by Kismet » 02 Sep 2018, 11:34
They went round the structurally sound part of the house first. It wasn’t quite as straightforward as Parkinson had described: there were windows on staircases that required marking and a couple of strange, tiny rooms at the top of their own winding stair. Biggles marked them all, even the ones that more fairly fell into Sandiland and Ashton’s purlieu. ‘Better to be safe than sorry,’ he remarked. ‘They can check on our work and we on theirs.’ Mrs Simpkins in her kitchen was most reluctant to have her windows disturbed. They came to an agreement that Biggles would lay a towel on the ground outside every window of her domain; Algy would stand in each for Biggles to see so no mistake could be made. Having done this, they moved onto the more ruinous portion of the house, and equally carefully marked each window of that.
They were the first to finish and reach the meeting place at the front of the house. Biggles lit a cigarette before scanning the windows on the front. All the windows were marked, either by a towel or a candle.
‘Do you think we’ll find a hidden room?’ Algy asked.
Biggles shrugged. ‘Who knows? But this is more entertaining than going for a long tramp over the fields.’
Sandliland and Ashton appeared from the rear of the property, carrying the few towels and candles that they hadn’t needed to use, and a few moments later, Parkinson came out of the front door. They all stood smoking for a few minutes, commenting on the confusion of the house layout and speculating on what they would find, then moved round to the right side of the house. There, to their great surprise, was an unlit window, almost hidden by the ivy, about half way up the wall in a narrow turret midway along. Parkinson muttered to himself as he worked out its approximate location inside the house.
‘Come on,’ he said in excitement. ‘Let’s investigate.’
‘Hold hard,’ Biggles interrupted. ‘Shouldn’t we check the other windows first?’
‘Yes, you’re right,’ Parkinson agreed, containing his excitement. ‘Let’s do the thing in order.’
They walked around to the rear of the property, and to their further amazement, another window, above the kitchen, was unmarked.
‘How many secret rooms do you have?’ Algy joked ‘Have you got an entire tribe of monsters hidden in there?’
Parkinson was looking shell-shocked. ‘I didn’t really expect to find one,’ he admitted, ‘never mind two. This is a bit of a facer to be honest.’
Inspection of the rest of the building and the ruins, revealed no more windows without towels or candles.
Excited, the men returned to the back door and entered the kitchen. Parkinson orientated himself and pointed. ‘The window is above there.’ They looked along the wall for evidence of the door or staircase, but none was apparent. What, indisputably, was there was a huge dresser, loaded with miscellaneous plates and serving dishes, standing sturdily against the stone.
‘It must be behind that.’ Ashton stated the obvious. ‘It’s going to take ages to empty enough stuff off to lighten it sufficiently to move.’
Algy moved towards, ready to start. He was always willing to get stuck in. Biggles grinned, struck by a sudden thought. He thought Algy might have been invited as a strong back and willing pair of hands.
‘What are you playing at in my kitchen,’ demanded Mrs Simpkins, who so far had remained silent. ‘There’ll be no getting underfoot and disturbing me if you want to be fed tonight.’
‘It’s all right,’ Parkinson soothed. ‘We just need to find out what’s behind the dresser.’
‘Why don’t you ask, like a Christian gentleman, instead of coming in and disturbing me?’ demanded Mrs Simpkins. ‘It’s an old door opening to a twisty stone stair going to a tiny room that’s not big enough to swing a cat in, if anyone wanted to do such a foolish thing. Well, it was no use to man nor beast being exceptionally inconvenient to reach and having no benefit to anyone, so I got Simpkins to put that old dresser across it, being as it was the only place it’d fit, and that is of use. Now, are you going to carry on disrupting my kitchen or can I get on with making your dinner?’
The men looked at the size of Mrs Simpkins, imagined her running up and down a small, inconvenient, spiral stone staircase to collect potatoes or cheeses or whatever other comestibles might be stored in a tiny room, then retreated in good order through the back door to return to gazing at the other unmarked window. This was much more promising.
Parkinson frowned. ‘You know, I’ve no memory of that turret on the inside of any of the rooms. I think access to it must be blocked from all the floors. Let’s find Derbyshire and see what he thinks.’
Derbyshire was found in the most ruined part of the building.
‘I think,’ he announced, rubbing his nose with one begrimed hand, ‘that this is the oldest part. Animals would have been kept on the ground floor – look at the edges of the big door here. They’re rounded, which is always an indication. You can see the marks up there,’ he pointed to some small, regularly spaced holes with protuberances beneath, ‘of where the beams went to support a floor, for storage and sleeping.’
‘Never mind that for now,’ broke in Sandiland, bouncing a little on his toes, ‘We’ve found a window that there’s no access to from the inside.’
Derbyshire was suitably excited, and hurried to join in the inspection of the window. He started planning where they should measure from to find where the window and turret were inside the house. Suggestions came thick and fast from the others.
‘Shouldn’t we shut the windows and blow out the candles first,’ Biggles suggested. ‘That window isn’t going anywhere now we know where it is, but a candle knocked over by a rat could send the whole place up in flames and I have no desire to be burnt in my bed. Look, one’s gone out by itself already.’
Biggles pointed at a window which indeed no longer showed a flame. The others automatically turned to look.
‘What’s that?’ Sandiland asked, pointing at a higher window. I thought I saw a face.’
No one else had seen anything, although Algy thought he’d caught a glimpse of a movement.
‘Come on,’ Biggles said abruptly. ‘Let’s get tidied then we can talk about faces at windows.’
Biggles was disturbed to find, as he retraced his steps collecting towels, shutting windows and blowing out candles, that several candles were no longer burning and two towels had been moved from the window to the floor. He looked at an extinguished stub and frowned. He could see no reason for it to have gone out. There was no draught and the candle was of sufficient size to have burnt for another hour. He felt in his pocket for his lighter and relit the stub. It rekindled easily; burning with a steady flame which barely flickered. Biggles watched it for a moment then pinched it out.
‘What’s up?’ Algy asked.
Biggles shook his head. ‘Nothing much. It just seems peculiar that some of these candles should have blown out. There’s no wind to get to ‘em and the towels must surely have been moved by human agency.’
‘Cats, rats, breezes from doors opening and shutting, or maybe that factotum of Parkinson’s was responsible. He’s prowling around taking temperatures,’ Algy suggested.
Biggles nodded and finished collecting the markers. He waited in the Great Hall for the others to return. Derbyshire was already there, taking eager measurements with a tape measure which Algy was soon pressed into holding the other end of. Sandiland and Ashton dumped their piles of towels and candle stubs on top of Biggles’s and went to join the measurers. Parkinson appeared and followed their example. They dodged in and out of the Hall, into the rooms adjacent and then moved upstairs to continue. Biggles remained aloof for another few moments and then slipped out to walk around the house, checking all the windows. All the markers had been removed. He returned to the front, lit a cigarette and paused. A small towel was now showing at a second floor window. He was definite it hadn’t been there five minutes ago. A figure moved past a first floor window, distorted by the small panes and stone traceries. Even so, Biggles didn’t think it belonged to a member of the house party, who were busy on the other side of the building. Clarke and Forrester returned from the village to find him finishing his smoke so they went in together.
Derbyshire sat at a table, drawing his measurements into a plan of the side of the house containing, or rather not containing, the walled off turret. Parkinson had gone to discuss the temperature measurements with Jackson before he went to sleep for the afternoon. Some of the others, Algy amongst them, were optimistically knocking on walls, trying to find a hollow spot indicating a doorway. Biggles sat and smoked and thought until lunch, half-watching Derbyshire whilst listening vaguely to Clarke and Forrester describe the records they had examined in the church with the vicar.
'Major Bigglesworth' said Von Stalhein coldly, 'there are times when I seriously wonder if you were created by the devil just to annoy me.'