the hangman put the noose 'round his neck. That was when the magistrate read out the death sentence, then he stood
aside for the priest tae pray with the condemned man. When the reverend was finished, they usually allowed the man
tae say a word tae everyone watchin'. The doomed man'd tell them what a wicked fellow he'd been, an' how sorry he
was tae suffer the penalty for his crimes. He'd then tell everyone tae live good lives an' profit from the sight of his
punishment.
"When all that was over with, the magistrate tipped the hangman a nod, the executioner kicked the box from
under the unfortunate wretch, an' the deed was done!"
Amy clapped both hands over her eyes as if she had witnessed it. "Ugh! It sounds so horrid and cruel!"
Eileen placed an arm about the girl's shoulders. "Indeed it was, my dear. From what I've read, it was quite
primitive in small villages . . . they never died instantly. I suppose that's why the poem says they danced around.
Sometimes it took as long as ten minutes before their legs stopped kicking. What a dreadful sight. I can't think why
folks wanted to watch!"
Will clapped his hands, breaking the spell. "Enough of all this! Let's get searching, friends. Is there a gibbet,
tree, or post around here? If there isn't, we're stumped!"
37.
LOUD BARKING AND SCRATCHING ON THE yard door sent Jon hurrying to open it. The big, black
Labrador dashed in and straight across to his master. Nobody had noticed the towheaded boy not taking part in the
discussion. He had quietly sat on the step of the station house. That was where he now slumped in a faint. The dog
licked his master's face furiously, transmitting thoughts. "Ben, Ben, wake up, pal. Open your eyes. Oh, please!"
Jon sat down on the step and took the boy's head in his lap. Eileen bustled past and returned with a mug of cold
water and a damp cloth, which she applied to the strange boy's forehead, while Jon patted his cheek lightly,
murmuring, "Come on, me old shipmate."
Ben's eyelids fluttered, then he came around. Amy seized his hand and rubbed it. "Jon, get him out of here. It's
this place that's caused him to faint, I know it is!"
Ben pointed to the corner of the garden, right by the angle of the wall. "No ... wait... it's there!" Struggling from
Jon's grasp, he made his way over to the corner, with the girl still holding his hand. He made a mark in the soil with
his heel. "Here ... dig here!"
Leaning on his dog and holding on to Amy, with Alex hovering anxiously behind, Ben allowed himself to be
led outside.
Eileen followed out with the glass of water, and found them seated on the pathside by Delia. "Good 'eavens, you
poor lad. What 'appened in there?"
Ben took a sip of water and began feeling better. "I felt dreadful when I walked into the yard, so I sat on the step.
Couldn't trust my legs to hold me up. It was while the sergeant was talking, all that stuff about how they used to hang
murderers. I suddenly felt myself drawn to look at the corner of the garden. There was a dark shape there. I found I
couldn't stop staring at it, and the longer I gazed, the clearer it became..."
The younger boy shuddered and cried out shrilly. "What was it, Ben?"
"It was a man, dressed in tattered, olden-day clothes, chains around his hands and ankles. He was hovering
about two feet from the ground, neck all on one side, his face horribly twisted, tongue sticking out. He was kicking as
if he was dancing a silly jig. The man was looking straight at me. His hands kept twitching and pointing down to the
ground beneath his feet. . . I've never seen anything so horrible. That must have been when I passed out."
He stroked Ned, leaning his head against the dog's neck. "Good old boy, you were the one who rescued me. I
felt you coming to me, barking from far off."
Eileen clapped a hand to her cheek in wonderment. "You felt that, Ben? But how did the dog know?"
Before he could answer, Jon's voice rang clear over the wall to where they were sitting. "We found it. Here 'tis,
lad, we're comin' out!"
Will and Jon came running, waving their spades, followed by Mr. Mackay and Mr. Braithwaite, their clothing
stained with soil and clay, bearing between them a bright green bucket. Sergeant Patterson was bent double,
supporting the bottom lest it burst and fall. They flopped down on the grass with Ben, and he touched the object.
"What is it?"
Sergeant Patterson passed a forearm across his brow. "Och! "Tis heavy, that's what it is. Auld bronze pail, either
bronze or copper. See how green it is? Must've been very thick, because it's only gone through in one or two places.
Ye'd be surprised at the weight of it!"
Amy chuckled. "Probably because it's filled with tallow."
Will lifted the pail and turned it upside down on the grass. "Well, we'll soon see. Loosen it off, Jon."
The old seaman began hitting it gently with the side of his spade, all around the sides. He tapped the pail's
bottom sharply and lifted it off, just like a child making sandpies with a bucket at the seaside. The solid tallow wax
was dark and dirty from soil and clay leaking into it.
Will spoke to the sergeant. "Have you got a big knife? Jon's old clasp knife ain't big enough to slice through this
lot."
The sergeant hurried into the station house and was soon back with a large, fearsome-looking blade.
"Russian Crimean War bayonet, a souvenir brought back by Private Judmann. Ye should hear the tales he tells
of how he came by it, a different one each time!"
The bayonet was more than adequate. In Jon's capable hands it sliced through the tallow, until he brought forth
two slender objects with heavy, spreading bases, still caked with the stuff.
Mr. Mackay identified them immediately. " 'Light bearers 'neath the ground.' A pair of candlesticks!"
The three young friends searched through the shorn-off tallow, Mr. Braithwaite hovering anxiously around
them.
"No, er, sign of any, er, further clues, scraps of, er, er, parchment and so forth?"
Amy looked up. "None, sir. Maybe the next clue is scratched on the bottom of the candlesticks, same as the
cross."
Jon handed the candlesticks to the sergeant. "Put these in a basin of hot water. It'll clean 'em off, then we can
take a proper look."
Mr. Braithwaite followed Sergeant Patterson into the station house, his dusty black scholar's gown flapping.
"Very good, very good, go, er, careful now, Officer. Don't, er, drop them. Precious objects, yes, er, precious indeed!"
When cleaned up in soap and hot water, the candlesticks were things of great beauty, gold-fluted columns
spreading to broad elegant bases, each of which was inset with three of the bloodred, pigeon-egg rubies, to
complement the chalice and crucifix. Mr. Braithwaite was ecstatic, running his fingertips over the fine Byzantine
tracery patterned onto the heavy gold pieces. However, when he looked at the bases of both candlesticks, they were
smooth and untouched by any messages scratched on either one.
The only noise in the still midday air came from Delia's hoof as she struck it against the ground. The six sat
staring at the treasure of St. Matthew glittering in the sun, the rubies shining as if they were afire.
Ben broke the silence by announcing to his crestfallen friends, "Listen, we can sit here all day looking at the
candlesticks, but that won't get anything solved. We've worked too hard and long to let this thing defeat us!"
The dairyman farmer got up to strap Delia's nosebag on. "You're right, lad, but what's our next move?"