Audrey pressed her foot down on the brake pedal and the car stopped. “What now?” she said, looking a little fearfully at the tall gloomy walls surrounding the burial-ground.
I opened the car door and stepped out. The air was still and oppressive. I could smell rain and, far to the east, I could see faint flashes of lightning.
“Before very long,” I said, glancing up and down the deserted road, “we’re going to have a storm.”
“Never mind about the storm,” Reg said, climbing out of the car and standing beside me. “It’s this joint that worries me!”
“Forget it,” I said sharply, feeling spooked myself. “What’s a graveyard between friends?”
Before he could think up a suitable reply I walked over to the massive iron gates and pushed. They swung open with a harsh squeak that made my nerves tingle.
“Okay,” I called to Audrey. “Can you drive in?”
The car edged its way through the gateway and stopped in the middle of the centre lane of the graveyard.
I closed the iron gates and told Audrey to put out the car lights.
The heavy scent of graveyard flowers hung in the air. Underfoot, cinders crunched and sounded to me like firecrackers. A faint mist rose from the graveyard. In the shadows of tombstones and willow trees it was like smoke.
Audrey and Reg stood close to me. They didn’t like this place any more than I did.
“What the hell have you brought us here for?” Reg whispered, looking furtively to right and left. “What are we going to do?”
“We’re going to look at the register,” I said, pointing to the attendant’s white lodge that stood back from the gates. “I want to see who’s been buried lately.”
“What a guy for ideas!” Reg sighed. “Couldn’t you have done that during the day? Why pick on midnight?”
“Use your head,” I said shortly. “If I had done that I’d have told the killer the game was up.”
Audrey stared at me. “You really think you’re going to find something?” she asked.
“Unless I’ve got it all wrong,” I returned, “I’m going to find the missing girls tonight.”
Reg drew a deep breath. “I’m scared,” he said, in a small voice. “I suppose no one thought of bringing some liquor?”
“There’s a half pint flask in the car,” Audrey said. “I’ll get it.”
We all had a drink, but it didn’t help much. Thunder rumbled.
It sounded nearer; and lightning lit up the graveyard with faint yellow flashes.
“Let’s get it over,” I said, and walked down the lane towards the lodge.
I had to break a window before I could get in. Audrey and Reg climbed in after me. After a few minutes’ search I came upon a leather-bound book.
“This is it,” I said, putting the book on the table. “Hold the light, Reg, so I can see.”
In the bright white beam of the flashlight, with thunder crackling overhead and Audrey and Reg jostling against me, I opened the register at the last page and began to read. The evidence was there for anyone who knew the facts.
There had been only two burials during the past ten weeks, but on a page headed ‘Private Crypts’ was the damning evidence:
CRYPT No. 12
Owner — Max Esslinger
18 Maxwell Drive, Cranville
July 14 Harry MacClay
July 23 Mary Warren
August 2 Edward Cook
August 11 Sheila Ross
August 19 Gwen Hurst
“What the hell does it mean?” Reg whispered, staring at the names blankly.
“Know any of these people?” I asked, looking first at him and then at Audrey.
They both shook their heads.
“Don’t you see how it was done?” I said. “These names have been faked to fool the graveyard attendant. Come on, we’re going to take a look at Crypt Twelve.”
Audrey’s sudden scream was drowned by a violent crash of thunder. She clutched at me, making my heart jump wildly.
“Someone was looking through the window,” she said, fearfully. “I saw a face... pressed against the glass.”
I pushed her to one side and ran to the window. It was now as dark as the inside of a closet. I put my head out of the window and listened, but apart from the wind moaning in the trees I could hear nothing. Then all sound was blotted out again by another crashing clap of thunder.
I turned back into the room. “Are you sure you saw someone?” I asked.
Audrey shivered. “It looked like a face. I only caught a glimpse of it, but it did really look like someone was watching us.”
Reg’s face had gone the colour of a fish’s belly. “Let’s get outa here,” he said unevenly. “I don’t like this one bit.”
“Not before we’ve seen Crypt Twelve,” I said obstinately. “The key must be around here some place.”
The other two stood a little helplessly, glancing fearfully from time to time at the window while I searched for the key. I found it eventually with a number of others hanging on a board behind the door.
“Here it is,” I said, checking the number burnt on a big wooden tag. “Let’s go.”
“I hate going out into that darkness,” Reg said, nervously looking out of the window.
“You can stay right here if you want to,” I said, sliding my leg over the sill, “but I’m going to look at that crypt.”
“We’ll come with you,” Audrey said hastily. “I couldn’t stand being left here alone.”
With the beam of the flashlight to show us the way, I went on ahead, the others behind me. I had no idea where Crypt Twelve was located, but I was going to find it.
We had walked some way before we came to the first crypt. That was numbered 7. There seemed no system or plan in the numbers. The next crypt we came to was 23 and the next one was 15.
A sudden zigzag of brilliant lightning made us all duck, but the thunder was seconds behind the flash. Then it came with a tremendous clap that sent Audrey staggering against me.
“Oh, I don’t like this!” she wailed, clinging to me.
“Hitch up your girdle,” I said, giving her a quick hug, “we’ve got to go through with it.”
On we went, across new grass, circling tombstones, along cinder paths, down grassy inclines, trampling over flowerbeds and ploughing across freshly dug earth. It was a nightmare journey; looking for a needle stuck in a wall in a dark room. All the time thunder drummed a muffled march for the dead.
Then suddenly we found it. We found it just when I was going to give up. We were all tired, hot and frightened. Out of the blackness suddenly caught a glimpse of something white: There before me was large marble crypt fenced in by iron railings. The beam of my flashlight picked out the number — 12.
“For God’s sake,” I said. “Here we are.”
A long, jagged streak of lightning lit up the graveyard for one blinding second. I could see Audrey and Reg near me, their faces white and their eyes wide. To the right of me was the white crypt and beyond, some fifty paces away, was Elmer Hench.
I saw all this in the one brief brilliant second and then we were in black darkness again. Instinctively, I had my gun in my fist.
“Wait,” I shouted to Reg, and ran forward.
I cursed the feebleness of the flashlight beam. It was like a pinprick in a strip of black velvet held against a light.
There was no sign of Elmer Hench, but I knew he was there. I had seen him, tall, bony and frightening, like a lost spirit risen from a rave to rebuke us for intruding.
Sweat, cold and clammy, plastered my shirt to my back. I was really scared. This was a fear that dried my mouth, chilled my blood and turned my legs to water.