In the lower part of the wall of the crypt, in the corner nearest the entrance, to which no daylight could ever pierce its way, was unearthed between the bases of two of the pillars supporting the roof, the almost fleshless skeleton of a woman, the damp rags of whose dress, still recognizable, hung around the bones in shrunken folds. The flaring and flickering of the lights on what had once been a beautiful face, on the remains of the finery which every other girl in the village had once envied, made an ever-changing, hideous picture, upon which the men all gazed with feelings of pity, horror, and disgust.
A savage exclamation burst from Ned’s lips. Old Mr. Williams was struck dumb with horror; for to him the discovery was quite unforeseen. The doctor bent over the skeleton, and taking a lantern into his own hand, looked carefully at the horrible thing, touched it, removed part of the ragged clothing, and muttered something the rest could not hear. The Vicar of Rishton, accustomed to death in many forms, maintained a demeanor of reverend gravity, tempered by amazement. As the doctor stopped, however, he interposed with some haste, and, coming close beside him, tried gently but firmly to thrust him aside.
“There must be an inquiry into this, I suppose,” he said; “though, for the sake of the unhappy man who committed this deed, and whom we know to have repented long ago, I trust it may be made as quietly as possible. In the meantime the remains must be laid decently in some suitable place. I would suggest the church itself.”
The doctor interrupted him brusquely. He, with the rest, had been listening in dead silence to the clergyman’s words.
“Where you like, vicar: but I must make an examination first. If I’m not mistaken, I’ve seen something just now which will be a positive means of identifying the murderer.” Still the vicar insisted, gently, but with becoming determination.
“I really think, in a matter touching the sanctity of the dead, that I, as vicar, ought to have a voice.”
“But you’re not the vicar of this church,” said the doctor, standing his ground. “The Vicar of St. Cuthbert’s is your brother Vernon, and if, as you seem to say, he has had anything to do with this business——”
There was a stir among the hearers, and old Mr. Williams burst out, “What! What! Vernon Brander! Bless me! You don’t mean to say——”
The vicar was protesting; Ned Mitchell was swearing and muttering; Fred Williams, who had crept in during the last few minutes, was whistling softly to himself, to keep off the horrors.
Suddenly the doctor, who had again stooped over the skeleton, silenced them all in imperious tones.