The ARROW by NIGHT

Auckland Star, Volume LXIII, Issue 290, 7 December 1932, Page 19

The ARROW by NIGHT

by LESLIE CARGILL

CHAPTER XIV. Into the Enemy's Camp. "Come along, Dick, old man! Don't lag behind." Helmutb was calling, and I increased my pace until I was level with the others. We were certainly not going the way I should have expected. Verenov took no notice of the roads, but crossed several rough fields, waded over two" rippling streams, and then began to describe a wide circle. Having acquired a certain amount of topographical instinct as the result of my army training, I could not forbear to ask if we were going in the right direction. "Leave it to me," he whispered back. "And make as little noise as you can. We are getting near the place now. At certain times, especially when they want to be quite certain no strangers are prowling , around, the Scarlet Brethren set patrols outs.de their grounds. Tonight may be one of those occasions." "It will be a bad look-out for us if that is so," I suggested. "So long as we are not overheard, there is nothing to worry about. So please be most cautious." "But how arc we to get into the place?" "In two or three minutes I will show you. Quiet now—not another word." For the next few minutes we moved almost noiselessly, although there was no indication that the fears of our guide were justified. Everything was calm and silent and we might have been miles away from any human habitation for all the evidence of the contrary.

Closely following our guide, who seemed to know his way about with great exactitude, we crawled on hands and knees through a narrow tunnel made- through the living greenery and, after a journey which was more interesting than enjoyable, we emerged in a tiny clearing'in which stood a very ancient and tmbuledown stone building. "You may talk now," Verenov told us, when we had walked behind him into the tiny chamber, which I knew to be small by reason of the ring of our

I voices. "This is the old buttery of monastic days," Verenov explained. "Previous to that use, it was part of a secret way out. The old monks took such precautions, you may remember. Apparently the place was forgotten many, many years ago and it is certain that the present inmates of the old retreat know nothing whatever about it." "How did you stumble on it?" I asked, with genuine interest. "The answer to that is that it was the result of careful research and no mere accident. After I traced Guibourg to England and found where he, and his companions, had settled I made an intensive study of the place. The original j building goes, back hundreds, of years, I arid for long it was a renowned religious I house, Then came the dissolution, I when it passed into the hands of a private family. It had fallen on evil times -when "Guibourg came along. The jplace suited-Jiis-purpose-adnlirablyj and 'he made numerous adaptations and alterations, none of which added to the architectural attractiveness. ..." 1 "Wβ noticed that," I broke -in. "A more unprepossessing exterior could not be imagined, and .f roin-i what ■ could be seen the inside is riot much more effective:" "With a few exceptions," Verenov replied. "One of these is a very charming chapel—a remarkable piece of restoration. Mind you, the original building was in a good state of preservation to begin with. And fortunate for me it was so." - : "Why do you say that?" ; ' ~ , | "Because the secret passage has its exit behind the altar.- I found a very i ancient book in the British Museum I library which put me on the track of 1 the passage, though I must ajdmit ,Ii suspected the existence of something of< the kind, and I was thankful that a' reference to it had been set out in print.". , j "Surely,f Helmuth interposed, "the! present inhabitants would know about j it if the knowledge is so public?" . I,smiled at that. "You don't know; our British Museum library, Helmuth," ] I said. "Unless you make a special in- 1 vestigation among! the musty tomes - you'll never discover the secrets. Only an archaeological crank would dream of reading the sort of. book -Verenov has referred to. Why, it may have been .unopened for generations - before lie delved into it." . - ; . ■ j "I see. That explains it satisfac- i torily enough." j "Another point;" explained Verenov. I "is that the"book did not reveal.all thferc ! was to know. The writer was only con- j versant with the fact of the existence | of the passage, and the tradition that it j went to the old buttery. To find the ruins wae not at all easy, for one thing; and working out the opening was another difficult problem. After much experimenting I hit on the .way it works. Actually it is merely a hinged st-rne that appears to toe part of the masonry, and to get a grip on it you have to use a leather sucker, such as children have for playthings. I have just-wetted the disc. I ihave pressed it into place, and I am now pulling the etring which ia attached to it. You would understand how pimple it is—and how difficult to find —if you could see." But as we dare not use a light the explanation had to suffice. I could picture the process quite well from Verenov'e description, and the sucking sound of the damp leather, as it was applied to the slab, could clearly be heard. Then there came a slight grating sound. ■ "You will notice how smoothly it works after all-theee years," Verenov's voice came to us out of the blackness. "But the first time it was not so easy, because of a certain amount of rust. Fortunately the inside is well protected against dampness, so the trouble was not so acute as it might have been. With less careful workmanship and the penetration of moisture, I expect the hinges would have seized up ago. Since my first succeeßful effort I have oiled the mechanism liberally. And now, if you will come over to me, we will start the next part of our journey . . . careful . . careful . . . now feel with your foot, and when you find eteps, go down. They are well spaced and in reasonable preservation, eo there is. no need to be afraid of falling. Eleven steps straight down, and then a slight curve to the left; - When I you feel the curving of the wall count another six steps, and you'll be on the flat."

I went first, and found everything was as he had said, although I did manage to miscount, with the result that I stumbled at the last stair, but without any otlier hurt than the usual jar one experiences when trying to tread ou something that • isn't there?

: Helmuth -was down beside me very soon, and we could hear Verenov up above us, apparently closing the slab. Presently his sibilant whisper came down to us: "We can have some light now. I have a pocket torch with me." "Is it quite safe?" I answered, not however, being careful enough to pitch my voice cautiously, and the eehoee went rolling about the tunnel in an eerie mauner. "Not so loud," Verenov cautioned. "I do not know what are the acoustic properties of the passage-way, and it is as well to avoid any possibility of a noiee reaching eara that are best left unhealing." He was quite right. Tunnels often have peculiar telephonic properties. There is an unusual example of this at Hastings Castle, where in the dungeons the deeignere apparently planned th* acoustics with a view to overhearing conversations between prisoners in the cells some considerable distance away. Visions of the gloomy Norman oubliettes, and a demonstration of the medieval "wirelees" by a friendly guide, came to me when Verenov hissed the warning, and it was an unpleasant contemplation that knowledge of our whereabouts might be carried to unfriendly listeners. When next I spoke I kept my voice so low that the remark wae not heard, and I had to repeat it a little more distinctly. Thus does thoughtlessness give way to excessive carefulness.

"Is the light quite safe?" was. the question I had to repeat. "Perfectly," we were assured. "The passage rune underground for most of the way. It goes under the walls, and then more steps bring us to the level of the chapel." By this time he had got the torch in action, the brilliant pencil of light having a dazzling effect on our vision after such a long period in almost total darkness. By the aid of the powerful beam it wae possible to see some distance down the passage—to start; ahead to where the struggling light gave way before the victorious darkness of a vault which the brilliance of day could never penetrate.

Stone walls, stout enough to defy eternity, stretched aluad, and a glance behind showed the of the hewn blocks that mode up the stairway. Underfoot lay the thick dust of centuries, stirred up by the feet of Verenov — perhaps the first man to disturb that solitude since the Great Harry drove out the monks. Contrary to my exp stations, the walls were almost dry, although fungus, had taken grip in many a crevice. The air was musty, but not 'foul, so that we could breathe in com fore except for the dust which we kicked up as we walked. We walked upright—not even finding it necessary to stoop. A six-foot man could have traversed that corridor in comfort. After going some distance we emerged into a great vaulted chamber, where our guide shone round his torch to enable us to get an idea of the construction of the apartment, which was undoubtedly a splendid specimen of the mason's art. "This," he observed, "was no doubt a hiding hole. Similar places are to be found .'attached to old monastic establishments, though I doubt if you would come across one in a better state of repair. From this point we have to be silent again . . . and also in darkness." He went on to amplify the reasons for'resuming these precautions. Apparently the passage continued from the chamber, and, after a short distance, there was another flight of steps. "These lead upwards, and at the top you find yourself immediately behind the altar in the chapel. Actually the I secret way is part of the walls, which ! are tremendously thick in most places j —and hollow for the purpose of proving ! the passage. . . " j Verenov broke off as a strar/e and j terrifying sound seemed to fill the room in which we stood, a shattering noise that bounced about the confined space as if it was a tangible substance. Helmuth looked at me with a startled query. "Gott in Himmel, what is it? Only the Eussiau remained unperturbed. , ■ , "It gave me great fear the first timb £ hoard it, and then I was alone, which made it ten times worse. I can tell vou, to allay your mind at, once, that it is nothing more than a pipe organ. Because of the passages and no doubt ■due to the muffling effect of the walls, the sound waves develop in that alarmin<r way- ' The bass notes in particular are actually painful. I know, for I have had to listen for long spells, waiting 'for the chapel to clear when I wanted to get out of tfhe mrilding. Now, too, we must all wait." ; "What' is going on up there? Helmuth wished to know. Verenov shrugged his shoulders, iou would not believe mo if I told you. "Come! I will take you to the foot of the steps, and then you can go up one by one—and sec what you shall see. There are cracks in the,wall which make it possible to look right into the chapel. It is li"ht inside and pitch dark this side, so that there can be no suspicion that anyone is overlooking. But be verv careful to make no sound, whatever your feelings are. There is good foot room, but only for «"»■»*»*""?• "I'll ao" I said, in sudden determination Yet I must admit that while 1 accepted the invitation to satisfy my curiosity, I experienced a strange and unreasoning dread. . "Are vou ready?" Verenov was asking, and with a muttered acquiescence I followed him out of the vaulted -chamber into the narrow tunnel which took nr, its course exactly opposite the place ot debouchment of that portion' we nad alreadv traversed. Verenov clicked off the torch, bringing with the simple action a fitting darkness for any horrors. One hand touching the wall for guidance and the other on the shoulder of the Russian T shuffled forward/with Helmuth's light touch on my own shoulder in turn. All the while the drone of sound continued in an indefinite cacophony, thouoh now I knew the origin of it l imagined I could discern the organ quality of the din. It did not seem possible that any disturbance we could make would be apparent over that surging spate ot sound, though it was as well to be careful lest some trick of acoustics aroused BU Verenov stopped, so suddenly that we who followed telescoped together with a iarrins effect that was disconcerting in the darkness, and then the Russian stood aside while we squeezed past.- I stubbed my too against a projection, found the beginnings of the steps,'began to ascend, and came upon a "learn of stars awaiting me around a comer—glittering constellations that dripped their ligM at an angle impossible to the real nigbtlights oi the sky. •-

Crashing mightily to a discordant end, the organ silenced before the shimmering glints were level with my eyes, and with the cessation of searing sound a lighter drone began • a not inharmonious chant. Where the steps met a mighty- stone, wall, flecked with those little lights that filtered through tiny crevices from the bright illuminated chamber beyond, I discovered a little landing,-, shelved in the main fabric. Groping about in the darkness to get some indication of the nature- of my surroundings, my questing hand closed on a loose article apparently propped in a corner. So far as I could judge by sense of touch, it was shaped like a rifle, but, strangely enough, I could not make out the muzzle. Another constructional feature was the presence of a crosspiece, which was. decidedly puzzling. It was not, however, the occasion for worrying out the nature or the reason for this apparatus, so I put into effect the reason for my presence, finding a convenient eyehole through which I peered intently. Not only could I see into the chapel, but when I pressed close to the wall i could also hear quite distinctly, without any of the muffling and echoing which came from the confining of sound in the confined space. What I heard at first conveyed little, for the language used was Latin —sonorously phrased and beautifully delivered. What I saw was a limitless horror. Not only the religious instincts that I possessed, but the innermost beliefs of mankind's noblest representatives were there reviled. Much that I saw was beyond my comprehension. All that I knew was that it was entirely foul. Presiding over that dreadful celebration was an unspeakable presence that was a thing uneeen but sensed—something supernormal, or supernatural—describe it as you will, for no words have been invested for the labelling of it. Terror held my eyes to that crack. Strive as I would, it was physically and mentally impossible to withdraw. Making a physical .effort tliat snatched my nervo strings from the grasp of evil force, I made a gesture winch is not of my Faith, but which an intuition beyond control bade me to make at all costs.

A mighty calm filled me, soothing as a cold stream my fevered fibres, and the grossness of the evil was no more. Now I could look into the unholy chapel without qualm, and I could see groups of faces, and hear a sigh as of a wind eddying through a great forest. Faces stood out in relief—puzzled faces that swam in a sea of bewilderment—and they were staring fixedly towards me. A deep voice began an incantation, or it might have been a dismissal, for the Brethren began to move about aimlessly, and I shrank back until the friendly stairs took my feet to where friends waited for me to stumble into their arms. There, in the enveloping darkness, they let me quietly down into the greater blackness of unconsciousness. (To be continued daily.)