"The first horror was that they were all hatefully angry. I could feel that anger flowing toward me: dumb, dull, passive, yet still an anger. It filled the gallery with hatred. That was when, very slowly, they began moving toward me. The next horror was that, as they approached, I could see how each one of them had died.
"Those who died peaceful deaths had their eyes closed, like great dumb images. Those who died violent deaths had their eyes wide open, with a ring of white round the iris. I saw Madame Rambouillet with her wired ringlets, all bloated from dropsy; and Justin Devereux, in a starched ruff, with the dagger wound in his side.
"They were real. They had bodies. They could touch you. Past one window they came, and then another window, throwing shadows. But still I couldn't move. It was when the wave of them seemed to get higher and higher, and I could catch the gleam of a silver shoe buckle, I knew that their anger was not directed toward me at all. It was directed toward someone, a woman, crouching and cowering behind me, trying to shield herself.
"And all the time these dead things were speaking together, or whispering. First dry and rustling, then hatefully muffled like voices through cloth; but louder and louder, over and over, dinning and repeating, the same whispery three words. General Devereux, with the two bullet holes in his face, reached out and took my wrist to push me aside.
"And all the time those voices, paying no attention to me, went on with their refrain:
" 'Cast her out! Cast her out! Cast her out! "
CHAPTER XII
Celia's voice rose up wildly on those last words, and then trailed away. She sat there, just inside shadow, so that Holden could not read her expression. Her laughter, clear and ringing, rose up in the grass-scented churchyard.
"Stop that!" Holden said sharply.
"Stop what?"
"Stop laughingl"
"I'm s-sorry. But aren't you glad, Don, I didn't tell you this story last night?"
"What—happened after that? In the gallery?"
"I don't know. Obey found me lying there at daybreak on Christmas morning. She swore I'd die of pneumonia, and raved, and tried to pack me into bed with three or four hot-water bottles. But it didn't trouble me. I'm not sensitive to cold, as poor Margot was."
(At her side Dr. Fell made a short, slight movement)
“Celia." Holden cleared his throat
"Yes, Don?"
"You know, of course, that you dreamed all this?"
"Did I?" asked Celia. She edged sideways into the moonlight. The extraordinary glitter of her eyes, the set of her mouth, contrasted with the soft face. "They were real. They had bodies. I saw them."
"Do you remember last night, Celia? Dr. Shepton? I'd hate to agree with one single word Shepton said . . ."
"I don't blame you for agreeing, Don." Celia turned her face away. "If s only natural. I'm ma—"
"No. It was a quite ordinary nightmare. I've had some myself that were as bad or worse." (Lord, he prayed, let me handle this properly I) "But it was inspired, as Shepton suggested, by that thrice-damnable Murder game in masks."
"Don! Pleasel"
"You're intelligent, Celia. Use your wits on this. The very faces in your nightmare suggest masks. Now think of the voices, 'muffled like voices through cloth.' My darling, listen! Thaf s exactly how voices sound when they speak inside masks, as you heard them all through the questioning of the Murder game."
"Don, I ..."
"Let me appeal to Dr. Fell. What do you say, Dr. Fell?" "I say," replied Dr. Fell, in a slow and ponderous voice, "that we had better settle this." "Settle it?"
"By opening the vault now," said Dr. Fell. One of his canes fell to the ground with a clatter as he hoisted himself up on the other.
"But what in Satan's name do you expect to . . . ?"
"I was supposed," Dr. Fell swept this aside, "to wait for Inspector Crawford. He phoned that he was on his way, which was the message conveyed to me by Miss Obey. But (hurrum) he is very late. I think we shall proceed without him."
A new voice interposed:
"Just a minute, sir." They all jumped, and it seemed to Holden that Dr. Fell muttered something under his breath.
Up the pebbled path came tramping, rather out of breath, a hardy middle-aged man in old tweeds and a soft hat. The only feature of him now distinguishable was a remarkable moustache, which by daylight might have been anything from sandy to red. But he did not like this churchyard. He did not like it at all.
The newcomer gave Dr. Fell something between a touch of the hat and a formal salute.
"Had a puncture on my bike," he said. "Delayed. Sorry." Then he drew himself up. "What I want to know, sir, is this. Am I here officially, or unofficially?"
"At the moment," said Dr. Fell, "unofficially."
"Ah!" A breath of relief was expelled under the formidable ios moustache. "Mind, not that we're doing anything exactly illegal. But I thought I'd better wear plain clothes."
Dr. Fell introduced his companions to Inspector Crawford of the Wiltshire County Constabulary.
"Have you," asked Dr. Fell, "got the necessaries?"
"Torch, knife, and magnifying glass," returned Inspector Crawford, slapping two pockets briskly. "All present and correct, sir." But definitely he did not like his surroundings. They saw his eyes move.
"In that case," said Dr. Fell, "will you please examine what I have here?"
Fumbling inside his cloak, fiercely concentrating to remember the right pockets, Dr. Fell produced first an electric torch and then a small wash-leather bag tied at the mouth with a cord. He handed the bag to Inspector Crawford.
By the light of Dr. Fell's torch, a small dazzle under cypress shadow and the loom of the vault behind them, Crawford opened the bag and turned out in his palm a heavy gold ring whose seal Holden could not see; it was turned the other way.
"Well Inspector?" demanded Dr. Fell.
"Well, sir, if s a ring." The other peered at it more closely. "Bit of an odd seal. More intricate, like, than I ever saw. And this thing on the lower part, like a woman asleep ..."
"Intricatel" roared Dr. Fell. "Saints and devils!" They all shied back.
"Easy, sir!" muttered Inspector Crawford. His moustache, in the light, was fiery red.
"I beg your pardon," also muttered Dr. Fell, guiltily hunching his chins down into his cloak. "But I would, at Christmas, be visiting a noted collector. I would, with graceful presence of mind, drop that infernal ring into my pocket and forget it completely. I would have it in my pocket when— never mind!"
Again he pointed with the light from the torch.
"The ring, Inspector, was cut for Prince Metternich of Austria. You may take my word for it, or Professor Westbury's, that there isn't another like it in existence."
"Ah!" said Inspector Crawford.
"It was designed, during the days of Metternich's Black Cabinet, so that the impression of the seal couldn't be copied or forged or replaced once it had been stamped on a soft surface. For reasons I needn't go into now, you may take replacement as out of the question."
Dr. Fell now sent the beam of the torch wheeling round to the vault between the cypresses.
"On December twenty-seventh. Inspector, I locked that door. I filled the lock with plasticine, the sort you buy at Woolworth's. I sealed it with the ring. This afternoon I convinced myself that the seal hadn't been touched or tampered with since. Will you go and convince yourself too?"
Inspector Crawford squared his shoulders.
"I'm a fingerprint man," he said. "This is my meat"
And, a little uncertainly, they all moved toward the tomb.
They could now see that the little pillars on each side of the door, instead of being stone like the rest of the vault, were of mottled marble. Against the heavy inner door, painted gray, the gray seal of the lock would have gone unnoticed by any visitor to the cemetery. While Dr. Fell held the light, Inspector Crawford stooped down, put the ring beside the seal with his left hand, and with his right hand held a magnifying glass over both.