The Riddle of the Mysterious Light

  CHAPTER IV

  WEIRD CHURCH BELLS OF THE NIGHT

  "To begin with, Mr. Cleek, the origin of the affair dates back elevenmonths, when the engagement of my daughter, Lady Adela Fulgarney, to theyoung Marquis of Uppingham was first made public. I do not know if youhave any knowledge of the Valehampton district or of the immediatesurroundings of Essex Castle, so I must tell you that the formerconsists of some thirty or forty cottages with outlying farm lands, andthat the latter is within easy access of St. Saviour's Church, which,with its detached belfry and surrounding graveyard, is separated fromthe western boundary of the castle grounds only by a narrow road uponwhich front two buildings, known as the Castle Cottages on account oftheir having been erected unintentionally within the precincts of thecastle grounds years before a proper survey was carried into effect. Icall attention to these two buildings because it is out of one of themthat the whole perplexing mystery arises. They stand fronting upon theroad which passes the churchyard, and their gardens encroach upon thecastle demesne at a point about ninety-six yards distant from the westwing of the castle itself. Do I make that clear?"

  "Perfectly."

  "I am glad of that, because it is important. In the days when the lateDuchess lived she frequently begged of me to have the cottages razed, asshe considered them not only an intrusion upon our privacy, but adetriment to the place in every way. I could not, however, bring myselfto comply with the request, because both had been taken under lease fora term of years, and although I could, doubtless, have purchased thatlease from the tenants holding it, I did not like to do so, since one ofthe two cottages was occupied by the aged parents of James Overton, myland steward, and they were both very loath to leave it. The other hadbeen occupied by the wife and family of the curate of our vicar. Aboutthirteen months ago, however, the Rev. Mr. Giles was appointed to aliving of his own in Yorkshire, and took his departure after a long andpleasant sojourn with us. I could not, however, tear down the one houseand leave the other standing with any benefit to the appearance of theestate, so I concluded to allow both to remain until the end of theOverton lease, at which time I proposed to demolish both. A hundredtimes since, Mr. Cleek, I have regretted that decision. If the cottageshad to stand, I said to myself, it was as well that they should both bebringing in a revenue as for one of them to remain vacant. So as theOverton lease had still six years to run I consented to my land stewardfinding a tenant for the one vacated by the curate for that period only.

  "James Overton found a tenant almost immediately, and at that one whoimproved rather than detracted from the natural beauty of the castlegrounds. He inhabits the place still. He is an elderly man with somesmall private means of his own and an absolute mania for horticulture.The result is that he makes his little garden a veritable Eden ofbeauty; and as there are only himself and wife, neither children norgrandchildren, and as they not only have no visitors, but holdthemselves aloof from even the village folk, this Mr. Joshua Hurdon is avery desirable tenant indeed."

  "So I should imagine, Duke. And your land-steward?"

  "He is one of the best. Been with me for nine years. I look upon him asmy right-hand man, Mr. Cleek. But that is not to the point. Efficient ashe was in speedily finding a model tenant for the cottage vacated by thecurate, he was not by any means successful in the case of that vacatedby his parents."

  "They, too, have left then, after all?"

  "Yes. Old Mrs. Overton caught a chill and died about a fortnight afterthe Hurdons moved in, poor creature. She had gone on a visit to amarried daughter in Scotland, and her death occurred there. Of course,the old man could not be left altogether to the tender mercies of thevillage charwoman, who used to come in two or three times a week to dothe rough household work, so his son, after returning from the funeral,procured him a housekeeper in the person of one Mrs. Mallory, a widow,who, with her sister, undertook the entire charge of the place anddispensed with the services of the charwoman altogether. This Mrs.Mallory appears to have been a most excellent person for the post and tohave performed her duties satisfactorily, although she was of a highlyromantic and even emotional disposition. She seems to have devoured lovestories and cheap romances with appalling avidity. It is to herpropensity for viewing life in the utterly unnatural and luridlycoloured manner set forth by such literature that Valehampton owes itsunhappy state to-day.

  "I cannot vouch for the facts, Mr. Cleek, for I never saw the person,and never even heard of him until after his death; but, as the reportgoes, this romantic creature, wandering about the country lanes anddreaming her silly dreams, one day heard the sound of someone sobbingand crying out in pain. On going to ascertain the cause, she found ayoung man of about nineteen, evidently in the last stages ofconsumption, lying on his face in the woods, and a big, burly gypsystanding over him and beating him with a whip, at the same time mumblingsome outlandish gibberish which the woman declared she recognized atonce as the spell to avert the Evil Eye.

  "Well, to make a long story short, this buxom Diana of the Turnip Fieldsflew at the gypsy, plucked the whip from his hand, and laid it about hisshoulders to such good purpose that he made off and left her with theconsumptive youth. She declares, however, that before the man vanishedfor good he turned and shouted back to her: 'There is a curse on thecreature--he is a Vampire. Evil goes with him where he lives, and evilwill linger where he dies. Rivers will be choked and devils ride on theair in the place that holds his body. Children shall be stolen and theblood of them sucked by spirits, and they shall be stricken blind whocross any threshold which his accursed foot has pressed!'"

  "What utter drivel!" commented Cleek, with a derisive laugh. "It is thebaldest rubbish I ever heard in all my life. What happened next?"

  "Well, it appears, from what I have heard, that the woman not only tookpity on the unfortunate youth she had rescued, but smuggled him into theOverton cottage and tucked him away in a spare room, intending to givehim a few nights' shelter and food and to build him up a bit in strengthbefore she sent him on his way. Unfortunately, however, that night thefellow grew worse, and by the morning he was in such a bad way that shehad to call in the village doctor. By that time he was dying, DoctorForsyth declares--in the very last stages of galloping consumption andbeyond all possibility of saving."

  "H'm! Yes, I see. Couldn't speak, I suppose? Couldn't give any accountof who he was?"

  "Not a syllable. Forsyth said, however, that in _his_ eyes he lookedpretty much like a gypsy himself--had all the characteristics of theRomany race. He further declared that, had he been asked, he should havesaid that it was well nigh a physical impossibility for the young man inhis condition to have walked a step or even lifted a hand to helphimself for days and days before he first saw him. But, of course, eventhe best of doctors are sometimes at fault in their diagnoses, and ifthe fellow hadn't walked--well, the woman must have got him into thehouse somehow."

  "Yes; you are right there, Duke. The woman must have got him into thehouse somehow. By the way, was there any tribe of gypsies known to be inthe vicinity of Valehampton at the time?"

  "No, not then. There had been, a few weeks previously. But they hadmoved on. Why?"

  "It is of no consequence. Go on, please. What happened after DoctorForsyth's visit?"

  "That night the unfortunate wretch died. Fortunately in one sense, therewas no necessity for the coroner to be called in and the cottage thrownopen for a general inquiry. I can tell you that James Overton was highlyincensed when he heard of what the woman had done; incensed at theliberty she had taken without consulting him; for, had Forsyth not beenable to issue a death certificate and to declare positively the natureand cause of the disease, the result might have been serious indeed.However, the stranger died and the burial permit was issued in due form,so that put an end to any distressing business with the law. Though itdidn't put an end to James Overton's worry over the matter, by anymeans."

  "Why not?"

  "Well, you see, there was the question of interring the body. In theusual course of ev
ents it would have been buried in the local potter'sfield with the remains of other paupers; but James Overton is asoft-hearted sort of man and--well, he didn't like to think of it endingthat way, so he went to the vicar and offered to pay half the price of agrave to have the body properly buried. The other half was soon raisedby subscription, and there was enough to pay for a modest headstone aswell. So the poor wretch was buried in the churchyard of St. Saviour'sand a cross put over the grave bearing, at Overton's suggestion, theinscription, 'Lord, I come as a stranger, but am I not known untoThee?'"

  "Very pretty, very touching. He is a man of sentiment as well as ofcharity, this James Overton, it would seem. So the poor wretch who 'cameas a stranger' went on to where all are known. And then--what?"

  "Oh, you'll scarcely credit it, Mr. Cleek. That night the church bellsbegan to ring as though a madman had laid hands on the ropes, and thewhole village was roused from sleep by their dreadful din. The vicar,thinking that someone was playing a foolish prank, dressed and went outto the belfry to reprimand the vandal, but--there was no one there! Thebells were clanging and the dangling ropes moving up and down with eachswing of them, but no hand was on those ropes and no living thing insight. He climbed the belfry stairs until he came right underneath thebells themselves. There was no one there, either--they were swinging andclanging above his head apparently of their own accord! That was thebeginning of the mischief, Mr. Cleek. Every night following those bellswould peal out through the darkness like that. I myself have stood inthe belfry and both seen and heard them do it, so the matter is not oneof hearsay, but of actual experience.

  "The result of this state of affairs I think you can imagine. The wholevillage suddenly awoke to a remembrance of Mrs. Mallory's adventure, andrecalled what she had declared the vagrant gypsy had said in regard tothe dead youth. The 'curse' prophesied had fallen; the 'devils' spokenof had begun to ride on the air, and in the end all the other thingswould happen. People with children were the first to act. They vacatedtheir cottages and left the village by dozens. Almost the first to gowas the woman who was indirectly the cause of the panic--Mrs. Mallory.She and her sister fled. A fortune could not have tempted them tostay--they were simply panic-stricken. Then, hard on the heels of that,Overton's old father went so nearly daft with fright that, in commonhumanity, his son had to take him out of the house and send him toScotland to the married daughter. The old man would have gone out of hismind with terror if he had not done so. The place was stripped of itsequipment, the furniture sent to be sold at auction, and the cottage wasleft as bare and as empty as an eggshell. And so, but for a period ofone brief week, it has remained ever since. But other parts of thediabolical prophecy have come to pass as threatened. The river--a branchof the lovely Colne, which flows within gunshot of the castleboundaries--has begun to choke up and there is no longer a free passage,as formerly, for the skiffs and dinghys."

  "What's that? What's that?" ejaculated Cleek. "The river stopped up?Whatever by?"

  "By sudden shoals which seem to have risen from the bed of it, and willpermit no craft to pass. But the abominable likeness to the thingspredicted by the gypsy do not cease with that. He spoke of childrenbeing spirited away, and at least one child _has_ been.

  "With such a reputation hanging over it Overton could get no tenant forthe cottage from which his father fled in a panic. No man would live inthe place rent free, indeed, no soul in all the district could bepersuaded to pass by it, either by night or by day--on account of thethreat of sudden blindness, and for the whole eleven months which havepassed since that wretched youth was buried the place has known notenant until eight days ago. Then there suddenly appeared--from Godknows where--a man named Smale, who wandered into the district peddlingrush baskets in company with his daughter, a girl of thirteen. He heardof the place, laughed at its reputation. He was homeless and well-nighpenniless; he wanted a shelter, and was willing to risk anything to findone. He went to Overton, but Overton had not the heart to yield to hisentreaties, so he finally came to me in person. If I would let him havethe house rent free for six months, he'd live in it and brave all thespirits that ever existed. I listened and--yielded. Eight days ago theman and the child took possession. A week ago this very night the childvanished--in the dead of the night, with all the doors and all thewindows fast bolted on the inside. After two horrible days of rushingabout and wildly trying to find a trace of her, the father went insane,flung himself into the river, and was drowned.

  "Nor have the tragedies ceased with these two terrible things, Mr.Cleek. The bridesmaids and the guests for my daughter's forthcomingwedding have arrived at the castle. Among them is Captain Weatherley,and with him came his soldier servant--a loyal and intrepid fellow namedDavis, who had been through countless perils with his master, and wasafraid of nothing living or dead. Early this morning he was found by theVicar at the foot of the belfry. His head had been smashed in, and hewas beyond all earthly aid."

  "Any attempt been made to decide the matter? Upon the part of the localauthorities, I mean; for, of course, they would be notified of theaffair."

  "Naturally. The vicar attended to that. But beyond the fact that thebody was removed by them to the morgue attached to the local almshouses,I know nothing whatsoever of their movements; nor do I quite see howthey could have come to any definite conclusion about the affair."

  "No doubt, however, their first step would have been to investigate thecondition of the earth in the immediate vicinity of the cottage,"suggested Cleek.

  "Ah! I see what you mean. They might have found traces of footprints,you think?"

  "Something of that sort--yes. If it had rained recently, to put theground in a condition to receive and retain an impression----"

  "The dead man's boot might have been fitted to it, and the pointestablished that way," put in Mr. Narkom, somewhat hastily, his mindtravelling along well-worn grooves.

  "Oh! no," said Cleek. "Not necessarily a footprint at all, Mr. Narkom,and certainly not a booted one. A boot is never conclusive proof of theidentity of the wearer. It may be removed for the purpose of _creating_certain impressions and afterward returned to the body of the owner.Contrary to the methods of the fictionists, the imprint of a boot orshoe is of no possible value as a clue whatsoever. The only footprintsthat can be relied upon to furnish positive evidence of the personalityof their author are those made either by an animal or the human footwhen it is absolutely bare."

  "But bare or booted, Mr. Cleek," interposed the duke, "neither could berelied upon to establish--were it important to do so--any proof relativeto the movements of Captain Weatherley's servant in the neighbourhood ofthat abandoned cottage. Two circumstances render such a proceedingimpossible. You suggested a moment ago that--well--er--_something_ mightbe discovered in the immediate vicinity of the cottage provided it hadrained recently. Well, it has not. As a matter of fact, the county hasbeen suffering from an absolute drought for the past five weeks, and theearth is baked as hard as flint. That is the one circumstance; the otheris even less promising. Both cottages--that of the Hurdons and that leftvacant--have courtyards entirely paved with red tiles. A broad,red-tiled footpath surrounds each building, and runs down the middle ofits accompanying garden. Nor is that all. Even the belfry of St.Saviour's itself could not have furnished any evidence of the man everhaving been there had not his body been found on the spot. It is acurious old Norman structure which originally stood in the midst of asort of 'square,' paved with cobbles, and extending outward from thewalls of the tower for a distance which, roughly, is about four yards inevery direction. The uneven surface presented by these cobbles afterages of wear having proved dangerous walking for the thick-soled bootsof the bellringers, had caused more than one of them to have a nastyfall, so the vicar sought to rectify the matter by having them entirelycovered by a thick layer of cement. The result is that the square in themiddle of which the belfry stands presents a smooth, firm, level surfaceas hard as iron and as bare as one's hand. An elephant could not leave afootprint upon it, much
less a man."

  The duke paused a moment, as if to give due weight to these unpromisingcircumstances, then leaned back in his chair.

  "There," he said, "that is the case as it stands, Mr. Cleek."