‘I’ll borrow an old pair of overalls and a cap from Jim’s cupboard. All I have to do is to rig myself out in these things and stand against the wall. Of course, admitted Sally, I can’t hope to fool them for long, but the sight of their faces when they throw open that door and find me should be well worth the trouble of the gag.’
She paused, watching Elizabeth ’s patently dismayed face.
‘Well?’
‘You can,’ said Mrs Blackburn, ‘include me out.’
‘ Elizabeth, for Pete’s sake.’
‘No, darling, for mine. If Jeffery ever knew I’d had a hand in a thing like this, he’d have me certified.’
‘Jeffery won’t know,’ Sally persisted. ‘All you have to do is to bolt that door on the outside.’
Afterwards, reviewing the whole sinister business with Jeffery, Elizabeth could never actually explain how Sally talked her into this initial gambit. She could only confess that, despite her rooted disapproval of such an infantile scheme, ten minutes later found the two of them burdened with clothing and creeping down a winding stone staircase that threw back the sullen echoes of their footsteps.
‘There it is,’ announced Sally.
The steps flattened, widened abruptly into a passage which rose into a groined roof over their heads. This passage ended in a blank wall and in the centre, a stone door stood slightly ajar, an extremely massive portal, at least two feet thick, such rugged depth corresponding to the width of the wall in which it was slung. Heavy iron hinges laced one side, two sets of bolts, thicker than Elizabeth ’s wrist, were welded to the other. There was rust and dust and cobwebs.
Mrs Blackburn gave a little, unaccountable shiver and stopped in her tracks.
‘Over to you, darling,’ she announced.
‘Nonsense,’ said Sally briskly. ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of.’
‘I’m not -’ began Elizabeth, then she stopped. Not afraid, just – well – apprehensive. She wished it was Jeffery who walked by her side instead of this keen-faced young woman who had almost been expelled from Bryn Mawr for trying to land her plane on the lacrosse field. This business of people vanishing into thin air! Up stairs with the men it had seemed too ludicrous for a second thought. But down here in this world of stone and stillness -
Heavy as the door seemed, it swung back easily when Sally dragged at it. As Elizabeth took an unwilling step into the blackness, her companion’s torch cut a swathe of light across the small room. And it was surprisingly tiny compared with the dimensions of the upper apartments; certainly no more than twelve feet square.
Sally flashed the torch around.
‘You see? Nothing to raise even a solitary goosepimple – just a bare room. Now then -,’ she thrust out the torch and grabbed at the bundled clothing. ‘Hold the light while I slip into these things.’
In turn, Mrs Blackburn played the silver finger of light over the rough unbroken walls and up to the ceiling that seemed to press down on her neat head. Then she pronounced her judgment. ‘I wouldn’t stay alone in this place for a cartload of silver foxes.’ She turned to where Sally was struggling with the stained overalls. ‘Listen, darling. Be sensible. Call the whole thing off.’
‘Get thee behind me, Satan!’
‘Sally!’ Elizabeth ’s voice was shrill. ‘Don’t say that, not down here!’
‘Peanuts,’ snapped Mrs Rutland inelegantly. She fumbled here and there, then pulled the cap over her dark curls. ‘There, I’m ready. Now – bring those doubting Thomases down here fast as you can. And be sure to bolt that door on the outside.’
‘Sally -’ it was a final appeal.
‘Outside, Infirm of Purpose! And bolt that door!’
For just a second. Elizabeth hesitated. Then she passed out into the dimly lit passage and strained at the door. It seemed to swing shut with almost sinister haste and she reached up and shot the bolts with none-too-steady fingers.
She was half way down the passage when she heard the first cry.
It was so faint, so muffled and so indistinct that Elizabeth wondered, at first, if it was merely her imagination stimulated by the hushed and sinister surroundings. Yet that curious echo had been so urgent and so arresting that, despite her eagerness to leave this place, she hesitated with one small foot on the lowest stair. In that moment, it came again and this time there was no mistaking the quality of terror which seeped through even walls of stone.
‘ Elizabeth – help! Come back!’
Some actions are purely automatic, made without conscious thought. Elizabeth only knew that she was back at that massive door, pounding on it, crying out, ‘Sally – Sally, what is it?’ Then as no answer came, she wrenched at the rusting bolts, tearing a nail. The door, seeming a dozen times as heavy in her panic, almost resisted her efforts to drag it open. It gave suddenly and swung wide with a sour grating of hinges. Elizabeth stood trembling in the entrance.
‘Sally,’ she called unsteadily.
The small black pit ahead threw back the echoes of her voice. Mrs Blackburn’s uncertain fingers found the sliding catch on the torch and a spear of light shot forward, wavered, explored the full circle, while the girl stared, amazed and incredulous.
The room was empty!
‘Oh, no,’ whispered Elizabeth Blackburn. Then she swallowed, for there was an odd, sick feeling in her stomach. Nerving herself, she moved forward into the room and its cold dankness rose up around her, so that she swallowed again and put out one hand to the thick wall for support. Standing thus, she played the torch around again, grimly, doggedly, choking down the panic within her, covering every inch of those solid, unbroken walls enclosing that unbelievable, incredibly empty space.
‘There’s no one here,’ she said huskily.
And then, right at her very side, something chuckled.
There was no amusement in it, nor was it a loud sound. It was, however, more than enough for Elizabeth. She swung around, played the light on the blank wall at her side, then with a little choking gasp, she bolted, – bolted frankly and unashamedly, taking the steps three at a time, running with outstretched hands through the long hall, across the armoury, past the stained glass windows with their heavy curtains, through the living quarters and into the sanctuary of the reception room, with its cheerful fire, its deep chairs and the comforting, though undeniably startled, faces of the assembled menfolk.
2
‘Darling,’ said Mr Blackburn.
‘Another little sip of brandy,’ advised Jim Rutland.
‘Slip this cushion behind the lady’s head,’ suggested the financier Wilkins.
Mrs Blackburn, recumbent, panting, choked with brandy, glared up at the good Samaritans and strove to get her breath. Then she sat up and began to pat her hair into place.
‘Listen to me, all of you -’
Jeffery placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. ‘Take it easy sweetheart.’
‘But Sally -’
‘More brandy?’ said Jim Rutland. Anyone with a hide less thick would have recoiled from Elizabeth ’s look. But Rutland merely replaced the decanter on the table.
‘Now, what’s all this about Sally?’
Elizabeth said breathlessly, ‘I’ve told you. She had me lock her in that horrible little room downstairs – it was to be a joke on you men. Then I heard that cry. I rushed back, opened the door – and she’d vanished!’ She paused, looking from face to face. ‘Well! Say something!’
‘She was obviously hiding behind the door,’ explained Mr Blackburn and calmly lit a cigarette.
‘The door opens outward,’ replied his wife shortly. ‘Besides, while I stood looking into that room – a room
