It was useless to try to find him. He might be anywhere. He might be behind me, in front of me or at my side. He might even have an away.
I turned back and reached Reg and Audrey, who were standing by the crypt, stiff with alarm,
“What are you playing at?” Reg said, his teeth chattering.
“Hench is in the graveyard,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I saw him.”
Reg stared into the darkness. “That ghoul!” he gasped. “Well, let’s get outa here. I’ve had enough.”
I shoved my gun into his hand. “We’re going into the crypt,” I said, “and you’re seeing that Hench doesn’t disturb us. That’s your job.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever make a detective,” he returned, his voice quavering. “I think I’ll resign.”
I wasn’t listening to him. With shaking fingers I shoved the key in the lock on the iron gate and turned it. With Audrey at my heels, I ached the door of the crypt. Using the same key, I unlocked the massive marble door and pushed. It opened slowly and together we walked down two steps into the vault. The cloying odour of dead flowers and the smell of death came to us.
Audrey put a cold hand in mine. “I’m so frightened,” she said.
“Shush!” I whispered, listening.
Thunder crashed over our heads, died away and then rumbled in the distance.
I could hear Audrey breathing near me. The fan shaped beam of the flashlight travelled around the square room. I could see shelves and on each shelf was a coffin. I counted five of them.
“Where’s Reg?” I asked, not moving, but staring at the coffins in a fever of excitement and nerves,
“At the door,” Audrey said, her voice high-pitched and unnatural.
“Take it easy, kid,” I said, putting my hand on her arm. “We’ll be out of here in a moment.” I turned back to the door, where I could see Reg staring tensely into the darkness. “Keep your eyes skinned, Reg,” I whispered. “If you see anything you don’t like, shoot.”
“For the love of Mike, get a jerk into it,” he pleaded. “I’m losing stones this way.”
I knew how he felt. I was feeling the same way myself. The idea of Elmer Hench waiting out there in the darkness made me jumpy. I wouldn’t have minded so much if I could have seen him, but the darkness and the thunder and Elmer Hench were a little too much.
I gave Audrey my flashlight. “Just stay where you are and hold the light so I can see,” I said. “I am going to open up one of these coffins.”
I heard her catch her breath. “No... don’t!” she said. “Marc... please... that’s horrible! You can’t do that.”
I took from my hip pocket a long thin screwdriver I had brought from the car. “I have to do it, honey,” I said. “There’s no other way around it.”
I left her and went over to the broad shelf opposite me. On it rested two mahogany coffins. Their silver handles gleamed in the bright beam of the flashlight.
As I tried to read what was engraved on the small brass plate screwed on the top of the coffin the light began to bob up and down.
I turned and looked back at Audrey. She had gone very white and I thought she was going to faint. I sprang across to her and put my arm around her.
“Gee, I’m sorry,” I said, gently. “I shouldn’t have brought you here. Look, go and stand near Reg.”
She shook her head. “I’m all right,” she said, clinging to me. “It’s just the air in here, and... and I’m scared. I’ll sit down, I’ll be all right in a moment.”
I took the flashlight from her and sat her down near the door on the bottom marble step.
“What’s going on?” Reg asked, his voice unsteady.
“You watch out for Hench,” I said. “Never mind what’s going on here.”
“I’m watching,” he returned. “It’s as black as coal out here and even the lightning’s stopped. I wish to hell you’d get through with this business. I want to go home.”
“Can you stick with it for five minutes?” I said to Audrey. “I shan’t be longer than that.”
“Of course,” she said, but she was looking so white she scared me.
Taking the flashlight, I went back to the coffins again. I was scared myself, but if I wanted to crack this case I had to go through with the business.
I read the plate on the first coffin. It simply said: Harry MacClay. 1900–1945. I began the gruesome task of unscrewing the coffin-lid. My hands were slippery with sweat and unsteady with fear. The screwdriver kept slipping out of the groove in the screw and once it slipped so badly it scored a long cut across the polished surface of the coffin. Thunder rumbled in the distance. That, the creaking of the screws as they came out and my heavy breathing were the only sounds in the damp, musty-smelling vault.
At last I had got all the screws out and I stood back, almost too scared to go further. The beam of the flashlight lit up one side of the vault and threw my shadow across the face of the wall. I put the screwdriver down on the shelf and wiped my hands with my handkerchief.
Audrey said in a low voice: “What is it?”
I glanced back at her. She stood up and moved a few steps forward, then she stopped.
“It’s all right,” I said. “I’m nearly through.”
Then I put my hands on the coffin-lid and raised it.
As I did so a vivid zigzag of lightning lit up the vault. For one brief second I saw the frightened, grotesque face of Marian French staring up at me from the coffin and then Audrey screamed.
Dropping the coffin-lid, I spun round.
Audrey was crouching back, her hands to her face. I looked beyond her to the door. Reg was clawing desperately at his throat. Even as I stood staring at him, unable to move, he suddenly seemed to be drawn into the darkness, and a moment later the heavy vault door closed with a thud. As the thunder died away, I heard the key creak and then the lock snapped into its stone socket.
VIII
It was a full minute before I realized how completely trapped we were. In that time I had darted to the door and flung myself against it. It was solid stone and I simply bounced off it with a badly bruised shoulder. I ran round the square building with the flashlight, but there was no other exit. The floor was of stone with no possibility, without proper tools, of hacking it up.
I stood staring at Audrey, my face glistening in the now yellow beam of the flashlight, while she looked at me in horror.
“Did you see?” she gasped, running to me. “He’s killing Reg! You must do something... you must help him!”
I held her to me. “For God’s sake, Audrey,” I said, gripping her arms, “don’t lose your head. We can’t do a thing. Don’t you understand, kid, we’re buried alive!”
She stiffened and held on to me, but she didn’t say anything.
I waited a moment, then said: “What fools we were to come in here without telling anyone! He’s got us all right. What the hell are we going to do?”
Trying to steady her voice, Audrey said: “We’ll get out... it’s... it’s Reg... there was a rope around his neck...” She caught back a sob.
I hadn’t even my gun. Except for the flimsy screwdriver, I had nothing with which to tackle the door. Pushing Audrey gently aside, I examined the lock. I saw it was hopeless. A stick of dynamite wouldn’t shift it.
To make matters worse, the flashlight was failing. I snapped it off and we stood in the heavy darkness, listening, but the thick walls of the tomb cut off all outside sound.
The thick, cloying atmosphere, the darkness and the feel of death in the place stretched my nerves almost to breaking point.
“I’m not so scared now,” Audrey said suddenly out of the darkness. “Let’s sit down, Marc. I’m sure someone will get us out of this.”