|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 17
What he had seen was something unusual about one of the silver
candlesticks. These candlesticks had three feet, and five of them
were placed in such a way that the two front feet were turned toward
the spectator. But on the end candlestick nearest Muller the single
foot projected out to the front of the altar. This candlestick
therefore had been set down hastily, not placed carefully in the
order of things as were the others.
And not only this. The heavy wax candle which was in the candlestick
was burned down about a finger's breadth more than the others, for
these were all exactly of a height. Muller bent still nearer to
the candlestick, but he saw that the dim light in the church was not
sufficient. He went to one of the smaller side altars, took a candle
from there, lit it with one of the matches that he found in his own
pocket and returned with the burning candle to the main altar. The
steps leading up to this altar were covered by a large rug with a
white ground and a pattern of flowers. Looking carefully at it the
detective saw a tiny brown spot, the mark of a burn, upon one of the
white surfaces. Beside it lay a half used match.
Walking around this carefully, Muller approached the candlestick
that interested him and holding up his light he examined every inch
of its surface. He found what he was looking for. There were dark
red spots between the rough edges of the silver ornamentation.
"Then the body is somewhere around here," thought the detective and
came down from the steps, still holding the burning candle.
He walked slowly to the back of the altar. There was a little table
there such as held the sacred dishes for the communion service, and
the little carpet-covered steps which the sexton put out for the
pastor when he took the monstrance from the high-built tabernacle.
That was all that was to be seen in the dark corner behind the altar.
Holding his candle close to the floor Muller discovered an iron ring
fastened to one of the big stone flags. This must be the entrance
to the crypt.
Muller tried to raise the flag and was astonished to find how easily
it came up. It was a square of reddish marble, the same with which
the entire floor of the church was tiled. This flag was very thin
and could easily be raised and placed back against the wall. Muller
took up his candle, too greatly excited to stop to get a stick for
it. He felt assured that now he would soon be able to solve at
least a part of the mystery. He climbed down the steps carefully
and found that they led into the crypt as he supposed. They were
kept spotlessly clean, as was the entire crypt as far as he could
see it by the light of his flickering candle. He was not surprised
to discover that the air was perfectly pure here. There must be
windows or ventilators somewhere, this he knew from the way his
candle behaved.
The ancient vault had a high arched ceiling and heavy massive
pillars. It was a subterranean repetition of the church above.
There had evidently been a convent attached to this church at one
time; for here stood a row of simple wooden coffins all exactly
alike, bearing each one upon its lid a roughly painted cross
surrounded by a wreath. Thus were buried the monks of days long past.
Muller walked slowly through the rows of coffins looking eagerly to
each side. Suddenly he stopped and stood still. His hand did not
tremble but his thin face was pale--pale as that face which looked
up at him out of one of the coffins. The lid of the coffin stood
up against the wall and Muller saw that there were several other
empty ones further on, waiting for their silent occupants.
The body in the open coffin before which Muller stood was the body
of the man who had been missing since the day previous. He lay
there quite peacefully, his hands crossed over his breast, his eyes
closed, a line of pain about his lips. In the crossed fingers was
a little bunch of dark yellow roses. At the first glance one might
almost have thought that loving hands had laid the old pastor in his
coffin. But the red stain on the white cloth about his throat, and
the bloody disorder of his snow-white hair contrasted sadly with the
look of peace on the dead face. Under his head was a white silk
cushion, one of the cushions from the altar.
Muller stood looking down for some time at this poor victim of a
strange crime, then he turned to go.
He wanted to know one thing more: how the murderer had left the
crypt. The flame of his candle told him, for it nearly went out
in a gust of wind that came down the opening right above him. This
was a window about three or four feet from the floor, protected by
rusty iron bars which had been sawed through, leaving the opening
free. It was a small window, but it was large enough to allow a man
of much greater size than Muller to pass through it. The detective
blew out his candle and climbed up onto the window sill. He found
himself outside, in a corner of the churchyard. A thicket of heavy
bushes grown up over neglected graves completely hid the opening
through which he had come. There were thorns on these bushes and
also a few scattered roses, dark yellow roses.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|