It was now very nearly half-past two. Kay went back to his room thinking: ‘They’ve had a good deal of success, but this set-back, coming at this time, will make Abner furious; and he may proceed to extremes. I must find out what he intends to do.’
He locked himself into his room and climbed underneath the valance of the dressing-table. He turned the knob of the Box, so that he might go swiftly and little to Abner’s room at Chester Hills.
He was set down in the upper corridor of the Theological College, near a door that stood ajar under the little label ‘Chief.’ Kay listened near this door. Nobody seemed to be within. He peeped in: no one was there. He slipped inside and then, as he wished to examine the room, he resumed his proper shape and closed the door. The door clicked-to with a snap. When it was fastened he realised, too late, that it was a spring lock. He was shut in.
‘That may be awkward,’ he thought. ‘But here I am in Abner’s own room; I must look about to see what I can see.’
By the clock on a little table near the wall, he saw that it was two-twenty-seven. ‘I’m early for the meeting,’ he thought. ‘I’ve got a minute or two, before they come.’
Plainly this part of the house was of the sixteenth century, or more than a hundred years older than the rest of the building. It was a small, irregular room, with a low ceiling and little Elizabethan windows, still glazed with old, thick, greenish glass in little panes like the bottoms of bottles. The walls were covered with tapestries, much worn and faded. The mantel was great, solid, black oak reaching to the ceiling, all carved with grotesque figures. There was a small alcove at the room’s end; it contained a hard, little camp-bed that had not yet been made.
‘Abner may be fond of food,’ Kay thought, ‘but he’s pretty tough if he sleeps in a bed like this.’
There were books in the bookshelves: Sermons on Several Occasions, Tillotson’s Sermons, Dr Beatty’s Sermons, Dr South’s Sermons, the Reverend Hart’s Sermons, the Reverend George Crabbe’s Sermons, Sermons for the Year, etc., etc.; but on all the books the dust was thick. Kay went to the window to see what could be seen from it. The window was shut and the glass so thick that he could not see through it. To his surprise, when he opened it, the window, which had looked like four loopholes divided by stone mullions, opened all in one piece. He found that it opened on charming little leads between two pitches of steep roof. There were ladders up these pitches and, apparently, ladders leading down on the other sides of them. ‘Here is a way of escape,’ Kay thought, ‘in case of need.’ He could judge from the shadows that this window opened to the south-east.
After this, Kay spent a minute poking the knobs in the carved mantelpiece, hoping that one of them might work a spring and reveal a secret stair. Then suddenly, he heard voices just outside the door.
Abner was saying, ‘But I left this door ajar!’
A key pressed into the lock. Kay just had time to press the knob of his Box so that he might go small when the door opened and Abner and Joe came in. Kay squeezed into a recess by the fireplace behind the tapestry.
‘Funny thing about that door,’ Abner said. ‘I left it ajar purposely. Someone’s been in here and left the window open.’
He shut the window. He went into the alcove, took a hasty glance round under the bed and behind the tapestries: ‘I’ll enquire about that door and window,’ he said. ‘I wonder who’s been in. Do you know who’s been in?’
‘No, Chief,’ Joe said. ‘Of course I don’t.’
‘Well, why don’t you? You’ve been in charge here while my wife and I have been in Tatchester. Have you been in?’
‘No,’ Joe said. ‘Of course I haven’t.’
‘No “of course” about it,’ Abner snapped. ‘But as I’ve told you all many times, there’s a little trap in store for the man who comes prying in here and you’re most of you too scared to try it. I shall know tonight who’s been in. Look out for squalls if I find it’s you.’
‘It wasn’t me.’
‘Now then, listen to me. Who sent those two fools to tackle Josiah Stalwart?’
‘I did,’ Joe growled.
‘Didn’t I give strict orders that no scrobbling party was to consist of less than four; three to scrobble, one to keep the car ready?’
‘That was before we were short-handed.’
‘Did I or did I not give those orders?’
‘I suppose you did.’
‘Don’t you know that I did?’
‘Now, Chief,’ Joe said, ‘chuck it. I’d have sent four after Stalwart if I’d had four to send. I hadn’t four. You never told us Stalwart was a champ. We didn’t know. You told me I was to get him scrobbled and I did what we could. If you had seen Eleven and Twelve before Seventeen dressed their wounds you might feel a little sorry for them.’
‘Sorry? I’d have made them a little sorry. What did Stalwart do to them, two against one, too?’
‘He cracked Twelve’s crown across, a fair treat. He give Eleven an eye like a stained glass window. They’re marked for a month, the pair.’
‘And a jolly good job,’ Abner said. ‘I wish Stalwart had given them each a cauliflower ear. I wish he’d knocked their silly noses west and banged their ribs blue, and yours, too.’
‘Now, now, Chief,’ Joe said. ‘That’s not fair. They’ve only done their duty and were badly hurt doing it.’
‘They were hurt disobeying plain orders.’
‘Chief,’ Joe said, ‘we’ll set that aside, if you don’t mind. I’ve other things to say to you now.
‘You see, Chief, while you’ve been in Tatchester, I’ve been thinking of things, and I’ve made up my mind.’
‘Oh,’ Abner said. ‘Repeat that, will you?’
‘I’ve made up my mind,’ Joe said.
‘So you made up your mind, did you?’ Abner asked.
‘Yes, Chief, I did.’
‘I didn’t know you had a mind, but I am glad to hear it. And so you’ve made it up?’
‘Yes, Chief, I have.’
‘What did you decide?’ Abner asked.
‘Tomorrow’s Christmas Day.’
‘So I hear. What about it?’
‘Christmas Day’s rather a special day. We don’t like keeping all those poor captives away from their homes on Christmas Day.’
‘We don’t like. Who are we?’
‘All the lot of us. It’s not Christmas dealing. We’ve spread a lot of misery taking these poor people, just now; fathers from children, husbands from wives, and the poor little choirboys who’d been looking forward to hanging up their stockings. It’s more than we can bear.’
‘Well?’ Abner asked.
‘We want you to return all the captives tonight, by air, with a ten-pound note apiece, the ones we got at the bank-robbery. Then the whole thing would pass off as a rag . . . and it would tell in our favour, if we ever come to be tried.’
‘So,’ Abner said, ‘we don’t like, and we want this and that; and a made-up mind all piping hot with mutiny. Were you thinking of getting rid of little Abner, and then putting in for the command yourself? You, with a made-up mind, would run this brotherhood to some tune.’
‘I was thinking nothing of the sort, Chief,’ Joe said. ‘But you’re making a mistake and so we warn you.’
‘Ah,’ Abner said, ‘a mistake. Well, forewarned is forearmed. Thank you, Joe. And now, we’ll go down to see the captives.’
‘There was another thing we’ve got to speak about,’ Joe said stubbornly.
‘Got to speak about,’ Abner said. ‘Then speak it . . . proceed.’
‘I’ve been telling them about your magic and that,’ Joe said. ‘What we don’t see is why you don’t use magic to find this Box that you set such store by.’
‘You’re a cricketer, aren’t you, Joe?’ Abner said, ‘a fast bowler, with a terrifying in-swerve?’
‘I suppose I can plug ’em in a bit,’ Joe said, with modest pride.
‘Sometimes I suppose even you come up against a bat who hits you all
round the compass?’
‘That might happen to anyone,’ Joe said.
‘It’s the same with magic,’ Abner said. ‘You don’t believe in magic, I think, but perhaps this may convince you. Watch, now . . .’
He lifted his hand in a strange way and uttered some foreign words in a loud, clear voice. Instantly, the figure of a boy, with a bony, unintelligent and unpleasant face appeared through Abner’s desk.
‘What d’ye want me for now?’ he growled.
‘No pertness,’ Abner said. ‘Tell the gentleman what Cole Hawlings did with his Box.’
‘He gave it to somebody to keep for him,’ The Boy said. ‘I told you that before.’
‘Learn civility,’ Abner said. ‘To whom did he give it?’
‘I don’t know. He put spells round it. I couldn’t see the person. Let me go.’
‘If you’re not careful and civil I’ll peg you into the waterfall,’ Abner said. ‘Am I nearer to getting the Box than I was?’
‘Yes. You’re very near to it,’ The Boy said.
‘Shall I get it?’
‘You’ll have it under your hand today. Now I want to go – I’ve told you everything.’
‘Don’t try to dictate to me,’ Abner said. ‘The gentleman would like to ask you something. Ask him anything you want to know, Joe.’
Joe did not much relish speaking to The Boy, but at last asked:
‘What is in this Box?’
‘The way into the Past. I will not be questioned by you.’
‘Yes, you will,’ Abner said. ‘Anything else, Joe?’
‘Yes,’ Joe said, ‘there is. If Cole Hawlings had hold of this Box, why couldn’t he go into the Past by it and escape from Abner here?’
‘The Master there put spells on it. Shut your mouth now and let me go,’ The Boy said angrily.
‘You shall suffer for this,’ Abner said. ‘Is there anything more you wish to ask, Joe?’
‘Yes,’ Joe said. ‘What will win the National?’
‘Kubbadar, by seven lengths. Now I’m going.’
‘Wait, my young insolent friend,’ Abner said. ‘You will have a little lesson before you go. Come here.’
As The Boy approached, Abner tapped him on the top of his head with a timetable. The head at once telescoped into the chest, and the legs telescoped into his body.
‘Off, now,’ Abner said. ‘You’ll stay plugged under the waterfall for seven weeks for insolence. Perhaps that may teach you . . .’
The Boy vanished into the desk, howling loudly from the middle of his chest.
‘A general tendency to mutiny, it seems,’ Abner said. ‘I must take steps, I see. Now come on down to the Zoo.’
Kay was peering from his little cranny to see exactly what was done. Abner touched something (Kay could not see what) in the corner over his head; then he went to the hearthrug and stamped upon it with some force. There came a clicking, clacking noise. Kay saw the fireplace slide open like a door, revealing a lift lit with an electric light.
‘Come on, then,’ Abner said.
The two men stepped into the lift. Kay, who was only two feet from the door of it, darted into it after them as the fireplace closed-to upon them. Abner pressed a red button in the lift wall and the lift slowly began to move down. Kay counted and tried to guess how far down it went. It went slowly. It passed two different possible landings. When at last it stopped it did so with a jolt as though it were at the bottom of its shaft. The Chief opened the door; as he and Joe stepped out, Kay followed.
He was in a wide, high cavern or gallery in the rock. It stretched out to right and to left. It was not less than fourteen feet high by ten broad. It had every sign of being a natural cavern worn by water and smoothed underfoot by man. In the main, it was now a dry cavern. The walls glistened with wet here and there; in some places they shone as from some quartz-crystal in the rock. There was a little pause and silence when they left the lift. Kay heard water dropping, drop by drop, like the tick of a very slow clock. Far, far away, too, water was running over a fall.
The two men turned to the right; Kay followed. At every ten yards or so Abner would stop, turn out the light and turn on another to light the way ahead. When they had gone perhaps forty yards from the lift, Kay saw what seemed like a range of ships’ cabins stretching along the side of the gallery. Abner went to the door of the first of these, pulled aside a shutter, turned on a light to light the cell within and spoke through the opening:
‘And how is the dear Bishop?’ he said. ‘Christmas sermon getting on well? Well, well, well! And will you tell me where the package is?’
‘I tell you, ruffian,’ the Bishop answered, ‘that I know nothing of any package. These pleasantries had better cease.’
‘Tell me where the package is,’ Abner said, ‘and they shall cease, and starvation shall cease. You shall have a savoury omelet and coffee and rolls and honey. What, you won’t? Water from the well, then, and darkness to meditate upon it.’
He switched out the light, fastened the shutter and moved to another door.
‘Dean,’ he said, ‘still cheerful? Splendid! Can you tell me of the package yet? What, you don’t know anything about it? That won’t do for me, my Dean: think again. Keep cheerful.’
He switched out the light and moved to another door.
‘Ha,’ he said, ‘the Precentor, I think.’ Here he began a song:
‘Tell me, shepherd, have you seen
My package pass this way?’
‘A strait-jacket’s on its way to you,’ the Precentor said, ‘and then you’ll sing another tune. What d’you mean by a “package” and shutting us up here?’
‘Oh, a proud stomach, still?’ Abner said. ‘A little cold water is very cold Christmas fare you’ll find, and not one of you proud prelates will taste more until you tell me where the package is.’
He went from cell to cell asking the inmates where the Box was. Some said, ‘We don’t know what you mean.’ Others said, ‘You are mad. The Police will soon run you down, to be sure.’
‘Don’t be too sure,’ Abner said. ‘And here, I think, are the Canons Minor. How that brings back my Latin – major, minor, minimus! And are my Minor Canons going to tell me of the package?’
‘A judge and jury will give you your package, and a heavy package it will be and you will carry it for a long time,’ said young Canon Doctrine, who had once been the famous three-quarter.
By this time Abner had reached the end of the cells. He raised his voice so that he could be heard all along the gallery.
‘So you are all stubborn,’ he said. ‘You’ll find that I’m stubborn, and the rock is stubborn and not all the Police in Europe could find you where you are now. One of you knows where this package is. Tell me and you shall be at home within the day. If not, I can last and the rock will last, but I don’t think you will.’
He then turned to Joe, who was at his side.
‘By the way, Joe,’ he said, still in his loud voice, ‘this cell at the end here – we put the Earl into it, you remember, because he wouldn’t pay the ransom. Seven years ago, I think it was: you remember?’
‘I remember well,’ Joe said. ‘A dark, handsome man, the Earl: very well-dressed.’
‘That’s the man,’ Abner said, unlocking the cell door. ‘Just step in, will you, and see if his bones are still there? The ransom didn’t come, if you recollect, but I expect the rats did, or am I wrong?’
Kay saw Joe step into the lighted cell and pretend to rummage in the corners.
‘Do you see any bones still?’ Abner asked.
‘Just the skull and a rib or two,’ Joe answered. ‘Oh, and his marriage ring.’
‘Quite so,’ Abner said, locking him into the cell and switching out the light. ‘And now, my dear Joe, with the made-up mind, meditate with these holy men on the errors of your ways. Another time you may not be so brave as to tell me that I am making a mistake.’
Joe, who was a very strong man, leapt at the door and beat upon it. ‘Le
t me out, you hound,’ he cried. ‘Let me out, or I’ll wring your neck.’
‘You mean, “and I’ll wring your neck,”’ Abner said. ‘I’ll keep you there for the present, thank you, because I think you really might. Sleep well, dear Joe. The floor of that cell is a little uneven, but you won’t notice it much after the first week.’
Joe continued to beat upon the door and to shout threats and curses. Abner moved away whistling a few bars of Schubert’s Unfinished Symphony. Kay, who was horror-struck, moved away after him. Then suddenly, from a cell not yet visited, Peter’s voice piped up.
‘If you please,’ Peter said, ‘I think I know where the package that you want is.’
‘Ha,’ Abner said, ‘so! And where is the package?’
‘I can’t explain it,’ Peter said, ‘but I could take you there.’
‘Oh, could you?’ Abner said. ‘And give us the slip on the way, no doubt. We are not quite so green. Where is it?’
‘Please I can’t explain,’ Peter said.
‘I say that you can explain. Where is it? In Seekings House? In the garden? In the town? At the Inn? Where is it?’
‘I think it’s peeping out of a rabbit burrow somewhere on King Arthur’s Camp, please,’ Peter said.
‘Whereabouts on the Camp?’ Abner said.
‘I could take you to it,’ Peter said, ‘but I can’t explain just where.’
‘Oh yes, you can,’ Abner said. ‘You could mark the very place on a six-inch-to-the-mile map. When did you see it?’
‘If you please, I thought I saw a package just before they scrobbled the Punch and Judy man up on the Bottler’s Down.’
‘Ha,’ Abner said. ‘Well, you thought wrong, then; think again . . . And think of mushrooms for breakfast. Have you thought of them?’
‘Yes, please, sir,’ Peter said.
‘Well, that’s all the breakfast you’ll get,’ Abner said. ‘That may teach you not to try to deceive me another time. Now snivel.’
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