The rector nodded.
was fortunate that nothing more was made of it. I left the conference immediately, of course, and returned home, dreadfully upset. Naturally, I wrote to Pattenden immediately to protest my innocence, but have heard nothing since. I do not blame him. I should have acted similarly in his position."
Campbell drew his thickset shoulders up.
"I will draw briefly to a close, Mr. Pons. The latest disaster was averted, I am glad to say. A few days ago I found an intimate item of ladies' apparel in the pocket of my jacket in which my handkerchief usually reposes."
A shudder passed through our visitor's frame.
"You can imagine the effect of this, gentlemen, had I produced it at the Ladies' Guild meeting I was due to attend that afternoon I had already received a summons from my bishop for this coming week.
"Two days ago I received an extraordinary letter, which I have brought with me. This morning I found my galoshes filled with cold tea. On arrival in town I discover the loss of my address for tomorrow's assembly."
He paused, temporarily out of breath.
"You have indeed cause to be put out, Rector," said Pons soothingly. "Naturally, I shall take the case. We will return with you on the next train if Parker is agreeable. And we will examine this letter and hear of any further adventures en route."
3
Pons frowned at the light rain which was starring the windows of the railway coach.
"Before I examine the letter you have given me, Dr. Campbell, you mentioned earlier that one thing happened this morning which prompted you to rush out, quite forgetting your hat."
Dr. Campbell, ensconced on the seat opposite us, clicked his teeth in a highly audible manner. The three of us were quite alone in the compartment, so that we were able to continue the extraordinary dialogue which had begun in Praed Street
"You will yourself begin to think that my senses are affected, Mr. Pons. It was not just the cold tea and the galoshes this morning. No, you are right I had opened the hall cupboard to get out my umbrella when I found this notice pinned to the inside of the door."
He reached in his bag and came up with a large folded sheet of cartridge paper. As he held it up toward us I could see that it had written on it in large block capitals, with what appeared to be black crayon: CAMPBELL — YOU MUST OPEN THE SEALED SPIRE!!!
"What do you make of it, Mr. Pons?"
My friend sat in silence for a moment, his chin resting on his slim fingers as he stared at our client somberly.
"Intriguing, in the extreme. What is the sealed spire?"
Dr. Campbell looked irritated. He passed the paper to Pons who spread it out on the seat next to him and studied it intently. Then he compared it with the sheet of blue notepaper Dr. Campbell had already given him. He absorbed its contents without comment and passed it to me.
"Your parish would seem to harbor more than one eccentric, Rector," he said dryly.
Dr. Campbell chuckled throatily, his mild blue eyes dancing with mischief behind the gold frames of his spectacles.
"Capital, Mr. Pons. I see that I did correctly in consulting you. There is some ridiculous legend connected with the spire. My church is of the Norman period, as you probably know. The spire above the bell chamber has been sealed for a long time. There is, in fact, a large chamber above the bell frame but it was never used for anything more than storage. It was so difficult to get to that a previous incumbent had it boarded up. There is still access today, but the locked trapdoor has not been opened for years."
He paused and looked mournfully at the sodden landscape beyond the windows.
"When I first came to Shap twenty years ago, I went up there. There was nothing other than some old, broken furniture, bare boards and dust, Mr. Pons. I had the trapdoor relocked and so far as I know no one has been there since. But a ridiculous legend has grown up about what the local people call the sealed spire. An old lady in the village, Mrs. Grace Harbinger, is always writing me letters on the subject Her mind is a little affected, I think. The thing is a confounded nuisance, and a national newspaper got hold of the story some years ago.
"It has become rather like Joanna Southcott's Box, Mr. Pons. Open the sealed spire and all the problems of the world will vanish."
He chuckled again.
I had sat with the piece of blue notepaper in my hand, without reading the message on it, while this dialogue between Pons and the rector ensued.
"Why do you not simply open the spire and scotch the rumors?" I asked, conscious of Pons's approving glance. Our client bristled.
"For the very good reason, Dr. Parker, that I will not lend myself to superstition and nonsense. The sealed spire chamber, as they call it, is nothing less than a quite ordinary boxroom, filled with old furniture. I will have no truck with such idiocy. And I will not open that room either to please Mrs. Harbinger or the local press. And if you had read my articles on science and religion, Doctor, you would not ask me such a question."
"I am sure that Parker meant no harm, Dr. Campbell," Pons said mildly. "The question would appear to be a logical one on the face of it."
Dr. Campbell looked hurt and he clicked his teeth again. "I am sorry, gentlemen," he said contritely. "I should not have spoken so, but I have been sorely tried of late."
A brief silence ensued after this apology, and I occupied the awkward pause by perusing the note Pons had handed me. It was indeed a remarkable document. It was dated three days previously and headed, The House upon the Green. It was brief and to the point:
Dear Rector,
As I have constantly pointed out, the sealed spire must be opened if the world is to survive. Your implacable attitude to my repeated requests over the years compels me to bring this case before your bishop at the earliest opportunity. The whole village joins with me in calling upon you to obey the dictates of conscience. The sealed spire must and will be opened! Its revelations will be of inestimable benefit to mankind. You deny our rightful requests at your peril
Yours resp., Grace Harbinger.
I read this extraordinary missive again. "What do you make of it, Parker?" asked Pons with a grim smile.
"She is obviously deranged," I said indignantly.
"Is she not? But there is more here, Parker, than meets the outward eye. She speaks of other letters, Rector."
Our client nodded uncomfortably.
"Oh, yes, Mr. Pons, as the good lady hints, this has been going on for years. I have drawers full of such letters at home. Dabson is quite resigned to them. Mrs. Harbinger lives not a hundred yards away, on the green facing the rectory, yet once and sometimes three times a week she essays the long walk to the village stores to post a letter which she could cross the green to deliver by hand."
Pons sat quietly, his fingers toying with the lobe of his left ear.
"Even so, Dr. Campbell, eccentric or not, she would appear to be a formidable opponent Her enmity would only add fuel to the present furor about you. It is an interesting point"
And he would say nothing further until the train had decanted us onto the platform at the small station of Shap. Our client's rectory was only a few hundred yards distant, set next to the ancient Norman church, in a delightful rural setting which time seemed to have passed by.
We walked through a path that skirted the churchyard to the hamlet of old timbered houses that seemed even quieter now that they were bound in the icy grip of winter. As Pons had surmised and Dr. Campbell had confirmed it had rained earlier in the day and moisture glinted on roofs and hedgerows, the dampness adding an extra chill to the air so that I was glad when we had arrived at our destination.
We preceded our client through an ancient lych-gate that faced the green, and he pointed out a low, timbered house on the far side from which smoke ascended in slow spirals against the lowering sky.