Send for Paul Temple, page 13
“There doesn’t seem to be anyone in, as far as I can—” He broke off. “Just a minute!”
Resounding through the hall, they could hear footsteps approaching. Next they heard bolts being drawn and presently the door opened. Before them stood Snow Williams.
“Good evening, sir,” he said quietly.
“I should like to see Dr. Milton,” said Temple. “My name is—”
“Dr. Milton is out!” the other interrupted. “He went into Evesham about an hour ago.”
“Oh. Oh, I see,” Temple replied. “Er, then perhaps Miss Thornley would—”
“Miss Thornley is with the doctor, sir.” Snow Williams spoke in his dispassionate voice, and instinctively Paul Temple felt there was no truth in what he was saying.
“Oh. Er, that’s rather unfortunate, isn’t it?” he said after a moment’s pause.
“Was the doctor expecting you, sir?”
“No,” replied Temple. “No, I don’t think he was. Still, if he’s only popped into Evesham, it might be quite a good idea if we waited.”
Snow Williams did not appear to welcome the proposal.
“I hardly think the doctor will be back for quite a little while, sir.”
“Oh, er, don’t you?” asked Temple. “Still, I think we’ll wait,” he said pleasantly.
Snow Williams hesitated.
“Very good, sir,” he said at last. “This way, if you please.”
He closed the door and led the way through a large and stately hall. Their footsteps echoed over the parquet floor. One or two oil paintings hung on the walls. On an old-fashioned carved mahogany stand hung a collection of coats and hats.
The ‘butler’ opened a door and showed them into a large, comfortable room which appeared to be in frequent use. Newspapers and periodicals littered the tables and chairs. Among them Paul Temple noticed a copy of the Police Review and suppressed a smile. On the mantelpiece stood a number of small gilt statuettes. The doctor seemed fond of sculpture. In a corner of the room stood a statue, half life size, of Aphrodite. In the hall, Paul Temple had seen another large marble statue of Apollo. Dr. Milton was apparently very classical in his tastes, if a little obvious, Paul Temple reflected.
“This is the lounge, sir,” Snow Williams informed them. “I’ll let you know immediately the doctor returns.”
“Splendid!”
“What name shall I—”
“Temple. Paul Temple.”
A look of surprise came into the man’s eyes.
“Temple?” he repeated. He paused, then seemed to recollect himself. “Oh, thank you, sir.”
Then he left the room and closed the door.
Steve Trent did not know whether to laugh or shudder at this strange specimen of humanity.
“Well, I don’t think Boris Karloff would keep him awake!” she remarked to Paul Temple.
The novelist began to laugh. “Behind that rough exterior there probably lurks a heart of gold!”
“Lurks is about right, if you ask me!” laughed Steve.
Neither of them seemed to have any inclination just to sit down and await the arrival of Dr. Milton. Together they started examining the room. All the furniture and decorations were obviously of the best. A beautiful old silk Turkish rug lay in front of the fire. Indeed, the room could scarcely have been more luxuriously equipped.
“I say,” remarked Paul Temple at last, “it’s a pretty impressive sort of place, this, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she agreed. Then she turned to the mantelpiece and pointed to the little figures on it. “Our friend, the doctor, certainly believes in statues!”
“Nothing particularly modest about ‘em, either!” remarked Paul Temple.
Steve rippled with laughter as she contemplated the nudity to which he referred. Meanwhile Temple walked over to give them a closer examination, and Steve began to laugh anew.
“Hello! Hello!” he exclaimed, looking down from the mantelpiece to the grate below.
“What is it?” Steve asked, now serious again.
“Dear, oh dear! It looks as if our friend Mr. Karloff was spinning a little story when he said the doctor and Diana left an hour ago.”
“Why?”
“There’s a cigarette-end in the fireplace and it obviously hasn’t been there very long, judging from appearances.”
Steve did not take the discovery quite so seriously as her companion. “Perhaps the butler was having a quiet little smoke!” she remarked. “That would account for him keeping us waiting.”
“It wouldn’t account for the lip rouge on the cigarette, dearie!” said Paul Temple, ironically. “Unless we’ve greatly misjudged our friend.”
Steve Trent joined him in front of the fireplace and proceeded to examine the beautiful little statuettes. They were perfect specimens of workmanship. Indeed, two of them looked as if they were of solid gold and worth an immense sum of money. Suddenly Steve came to a stop before one of the statues.
“I say, Paul—” she started.
“Yes?”
“This is a funny sort of thing, isn’t it?”
“What is it?” asked Paul Temple quietly.
“I don’t know,” Steve answered. “Looks like a figure of something or other . . .”
Being gifted with an exceptionally large measure of curiosity, Steve proceeded to finger the strange little statue. Its upper half seemed separate from the remainder.
“The top part is quite loose!” she exclaimed as she made the discovery. “Look, it—” She suddenly hesitated.
Steve had turned the statue round, idly wondering whether it could be unscrewed. As she did so, a section of the oak panelling in the wall, several feet square, began slowly and softly to slide back.
“Paul, look!” she shouted across at him. “Look!” she repeated.
Paul Temple came to her side and together they stared at this extraordinary discovery. Behind the panel all was intense darkness. Steve, full of excitement, returned to have another look at the little statue.
“No, don’t touch the statue, Steve!” Temple admonished her. He felt in his pockets, and extracted a flat pocket electric torch. “We must have a look at this!” he said softly.
He switched the torch on and flashed the light through the aperture. It was not big enough for both of them to look through, together, and Steve found it hard to restrain her impatience.
“Can you see anything?” she asked at last.
Paul Temple withdrew his arms and head and looked into her anxious eyes.
“Yes,” he said. “It’s just a small room – nothing exciting about it. It’s not even furnished.”
“Oh,” said Steve, feeling a trifle disappointed.
“Let’s have a look inside!” he said, however. He managed to push back the panel a few inches and started climbing inside. The opening was now just big enough for a man to work his way through. The bottom of the opening was some two feet from the floor. Slowly and carefully, Paul Temple began to clamber through, watching for anything that might happen. Soon he was inside. Then he stretched out his arm to help Steve into the little room.
“Come on, Steve!” he encouraged her. “Can you get in all right?”
“Yes!” she replied, as she placed one foot on the other side of the panel, unconsciously revealing as she did so a length of perfectly shaped leg. Then she bent down and was soon inside the mysterious little room.
“Not very impressive, is it?” commented Paul Temple.
“It doesn’t seem to be used at all as far as I can see,” she replied. Nevertheless, there was very little dust on the floor. Both stood looking round, equally mystified.
“Isn’t there a light?” asked Steve.
“Yes, but I’m blowed if I can see the switch,” was the answer. Set in the middle of the ceiling was an opal glass bowl which betokened an electric light. Yet neither of them had noticed any sign of a switch which would work it.
“Close the panel, Steve,” Paul Temple hazarded. “I have an idea that might work it.”
She pulled the panel. Immediately the little chamber was flooded with light from the bowl above. They could now see their immediate surroundings better, but found there was still nothing extraordinary about them.
“I thought it would,” he said. “I could see the small notch in the corner of—”
He broke off as a strange noise came to their ears.
“What’s that?” he asked.
They listened intently. It was the sound of machinery. It might have been the whir of a dynamo or some electric motor. It seemed to come from somewhere close at hand.
“It sounds like—” Steve Trent started; then she broke off. She had been feeling the panel, trying to push it back.
“Paul!” she exclaimed in sudden alarm. “Paul! The panel won’t open!”
“Won’t open!” he repeated, gently pushing her aside. “Here, let me try.” He struggled hard, but it refused to yield.
“By Timothy!” he said. “We’re locked in!”
They looked round in helpless amazement at their tiny prison.
They pushed at the sides of the chamber, but without avail. Their desperate search for some hidden button or switch that might put an end to their imprisonment met with immediate failure.
“Listen!” exclaimed Temple suddenly.
The hum of the machinery had gradually been growing louder. Now it seemed to fill the little room. An instant later, the floor started to tremble.
“Paul!” exclaimed Steve with immense trepidation, “Paul! We’re moving!”
“Moving?”
“It’s the room – can’t you feel it? Can’t you feel it?”
The hum of the machinery had swollen till now it reverberated in their ears. The entire room was shaking.
Paul Temple paused. Then in sudden astonishment, he realized what was happening. “By Timothy, Steve – we’re in a lift!”
“A lift!” she repeated.
“Keep still!” he instructed.
The two stood watching each other, powerless to do anything.
Slowly, they realized that they were descending, that they were being carried into the depths of the earth. Steve stared at Temple with an expression of bewildered astonishment.
“Paul!” she shrieked. “We’re going down! We’re—going— down! We’re—going—down!!!!”
Chapter XVII
The Secret of the Lift
The hum of machinery continued. For what seemed an eternity Paul Temple and Steve Trent were imprisoned in the slowly descending lift. Neither spoke. Both could only wonder what would be the climax of this strange turn of events. There was scarcely room to move.
There was nothing to be seen. The panel was the only opening, and this was now closed. There was not even a grill of any kind through which they could peer as they descended.
Down and down it went. Seconds lengthened into minutes. Only the continued vibration told them they were still moving.
“We’re stopping, Steve . . .” said Temple. Suddenly, almost simultaneously, the lift gave a sharp jerk and the vibration ceased.
“Open the panel, Steve!”
Steve was in a better position to slide it back than Temple.
“I wonder where we are!” she speculated, a little nervously, as she stretched out her arm to open it.
“Probably the bargain basement!” replied Paul Temple, with grim flippancy. “Here, I’ll try that!” he exclaimed, as he saw that Steve’s efforts to open the panel were proving fruitless. With a twist of his arm, he had the panel open.
Both looked out through the opening. Dimly they could make out that they were in some kind of vault or passage. They could see two sides, six or eight feet apart. In the rear was nothing but hollow darkness.
Everything was deathly still. The air seemed clammy, even though it was cold. They appeared to be deep under the earth in some kind of queer subterranean corridor.
Paul Temple had now pulled out his electric torch, thanking his lucky stars for having taken it with him, and suddenly pressed the switch.
“Looks like a passage of some sort!” he said.
“Yes,” agreed Steve in a whisper. They made out the stone slabs that lined the sides and the floor. They were slimy and covered with some growth that looked like moss. Stalactites, up to nearly a foot long, hung down from the roof. The passage itself seemed just high enough for a tall man to walk upright. The surface of the walls and ground were wet. A few yards from the lift was a cavity in which were two strong wooden cases with heavy padlocks fastening them, and bound with iron.
“Can you get out all right?” Paul Temple asked.
“I think so,” Steve replied as she started to clamber through the opening. “They don’t give you much room, do they?”
Taking care not to rip her dinner dress, she finally managed to pull herself through. The bulkier Temple speedily followed her. Together they stood in front of the lift peering into the distance which the light from the little electric torch could not reach.
Temple put his arm round Steve’s waist to reassure her, and slowly and carefully, watching out for any openings in the ground beneath them, they commenced to move forward. He handed Steve the torch. His right hand he put into his pocket. There, he had his precious automatic, and his fingers closed round it with an immense feeling of satisfaction. He pulled it out and showed it to Steve so that she, too, could share in the feeling of security it gave. With his thumb, he pressed down the safety catch, and as they walked along, held it in front of him, ready for any emergency.
“I wonder where this place leads to?” he remarked.
“I’ve got a pretty awful sense of direction,” replied Steve, “but we seem to be going towards the village, as far as I can make out.”
“We’ll walk to the end!” he said, after they had gone on a few yards.
The light from the torch began to flicker. The battery was fading. Temple cursed himself mentally for not making sure that it would last. He determined also, if he ever came out of this extraordinary situation alive, to buy a lamp with a hand-operated dynamo.
“Can you see all right?” he asked Steve after a while.
“Not too badly,” she replied.
“This passage is pretty old,” remarked Temple. “It must have been here for years.”
Silently they trudged on. They were now getting more accustomed to the darkness and to the slippery surface of the stone flags over which they were walking. Now they were beginning to step out in a sharp walk. This was necessary, if only to keep warm in the damp, cold air of the passage.
“Seems fairly long, doesn’t it?” said Temple after a few minutes.
Suddenly Steve came to a stop. She pulled herself free from him and pointed into the distance.
“Paul!” she burst out. “Paul, there’s a light!”
The novelist’s eyesight was not quite so keen as Steve’s, but he strained his eyes to catch a glimpse of the light in the distance.
“Where?” he asked. “Oh, yes!” he said suddenly.
“It’s an oil lamp!” said Steve. “Someone must have been here quite recently.”
“Someone’s been here quite recently, all right!” Temple remarked grimly. “Don’t worry about that. I wonder where the devil this passage leads to?” he added thoughtfully.
Steve began to smile. A fantastic thought had occurred to her. “Most probably to ‘The Little General’,” she laughed. “Everything seems to lead towards—”
“By Timothy, Steve!” interrupted Paul Temple, a tremendous elation in his voice. “By Timothy, you’re right!”
“Why, Paul, you don’t—”
Paul Temple did not let Steve finish her sentence. He explained the conclusion to which he had jumped from her chance remark.
“’The Little General’ lies about a hundred yards from Ashdown House,” he said. “We must have come fifty yards already—”
“Then you really think this passage leads towards the inn?” Steve interrupted, with obvious excitement in her voice.
“We’ll soon find out,” he replied grimly. “We’ll soon find out, Steve.”
Slowly they plodded on. Paul Temple had switched his torch off, but the faint beams from the oil lamp seemed to be reflected backwards and forwards from the shiny walls. There was just enough light for them to make their way. Moreover, they did not care to advertise their approach by using the torch.
Occasionally, one or other of them kicked hard at a stone that projected from the other flags. Otherwise their progress remained uninterrupted. There were no hidden pitfalls, no obstructions against which they might stumble. Only here and there an old barrel, its iron hoops thick with rust.
At last they came to a halt.
“There’s some sort of wooden staircase over there!” exclaimed Steve in guarded tones.
“Yes. We’re underneath the inn, all right,” Temple whispered. “I don’t think there’s any doubt about that.”
They made their way towards the stairs that Steve had indicated.
“Can you hear voices?” asked Paul Temple suddenly.
Steve listened intently. “Yes,” she said at last. “Yes, I think I can.”
They could both hear men talking, but it was all too far away to distinguish what was being said.
“If we climb to the top of the staircase, we might hear better,” suggested Temple.
“Yes,” said Steve, obviously keyed up with excitement.
She set her foot on the first step and proceeded to make her way up the staircase, followed closely by Temple.
“Be careful, Steve!” he admonished her.
Taking care not to make any noise, they climbed the old wooden stairs. The voices were growing more distinct now, but at all cost their presence must not be discovered.
Suddenly, a board creaked very loudly. The noise rang through the silent gloom almost like a pistol shot. Both stopped dead. Temple gently pushed Steve to the edge of the stairs.
“Don’t walk in the middle,” he whispered.
Keeping close to the rail on the outside, Steve slowly and cautiously picked her way up, with Paul Temple immediately behind her. At last they came to a door from which the voices were now clearly audible.
