The crooked cross

by Charles J. Dutton

“There is some one in the church, and there seems to be a light there. But it is a very feeble one at the best. We will go down to the last window. This time we will let Pelt look inside and tell us what he sees.”

We went down the side of the church until we reached the last window. Here Bartley aided me as I scrambled up to the sill and stood upon the rather large ledge. The window was partly covered over with ivy, but I found a clear place and pressed my face against the glass. For a while as I looked within, I saw nothing. In fact, the church was simply a vast dark cave, the darkness so dense that I could not distinguish any of the objects within.

But I did discover something else. Somewhere near my ear there must have been a hole in the glass, or a broken section, for the sound of the organ was much louder than when I heard it before. Within the church some one was playing—playing with a feeling and a power which was hard to describe. The loud notes rolled down to my ear, increasing, it seemed, in sound every second. And the music was indescribable, like nothing I had ever heard before and, for that matter, nothing that I would care to hear again.

It seemed to contain a note of victory mingled with some wild, barbaric strain of exaltation; music unlike anything I had ever heard before, and music, which for some unknown reason, made my blood run cold. One thing was certain, whatever was being played it was not the type of music which one hears in a church. The wild, barbaric strains, now shrieking forth in gleeful triumph, now seeming to cry defiance to one's enemies, was not church music. It was too loud and far too primitive for that. And then, suddenly, I saw something.

With my face pressed against the glass, I had tried to penetrate the darkness within. But the gloom hid everything from sight as if a heavy thick blanket had been drawn across my vision. As my glance swept down the length of the church and then upward, I suddenly saw a light. It was the merest pin point of a light, far up in the organ loft. As I gazed at the speck of brightness in the darkness, I saw something else.

It seemed to me that the light must be from a candle placed somewhere upon the organ. It was so small that it could not give much illumination. From where I was it did not seem much larger than a dollar. But beside the light, mostly in the shadow, could be seen the indistinct figure of a man—a man bent over the keyboard of the organ, his figure swaying back and forth as he played. But it was impossible to distinguish who the man might be.

With the wild notes of the organ ringing in my ears, I dropped to the ground and told what I had observed. Bartley turned at once to the window and, with my assistance, climbed upon the sill. For several moments, with his face against the glass, he remained motionless. Then, sliding to the ground, he came to our side.

“Is there a balcony in the church?” he asked Carter.

Carter thought a moment and replied that he thought there was. Then Bartley said he wished Carter and I to go into the church and to reach the balcony. He and Ranville would join us in a short while. If we succeeded in getting into the balcony without being heard, we were to simply watch the person playing the organ and wait until Bartley joined us. We started to ask him what he expected would be discovered. He made no reply to the question; instead he said he thought he would be able to pick the lock of the front door of the church.

Wondering just why he wished us to go into the church and, above all, puzzled as to where he and Ranville might be going, we followed him to the church entrance. For a second the flame from his flash light played upon the great door. Then as we screened him, Bartley fumbled for a moment or so with the lock, using a thin piece of steel, and before we knew it the door was open.