“I lost no time in summoning help, gentlemen. With Mr Miggs and several stalwart workmen I again descended to the crypt. We got that heavy temporary wooden lid off the tomb. Mr Pons, it was absolutely empty!”
5
Solar Pons had a thin smile on his lips.
“I should have been extremely surprised had you found anyone there.”
“Good heavens, Pons!” I exclaimed. “How could you possibly know that?”
Solar Pons’ smile widened a little.
“Intuition, Parker. Combined with certain theories which I have already formed.”
Canon Stacey smiled also.
“Ah, Mr Pons. I was correct in my supposition that you would soon get to the heart of this awful mystery.”
My companion held up his hand.
“Not so fast, Canon Stacey. I am far from doing that. And I have no wish to raise your hopes unduly. But what you have told me so far leads my thoughts in certain directions. Apart from that I would prefer to say no more at the moment.”
“Very well, Mr Pons,” said Canon Stacey, but there was evident disappointment on his face.
“I come now to the last of these mysteries. Yesterday evening, again near dusk, Miggs himself had a terrifying experience. Otherwise, I might have felt my own to be the result of some strange delusion or fancy. Perhaps you would like Mr Miggs in now?”
“By all means. It was by his own wish that he was excluded from this conversation.”
“Miggs has odd little ways,” said the Canon, with a wry smile.
He got up and went over to the study door, reappearing a few seconds later with the diminutive figure of the verger, who was looking apprehensive and carrying his cup and saucer in his right hand. He seated himself on the very edge of the chair the Canon produced for him and sat looking round him as though prepared for some inquisitorial ordeal. As he showed no inclination to speak Pons himself opened the conversation.
“Canon Stacey has told us something of the strange events in the Cathedral, Mr Miggs. I should now like to hear from your own lips of the experience you yourself had last evening.”
Miggs moistened his lips with his tea and shot an uneasy glance at the Canon.
“We are all friends here, Mr Miggs,” said the churchman with a kindly smile.
“Well, gentlemen,” Miggs began. “It was just about dusk last night. I was going around locking up and seeing that everything was secure. There were still visitors in the main body of the Cathedral but they were few and far between and it wanted but half-an-hour to the closing and locking of the main doors. There was a little job I wanted to do in the Montresor Chapel, which is half-way down the body of the church.”
Miggs cleared his throat apologetically and took another sip of the tea as though to sustain himself during his ordeal.
“I had my cleaning materials with me and it was my intention to burnish the brasses a little. There’s the most magnificent…”
“Yes, yes, Mr Miggs,” the Canon interrupted. “I’m sure Mr Pons doesn’t want to hear all that.”
“Just tell us what you did,” said Solar Pons quietly, his lean, feral face expressing the keenest interest.
“Well, sir,” said Miggs, turning toward him. “I had been working away for a few minutes, when I had a strange feeling that I wasn’t alone. There’s a quaint old altar piece up in one corner, with an ancient confessional box. It has a font with a carved gargoyle’s head posed above it, as though it used to be a fountain at one time. I saw something in the bowl of the font, which arrested my attention, Mr Pons.”
“And what was that?”
“Something that looked like a cotton-reel, Mr Pons. I bent forward to pick it up and as I did so I became aware of red eyes like an animal’s glaring at me from the gloom of the confessional box. At the same time the gargoyle bit me!”
Solar Pons leaned forward, his face grave as a carven statute.
“Bit you, Mr Miggs?”
“Yes, sir. Something sharp like a tooth in the mouth of the thing! It drew blood and I dropped the wooden reel and fled!”
“I can’t say I blame him, Pons,” I exclaimed. “That would be enough to frighten anybody.”
“Indeed, Parker.”
“Just let me have a look at your thumb, Mr Miggs.”
The indignant verger drew a grubby piece of plaster aside on his right thumb and allowed me to examine the wound. He winced as I fingered the skin around the puncture.
“It is deep, Pons. Something has either stabbed or bit him. Something with a very narrow entry point.”
“Thank you, Parker. This is exceedingly interesting. You have nothing further to tell us, Mr Miggs?”
The verger shook his head.
“Only that when I came back with Canon Stacey and some of the workmen there was no sign of anyone in the confessional box. And the wooden thing in the font had gone!”
Solar Pons rubbed his thin hands together. He rose to his feet.
“I think we have heard everything that is likely to be of use, Canon. I would now like to go over the ground.”
“By all means, Mr Pons. I will myself accompany you. Perhaps you would lead the way, Mr Miggs.”
Pons was silent as we walked across the Close to the great facade of the Cathedral with its massive carved stonework at the entrance doors. Once inside the dim interior with the glutinous notes of the organ sounding we were again in another world.
“This is the place, Mr Pons. The Montresor Chapel.”
Solar Pons’ clear-minted features expressed the greatest interest. He hurried forward through the wrought-iron entrance gate and stood for a moment, looking intently about him. The Canon, Miggs and myself remained outside for a moment while he made his preliminary examination. There were few people about here and the light coming in through the stained glass in the early evening of this beautiful June day cast segments of blue, red and gold across Pons’ alert face.
“This is the bowl of which I spoke, Mr Pons,” said the verger pointing out the altar piece in question. I followed behind him and the Canon and I watched while Pons produced his magnifying glass and went carefully over the stonework.
“Why, there, Mr Pons!” said Miggs pointing with a quivering forefinger. “There is a drop of my blood!”
“Indeed,” said Solar Pons abstractedly. “I had already observed it. But I am more interested in this gargoyle. Ah, that is singular, is it not, Parker?”
I followed Pons’ glance and saw that the mouth of the thing was hollow. Pons was within the darkness of the confessional box now and I could see his eyes gleaming in the shadow as he surveyed us.
“Significant also, Parker,” he said, his voice muffled from within the huge wooden structure. I squeezed in beside him and found that I could survey the chapel and a good deal of the Cathedral interior on this side without being seen myself. Pons was crouching down and I saw a beam of light illuminate his features.
“Just look at this, Parker.”
I put my eye down and found that there was a large hole, apparently at the back of the gargoyle’s head. The light from the cathedral interior was shining through the mouth.
“Good heavens, Pons, this is curious!” I exclaimed. “This must have been part of a fountain once.”
“I am inclined to believe you, my dear fellow. Undoubtedly the water supply passed through this channel. It is highly significant.”
We were interrupted at that moment by Canon Stacey, who was obviously keen to show us the spot connected with his own little adventure. In the shadow of the great pillar to which he led us Pons carried out a minute examination, and then glanced at the pews on which the two men were carrying out their mysterious conversation when observed by Stacey.