The Shrieking Pit

by Arthur J. Rees

  CHAPTER XXVII

  It was characteristic of Mr. Cromering to beguile the long walk in thedark from Heathfield Station by discussing Colwyn's theory that Bensonhad circulated the reappearance of the White Lady of the Shrieking Pitin order to keep the villagers away from the place where the stolenmoney was hidden. Mr. Cromering had been much impressed--he saidso--with the logical skill and masterly deductive powers by which Colwynhad reconstructed the hidden events of the night of the murder, like anOwen reconstructing the extinct moa from a single bone, but he was loathto accept that part of the theory which seemed to throw doubt on theauthenticity of a famous venerable Norfolk legend which had at least twohundred years of tradition behind it.

  Mr. Cromering, without going so far as to affirm his personal belief inthe story, declared that there were several instances extant ofenlightened and educated people who had seen the ghost, and had sufferedan untimely end in consequence. He cited the case of a visitingmagistrate, who had been visiting in the district some twenty years ago,and knew nothing about the legend. He was riding through Flegne onenight, and heard dismal shrieks from the wood on the rise. Thinkingsomebody was in need of help, he dismounted from his horse, and went upto the rise to investigate. As he neared the pit the White Lady appearedfrom the pit and looked at him with inexpressibly sad eyes, drew herhand thrice across her throat, and disappeared again in the pit. Themagistrate was greatly startled at what he had seen, and related theexperience to his host when he got home. The latter did not tell him ofthe tragic significance which was attached to the apparition, but themagistrate cut his throat three days after his return to London."Surely, _that_ was more than a mere coincidence?" concluded Mr.Cromering.

  "I do not wish to undermine the local belief in the White Lady of theShrieking Pit," said Colwyn, with a smile which the darkness hid. "All Isay is that her frequent reappearances since the money was hidden in thepit were exceedingly useful for the man who hid the money. I can assureyou that none of the villagers would go near the pit for twice theamount. There are plenty of them who will go to their graves convincedthat they have heard her nightly shrieks since the murder wascommitted."

  "It is difficult to believe that they are all mistaken," said Mr.Cromering slowly.

  "I do not think they are mistaken--at least, not all of them. Some haveprobably heard shrieks."

  "Then how do you account for the shrieks?" asked the chief constableeagerly.

  "I think they have heard Benson's mother shrieking in her paroxysms ofmadness."

  "By Jove, that's a shrewd notion!" chuckled Superintendent Galloway."You don't miss much, Mr. Colwyn. Whether you're right or not, there'snot the slightest doubt that the whole village is in terror of theghost, and avoids the Shrieking Pit like a pestilence. I was talking toa Flegne farmer the other day, and he assured me, with a pale face, thathe had heard the White Lady shrieking three nights running, and when hismen went to the inn after dark they walked half a mile out of their wayto avoid passing near the pit. He told me also that the general beliefamong the villagers is that Mr. Glenthorpe saw the White Lady a night orso before he was murdered."

  "I heard that story also," responded Colwyn. "He was in the habit ofwalking up to the rise after dark. He appears to have been keenlyinterested in his scientific work."

  "He was absorbed in it to the exclusion of everything else," said thechief constable, with a sigh. "His death is a great loss to Britishscience, and Norfolk research in particular. I was very much interestedin that newspaper clipping which was found in his pocket-book with themoney. It was a London review on a brochure he had published on spongespicules he had found in a flint at Flegne, and was his lastcontribution to science, published two days before he was struck down.What a loss!"

  Their conversation had brought them to the top of the rise. Beneath themlay the little hamlet on the edge of the marshes, wrapped in a whiteblanket of mist. Colwyn asked his companions to remain where they were,while he went to see if Queensmead was on the watch. He walked quicklyacross the hut circles until he reached the pit. There his keen eyesdetected a dark figure standing motionless in the shadow of the wood.

  "Is that you, Queensmead?" he said, in a low voice.

  "Yes, Mr. Colwyn." The figure advanced out of the shadow.

  "Is everything all right?"

  "Quite all right, sir. I've watched from this spot from dark till dawnsince you've been away, and there's not been a soul near the pit. I'venot been disturbed--not even by the White Lady."

  "You have done excellently. The chief constable and SuperintendentGalloway have come over with me, and we are going to the inn now. Youhad better keep watch here for half an hour longer, so as to be on thesafe side. If anybody comes to the pit during that time you must detainhim, and call for assistance. I will come and relieve you myself."

  "Very good, sir, you can depend on me," said Queensmead quietly, as hereturned to his post.

  Colwyn rejoined his companions, and told them what had passed.

  "I want to be on the safe side in case Benson tries to bolt when he seesus," he explained. "He's hardly likely to go without making an effort toget the money. Now, let us go to the inn."

  "One moment," said the chief constable. "How do you propose to proceedwhen we get there?"

  "Get Benson by himself and frighten him into a confession," was theterse reply. "I want your authority to threaten him with arrest. Infact, I should prefer that you or Superintendent Galloway undertook todo that. It would come with more force."

  "Let it be Galloway," responded the chief constable. "You will act justas if I were not present, Galloway, and it is my wish that you dowhatever Mr. Colwyn asks you."

  "Thank you," replied the detective. "Let us go, now. There is no time tobe lost. Somebody may have seen me speaking to Queensmead."

  They descended the rise and, reaching the flat, discerned the gauntwalls of the old inn looming spectrally from the mist. A light glimmeredin the bar, and loud voices were heard within. Colwyn felt for the door.It was shut and fastened. He knocked sharply; the voices within ceasedas though by magic, and presently there was the sound of somebodycoming along the passage. Then the door was opened, and the white faceof Charles appeared in the doorway, framed in the yellow light of acandle which he held above his head as he peered forth into the mist.His black eyes roved from Colwyn to the forms behind him.

  "I'm sorry you were kept waiting, sir," he said, in his strange whisper,which seemed to have a tremor in it. "But the customers will have thedoor locked at night now. They are frightened of this ghost--this WhiteLady--she's been heard shrieking----"

  "Never mind that now," replied Colwyn. He had determined how to act, andstepped quickly inside. "Where's Benson?"

  "He's sitting upstairs with his mother, sir. Shall I tell him you wanthim?"

  "No. I will go myself. Take these gentlemen into the bar parlour, andreturn to the bar."

  Colwyn made his way upstairs in the dark. He passed the rooms where Mr.Glenthorpe had been murdered and Penreath had slept, and the room fromwhich he had watched Peggy's nocturnal visit to the death chamber. Thatwing of the inn was as empty and silent as it had been the night of themurder, but a lighted candle, placed on an old hall stand which Colwynremembered having seen that night in the lumber room, flickered in thewavering shadows--a futile human effort to ward off the lurking terrorsof darkness by the friendly feeble companionship of a light which couldbe extinguished even more quickly than a life.

  Colwyn took the candle to light him down the second passage to the madwoman's room. As he reached it, the door opened, and Peggy steppedforth. She recoiled at the sight of the detective.

  "You!" she breathed. "Oh, why----"

  "I have come to see your father," said Colwyn. It went to his heart tosee the entreaty in her eyes, the pitiful droop of her lips and thethinness of her face.

  The door was opened widely, and the innkeeper appeared on the thresholdbeside his daughter. Behind him, Colwyn could see the old mad woman inher bed in the cor
ner of the room, mumbling to herself and fondling herdoll. The innkeeper fastened his bird-like eyes on the detective's face.

  "What are you doing here?" he said, and there was no mistaking the noteof terror in his voice. "What is it you want?"

  "I want to speak to you downstairs," said the detective.

  The innkeeper looked swiftly to the right and left with the instinct ofa trapped animal seeking an avenue of escape. Then his eyes returned tothe detective's face with the resigned glance of a man who had made uphis mind.

  "I will come down with you," he said. "Peggy, you must look after yourgrandmother till I return."

  The girl went back into the room and shut the door behind her, without aword or a glance. Once more Colwyn felt admiration for her as a raretype of woman-hood. Truly, she had self-control, this girl.

  He and the innkeeper took their way along the passages and descended thestairs without exchanging a word. When they got to the foot of thestairs Benson half hesitated, and turned to Colwyn as if for direction.The latter nodded towards the door of the bar parlour, and motioned theinnkeeper to enter. Following closely behind, he saw the innkeeper startwith surprise at the sight of the two inmates of the room. Mr. Cromeringwas seated at the table, but Superintendent Galloway was standing upwith his back to the fireplace. There was a moment's tense silencebefore the latter spoke.

  "We have sent for you to ask you a few questions, Benson."

  "I was under the impression--that is, I was led to believe--that it wasMr. Colwyn who wanted to see me."

  "Never mind what you thought," retorted Galloway impatiently. "You knowperfectly well what has brought us here. I'm going to ask you somequestions about the murder which was committed in this inn less thanthree weeks ago."

  "I know nothing about it, sir, beyond what I told you before."

  "You will be well advised, in your own interests, not to lie, Benson.Why did you not tell us you had a second key to Mr. Glenthorpe's room?"

  There was a perceptible pause before the reply came.

  "I didn't think it mattered, sir."

  "Then you admit you have a second key?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Very well." Superintendent Galloway took out a pocket-book and made anote of the reply. "Now, where did you conceal the money?"

  "What money, sir?"

  "Don't equivocate, man!" Superintendent Galloway produced thepocket-book Colwyn had recovered from the pit, and held it at arm'slength in front of the innkeeper. "I mean the L300 in Treasury notes inthis pocket-book, which Mr. Glenthorpe drew from the bank, and which youtook from his room the night he was murdered."

  "I know nothing about it."

  To Colwyn at least it seemed that the expression on the innkeeper's faceas he glanced at the pocket-book might have been mistaken by anunprejudiced observer for genuine surprise.

  "I suppose you never saw it before, eh?" sneered Galloway.

  "I never did."

  "Nor hid it in the pit?"

  "No, sir."

  Galloway paused in his questioning in secret perplexity. Benson'sanswers to his last three questions were given so firmly andunhesitatingly that some of his former doubts of Colwyn's theoryreturned to him with redoubled force. But it was in his most truculentand overbearing manner that he next remarked:

  "Do you also deny that you carried Mr. Glenthorpe's body from his roomand threw it down the pit?"

  The spasm of sudden terror which contorted the innkeeper's face was arevelation to the three men who were watching him closely.

  "I don't know anything about it," he quavered weakly.

  "That won't go down, Benson!" Galloway was quick to follow up hisstroke, shaking his head fiercely, like a dog worrying a rat. "You wereseen carrying the body downstairs, the night of the murder. You might aswell own up to it, first as last. Lies will not help you. We know toomuch for you to wriggle out of it. And never mind smoothing your hairdown like that. We know all about that scar on your forehead, and howyou got it."

  A wooden clock, standing on the mantelpiece, measured off half a minutein heavy ticks. Then the innkeeper, in a voice which was little morethan a whisper, spoke:

  "It is true. I carried the body downstairs."

  "Why did you not tell us this before?"

  "It would not have made any difference."

  "What!" Superintendent Galloway's indignation and amazement threatenedto choke his utterance. "You keep silence till an innocent man is almosthanged for your misdeeds, and now have the brazen effrontery to say itmakes no difference."

  "Is Mr. Penreath innocent?"

  "Nobody should know that better than you."

  "Then who murdered Mr. Glenthorpe?"

  "Let us have no more of this fooling, Benson." Superintendent Galloway'svoice was very stern. "You have already admitted that you carried Mr.Glenthorpe's body downstairs."

  "Oh!" The wretched man cried out wildly, like one who sees an engulfingwave too late. "I see what you mean--you think I murdered him. But I didnot--I did not! Before God I am innocent." His voice rang out loudly.

  "We don't want to listen to this talk," interrupted Galloway roughly."You are under arrest, Benson, for complicity in this murder, and theless you say the better for yourself."

  "But I tell you I am innocent." The innkeeper brought his skeleton handstogether in a gesture which was almost tragic in its despair. "I carriedthe body downstairs, but I did not murder him. Let me explain. Let metell you----"

  "My advice to you is to keep silence, man. Keep your story for thetrial," replied the police official. "You'd better get ready to go toHeathfield with me. I'll go upstairs with you, and give you five minutesto get ready."

  "Let him tell his story before you take him away, Galloway," saidColwyn, who had been keenly watching the innkeeper's face during thedialogue between him and his accuser. "I want to hear it."

  "I do not see what good it will do," grumbled Superintendent Galloway."However, as you want to hear it, let him go ahead. But let me firstwarn you, Benson, that anything you say now may be used in evidenceagainst you afterwards."

  "I do not care for that--I am not afraid of the truth being known,"replied the innkeeper. He turned from the uncompromising face of thepolice officer to Colwyn, as though he divined in him a moreunprejudiced listener. "I did not murder Mr. Glenthorpe, but I went tohis room with the intention of robbing him the night he was murdered,"he commenced. "I was in desperate straits for money. The brewer hadthreatened to turn me out of the inn because I couldn't pay my way. Iknew Mr. Glenthorpe had taken money out of the bank that morning, and inan evil moment temptation overcame me, and I determined to rob him. Itold myself that he was a wealthy man and would never feel the loss ofthe money, but if I was turned out of the inn my daughter and my oldmother would starve.

  "My plan was to go to his room after everybody was asleep, let myself inwith my key, and secure the pocket-book containing the money. I knewthat Mr. Glenthorpe was a sound sleeper, and I was aware that hegenerally locked his door and slept with the key under his pillow.

  "I went to my room early that night, and waited a long time beforemaking the attempt. It came on to rain about eleven o'clock, and Iwaited some time longer before leaving my room. I walked in my stockingfeet, so as to make no sound, and I carried a candle, but it was notlighted. When I got to the door I stood and listened awhile outside,thinking I might judge by Mr. Glenthorpe's breathing whether he wasasleep, but I could hear nothing. I unlocked the door quietly, and feltmy way towards the bed in the dark, hoping to find his coat and themoney in it without running the risk of striking a light.

  "But I could not lay my hands on the coat in the dark, so I struck amatch to light the candle. I had made up my mind that if Mr. Glenthorpeshould wake up and see me at his bedside I would tell him the truth andask him to lend me some money.

  "By the light of the candle I saw Mr. Glenthorpe lying on his back, withhis arms thrown out from his body. He was uncovered, and the bed-clotheswere lying in a tumbled heap at the foot of the b
ed. I stood looking athim for a minute, not knowing what to do. I did not realise at the timethat he was dead, because the wind blowing in at the open window causedthe candle to flicker, and I could not see very clearly. I thought hemust be in a fit, and I wondered what I could do to help him. As thecandle still kept flickering in the wind, I picked up the candlestickand walked to the gas-jet in the centre of the room, turned on the tapand tried to light it with the candle. It would not light, and then Iremembered that I had told Ann to turn it off at the meter before goingto bed. I walked back to the bedside, put the candle down on the table,and had a closer look at Mr. Glenthorpe. As he was still in the sameattitude I put my hand on his heart to see if it was beating. I feltsomething warm and wet, and when I drew back my hand I saw that it wascovered with blood.

  "When I realised that he was dead--murdered--I lost my nerve and rushedfrom the room, leaving the candle burning at the bedside. My one thoughtwas to get downstairs and wash the blood off my hand. It was not until Ihad reached the kitchen that I remembered that I had left the candleburning upstairs. I considered whether I should return for it at once orwash my hands first. I decided on the latter course, and went into thekitchen.

  "I had just lit a candle, when I heard a door open behind me, and,turning round, I saw Charles coming out of his room in his shirt andtrousers, with a candle in his hand. He said he had seen the light underhis door, and wondering who had come into the kitchen had got up to see.Then his face changed when he saw my hands, and he asked me how theblood came to be on them.

  "I tried to put him off at first by telling him I had knocked my handupstairs. He didn't say any more, but stood there watching me wash myhands, and when I had finished he said that if I was going upstairs hewould come with me, as he remembered he had left his corkscrew in Mr.Glenthorpe's sitting room, and would want it in the morning.

  "I could see that he suspected me, and that if he went upstairs he wouldsee the light burning in Mr. Glenthorpe's bedroom, and might go in. So,in desperation, I confessed to him that I had gone into Mr. Glenthorpe'sroom, and found him dead. I asked Charles what I should do. He heard mevery quietly, but when he learnt that I had left my candle burning inMr. Glenthorpe's room he said the first thing was to go and get that,and then we could discuss what had better be done.

  "I realised that was good advice, and went upstairs to get thecandlestick. But when I got to the door I was amazed to find the room indarkness. The door was on the jar, just as I remembered leaving it, butthere was not a glimmer of light. I was in a terrible fright, but as Istood there in the dark, listening intently, the sound of the windroaring round the house reminded me how the candle had flickered in thewind while I was in the room before, and I concluded that it must haveblown out the light. So I went into the room, feeling my way along thewalls with my hands. When I got near the bed I struck a match and lookedfor the candlestick. But it was gone.

  "Then I knew somebody had been in the room, and I made my way downstairsagain as fast as I could, and told Charles, and asked him what hethought of it. Charles said it was clear that the murderer, whoever hewas, had revisited the room since I had been there, and finding thecandle, had carried it off with him. I asked Charles for what purpose?Charles turned it over in his mind for a moment, and then said that itseemed to him that he might have done it to secure himself, in case hewas caught, by being able to prove that somebody else had been in Mr.Glenthorpe's room that night.

  "I saw the force of that and was greatly alarmed, and asked Charles whathe thought I had better do. Charles, after thinking it over for a while,said in my own interests I would be well advised if I carried the bodyaway and concealed it somewhere where it was not likely to be found. Hepointed out that if the facts came to light it would be very awkward forme. On my own admission I had gone into Mr. Glenthorpe's room in themiddle of the night, and had come away leaving him dead in bed, with hisblood on my hands, and my bedroom candlestick alight at his bedside.Charles pointed out that these facts were sure to come to light if thebody was left where it was, but if the body was removed and safelyhidden, it might be thought that Mr. Glenthorpe had simply disappeared.

  "I was struck by the force of these arguments, and we next discussedwhere the body should be hidden. We both thought of the pit, but Ididn't like that idea at first because I thought the police would besure to search the pit when they learnt of Mr. Glenthorpe'sdisappearance, because his excavations were near the pit. Charles, onthe other hand, thought it was the safest place--much safer than thesea, which was sure to cast up the body. He said it would never occur tothe police to search the pit, until the body had lain there so long thatit would be impossible to say how he came by his death. Perhaps it wouldnever be searched, in which case the body would never be recovered.

  "We decided on the pit, and Charles said he would keep watch downstairswhile I went up and got the body. But first I went and opened the backdoor and went to the side of the inn to see if anybody was about. Therain had ceased, it was a dark and stormy night, and everybody longsince gone to bed. The rough stones outside cut my feet, and recalled tomy mind that I was without boots. I knew I could not carry the body allthe way up the rise without boots, and I was about to go to my room toget them when I remembered that I had seen Penreath's boots outside hisbedroom door. I decided to wear them and avoid the risk of going back tomy room for my own boots. I have a small foot, and I had no doubt thatthey would fit me.

  "Charles suggested that I should go into the room in the dark, so as tolessen the risk of being seen, and light the candle when I got inside. Itook the candle, but I said I would turn on the gas at the meter, incase the wind blew out the candle. I will keep nothing back now. Thereal reason was that I wanted the better light to make quite sure if themoney was gone. I thought perhaps the murderer might have overlooked it,and I hoped to find it because I needed it so badly. When I got upstairsI stopped outside Mr. Penreath's room, picked up his boots, and put themon. I went into the room in the dark, intending to strike a match, andlight the gas, and search for the money. I miscalculated the distance,and bumped into the gas globe in the dark, cutting my head badly. When Istruck a match I found that I couldn't light the gas because theincandescent burner had been broken by the blow, so I lit the candle.

  "I shuddered at the ordeal of carrying the body downstairs, and onlynerved myself to the task by reflecting on the risk to myself if Iallowed it to remain where it was. As I stood by the bedside, I noticedMr. Glenthorpe's key of the room lying by the pillow, and I picked it upand put it in my pocket. I then lifted the body on my shoulders, carriedit downstairs, steadying it with one hand, and carrying the candle inthe other. Charles was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, andhe took the candle from me and lighted me to the back door.

  "A late moon was just beginning to show above the horizon when I gotoutside, and by its light I had no difficulty in finding my way up therise and to the pit. It was a terrible task, and I was glad when I hadaccomplished it. I returned to the back door, where Charles was awaitingme. We then fastened the back door, and he went to his room off thekitchen, and I went upstairs to my room. As I passed Mr. Glenthorpe'sroom I saw the door was open, and I pulled it quickly to, but I forgotto take out the key I had left in the door when I first entered theroom.

  "I remembered the key in the morning when Ann told me Mr. Glenthorpe'sroom was empty, but I dared not remove it then because I knew Ann musthave seen it. And later on, when you were questioning me about the keyin the door, I was afraid to tell you about the second key, because Iknew you would question me.

  "When I learnt from Ann that Mr. Penreath had left early in the morning,and wouldn't stay for breakfast, I felt sure it was he who had committedthe murder. It was a little later that Charles took me aside in the barand told me that he had walked up to the rise early that morning to seeif everything was all right, and that I had left traces of my footprintsacross the clay to the mouth of the pit. I was very much upset when Iheard this, for I knew the body was sure to be found. But Charl
es saidthat, as things turned out, it was a very lucky accident.

  "Charles said there was no doubt Mr. Penreath was the murderer. He hadnot only cleared out, but the knife he had used at dinner haddisappeared. Charles said he had not missed the knife the night before,but he had discovered the loss when counting the cutlery that morning.If the police found out that it was his boots which made the printsleading to the pit it would only be another point against him, and as hewas sure to be hanged in any case the best thing I could do was to goand inform Constable Queensmead of Mr. Glenthorpe's disappearance andMr. Penreath's departure, but to keep silence about my own share incarrying the body to the pit. Even if the murderer denied removing thebody nobody would believe him. I thought the advice good, and I followedit. I don't know whether I could have kept it up if I had beencross-questioned, but from first to last nobody seemed to have the leastsuspicion of me. The only time I was really afraid was when one of yougentlemen asked me about the key in the outside of the door, but youpassed it over and went on to something else.

  "And now you know the whole truth. But I should like to say that I keptsilence about carrying the body away because I didn't think I wasinjuring anybody. I believed Mr. Penreath to be guilty. Now you tell mehe is innocent. If I had had any idea of that I would have told thetruth at once, even though you had hanged me for it."