The Knocker on Death's Door

near that door.”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” one of the visitors explained with kindly condescension, “if you approach these phenomena in a scientific spirit. From what you’ve told us of the past history of the Abbey, this is a very interesting case which ought to be investigated by someone trained in the proper research techniques. What’s needed is accurate and detached observation. That’s impossible if one is afraid.”

Everyone looked at him with the awed respect of the simple villager for the visiting expert. He was a large, slightly flabby man with an egg-shaped skull fringed with reddish hair, and his pale, probing nose was peppered with russet freckles. He was earnest and patronising, and none too free with paying for drinks; but so innocently impervious to all double meanings that Dinah felt it was a shame to take advantage of him.

“I intend,” he announced, having drawn all eyes upon himself, “to keep watch myself tonight. Alone!”

He declared himself with all possible ceremony. The effect was pleasing up to a point. Everyone gaped at him with curiosity, speculation, and—he was sure—admiration. He had hoped also for a degree of anxious solicitude, but of this he could be less certain.

“Sooner you than me, friend,” said Willie the Twig, with obliging (and quite mendacious) fervour. He lived alone in the back of beyond with his forests, his Land-Rover and a couple of setters, and habitually patrolled by night unarmed, even when he had reason to believe there were wood—or deer-poachers about; and so far no one had been able to identify anything in any real or imaginary world of which he could be said to be afraid.

“You’re venturing too far, ’tis daring the devil,” protested Eb, outraged. “You think you’re wise, my friend, but ’tis foolishness to walk too proud in the face of powers more than mortal.”

“Call it off till it stops raining,” offered Saul sportingly, “and we’ll make up a party. How about you, Hugh, lad?”

“Not me!” said Hugh, not without regret. “Sorry, but I’m driving in the Mid-Wales rally tomorrow. Got to get my sleep tonight, I shall be off about five in the morning. Any other time you plan a ghost-hunt, I’ll be delighted.”

“Oh, ah, that’s right, I forgot! Can’t afford to risk your chances in the hill run, that’s a fact. Anybody else game?”

Facetious offers of help and prophecies of doom came cascading from all directions in bewildering variety. The man from the research society was horrified. These attitudes were the outcome of ignorance, and did untold harm. How could extra-human forces be expected to manifest themselves and communicate where there was derision and noise and lack of understanding? Where no one believed except those who were afraid with the old panic terror, and no one at all had an open mind? He must and would be alone on his watch; it was an opportunity not to be missed. He had brought with him merely a raincoat, a notebook and a torch. His purpose was not to tape-record for his own glory, not to stand off an enemy, but to observe, to report truthfully, and to attempt to establish communication if the opportunity was offered.

“Pity, really, about the Mid-Wales being tomorrow,” Hugh whispered in Dinah’s ear, “we could have fixed him up with a set of phenomena he’d never forget.”

“Hush!” Dinah whispered back, smiling and frowning. “He really means it, you know. In a way there is something brave about it.”

“Brave nothing, love! Insensitive and big-headed! It would be gorgeous,” said Hugh, entranced with the prospect, “if he really did see something. I bet you wouldn’t see him for dust! Our Porsche wouldn’t keep his tail- lights in sight!”

That was what was really occupying his mind, Dinah realised, tomorrow, and the twenty-four-hour rally he had a sporting chance of winning. Ted Pelsall, who was Jenny’s brother and their best mechanic, had withdrawn the car a week ago to his own yard, in the ramshackle ex-farmhouse close to the Abbey, and had been working on it lovingly ever since. He always acted as Hugh’s navigator, and since they had to make such an early start to reach the muster-point on time, Hugh was sleeping at the Abbey tonight, where Ted would pick him up before dawn. At least his mother would be happy to have him in the house, even if she saw him for only half an hour before retiring to bed. Sometimes, since that strained evening in her company, Dinah thought of his mother with a curious compassion, detached and mature, surprising even to herself.

“We ought to be going soon,” she whispered.

“Yes, love, I know…” But he went on staring in thoughtful abstraction at the physic researcher, who was standing his ground with an obstinacy so publicly declared that now it could hardly be retracted. Yet to do him justice, he must have meant it from the beginning, since he had come provided with a packet of sandwiches and a small flask of coffee as well as his raincoat and torch. Retreat before his own accusing eyes would have been even harder than retreat in the face of all the mockery and terrorisation “The Sitting Duck” was exercising upon him. And perhaps he was as stupidly big-headed as Hugh had said. Whatever his motives, scientifically pure or humanly stubborn, he meant to go through with it. He would go through with it.

“Drink up, then, my fond and fair one! Sure you wouldn’t like the other half?”

“No, really, thanks. We promised Dave we’d cut it short.”

Hugh held her coat for her, and they withdrew among a chorus of good nights. Everyone who remembered about the rally added fervent good wishes. One or two even had bets on him. They passed close by the earnest stranger, who was also climbing into his coat with slightly defiant resolution. The torch he fished out of a deep pocket was truly formidable in size. Hugh eyed it respectfully in passing.

“You need that to see the ghosts, or what?”

“They don’t like light,” said Eb Jennings mysteriously, as if, had he wished, he could have given this amateur a lot of valuable tips.

“He’s right, you know,” said Hugh seriously. “Much better leave it behind. You’re taking this whole thing too lightly. In for a giggle, in for a thrill, if the monks don’t get you, the devils will!”

“You’re awful!” said Dinah, as they darted through the rain to the car, the everyday Mini they used for general transport. “You just don’t give a damn for anybody!”

“Those people burn me up. Coming to a place they know nothing about, and feel nothing about, where if they had sense they’d sit and listen, and put out feelers until they understood at least the language! I can’t stand phoneys!”

“I’ll drive,” said Dinah, slithering behind the wheel, for she had, in any case, to drive herself home from the Abbey after dropping him. They threaded the roads between autumnal, leaning trees, streaming and gleaming with