the place. Now we can understand why the writer of that letter to Ellie wanted the rune so badly, for he knew the key word that would have enabled him to read it. Indeed I thank heaven for her wandering cat. If Cream had got his hands on that paper, he could have taken the money and left. As it is, we have thwarted him just as long as we can move this out of here securely.’

  Inspector Langton appeared now, dripping wet from outside, but he stared when he saw the opening. Bell allowed him a quick look and I could see the impression it made. ‘It is him?’ he asked.

  ‘It is Jefford,’ said Bell. ‘And he was murdered. Now, Inspector Langton, I want you to send Sir Walter’s carriage to alert your two constables to join us with their own transport. There is a considerable amount of money here and it must be secured at once. Indeed, I think you should make emergency arrangements for the bank in Southwold to receive it. Jefford escaped from his assailant only to die where you see him and his attacker had no interest whatsoever in witchcraft beyond its ability to scare people. What he wanted is still there.’

  ‘But who was he and how did he know of the fortune?’ Langton was still staring.

  ‘I suspect Jefford was fool enough to boast about his fortune,’ said Bell, ‘and I will come to the other. My first objective is to get this to a bank vault, for I will not feel confident we have frustrated his intention until it is there.’

  Langton nodded. ‘I will send the carriage. I can ready it in a few minutes.’ He got up and walked off.

  Bell stood aside now and the trap opening fell into place behind him. At last the air was a little more breathable. But before he closed it I had got a good look at the mechanism, and it was only now I began to take account of the ingenuity with which the thing was concealed. The top and bottom of the trap were respectively masked by the engraved dado rail about two or three feet off the ground and by the skirting board. The trap itself was oak framed, plastered and muffled, as I subsequently learnt, with horse hair and cement. The four heavy hinges were controlled by metal rods that utilised spiral screws and springs to open a space just big enough for a man to crawl through with ease.

  The Doctor had followed my eye. ‘Yes it is ingenious is it not, Doyle? And it is up to us to defend it now.’

  ‘I take it,’ I said, ‘the key to the cipher was a word connected to your find this afternoon.’

  ‘Yes,’ Bell nodded. ‘It was “spring”. And it allowed me to read the whole thing.’

  Before taking out the paper, the Doctor turned around to make sure the room was empty. ‘It is fairly unique, in my experience, Doyle,’ he said as he unfolded it. ‘A runic instruction to search for a cipher’s key based on a real, if hidden, geographical feature. Whoever made up this was a clever man. But let me read it for you.’

  And he showed me his workings, three lines of writing, covering several sheets of paper.

  ‘As I showed you,’ said Bell, ‘once I had arrived at the key I had only to write “spring” across the top and put the letters below and translate them and at last some sense was made.

  I stared at his working and then at the words that had emerged from it.

  To the owner of the Glebe whosoever he may be

  Now you have found the key

  This is the secrete

  That is bequeathed to thee

  A store for riches in heaven

  Or that no man may finde

  West alcove ovum IX, iaculus VII

  And there will stand steppes

  To the old chambere

  Built by brave Nicholas

  ‘I feel sure,’ Bell’s tone was respectful as he walked over to the ornamental egg-and-dart chair rail, ‘this must refer to Nicholas Owen, the famous Catholic who, in the sixteenth century, built places of concealment and worship for others. The man was surely one of the greatest of Englishmen whatever your faith. He was a kind of genius, a cripple who always worked alone at night after taking mass. In 1606 he was tortured in the Tower of London for days on end and still he never betrayed a single person or hiding place.’

  ‘And he compiled the cipher?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh no, that dates from later. Subsequent owners must have used this more as a bank vault than a spiritual place, as the message suggests. No doubt Jefford loved the romance of it but spoke of it much too freely, even if he did not betray the details. Now,’ he said, ‘can you read the code within the code?’

  ‘This is the west alcove,’ I said, ‘and “ovum”, that is part of the egg-and-dart engraving on the rail, is it not? The ninth egg?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Bell, ‘the Roman numerals were a major problem to me until I realised what they were: the ninth egg from the fireplace and the seventh dart t
ogether. There is the genius of the thing. You could press every surface here and still not find it. They must be pressed simultaneously to release the spring. And even when pressed, it does not swing open, you have to push on the plaster below.’

  He bent down and placed one hand on the smooth ‘O’ of the egg and the other on the tip of the seventh dart some feet along.

  There was only a faint click but I thought I detected a slight movement at my feet. Sure enough when I put my hand firmly on the plaster it began to tilt back and upwards. But Bell pushed it higher then let go and it swung back shut. Once again you could not tell it was there. ‘We will keep it closed for the moment,’ the Doctor said. ‘Since nobody else knows the secret of the mechanism, it is safer.’

  Langton entered the room after a few moments to say the carriage had left and eventually we were rejoined by the others, Sir Walter showing some irritation at the loss of his transportation. ‘If necessary,’ he said to Langton, ‘I will seek your surety, for a bill. This is not a wholesome place for me to be. As it is, I feel like I am half-dead.’ But it was striking to me how much better he looked, his supposedly delicate senses apparently restored by the excitement of murder. By now, everyone there knew Jefford had been found dead in macabre circumstances and Bell informed them the secret passage was closed and would not be reopened until the constables were here with a police vehicle.

  After this it was only a question of waiting but it was an odd kind of hiatus, punctuated by a burst of thunder from outside where the storm had now begun in earnest. Bell added to the effect by pacing the room urgently, lantern in hand, like some latter-day Diogenes searching for truth. As his light flickered over the other faces, Norman stared out the window as if expecting someone, and I began to wonder if he saw someone out there in the shadows. Bell may have felt the same thing, for he came up beside the man, who seemed a good deal calmer now. In fact, he had smiled when the Doctor confirmed the death, though whether out of bravado or cynicism I could not tell.