Death in the dusk

by Virgil Markham

I must have stood there a long while almost oblivious, gazing into the invisible, until the darkness seemed to enter my brain. The most infinitesimal sounds crept into my consciousness: the muffled murmur of water in motion somewhere, the charnel breath of the things that drooped from the vault, the very voice of silence! Then disgust at my surroundings mounted in an instant almost to nausea, and I wheeled about in flight to the cellar above.

I took the stairs in a leap and a scramble, the trap-cover closed with a shout behind me while I darted among the bins and arches to the winding steps. At the top of these I paused to replace the key but not to turn it, then made tiptoes past the doors until I gained the kitchen. With the key of the gate-house in my hand I passed into the dinner-room, thence through the corridor into the conservatory, one of whose smaller windows I proposed to use as a means of egress.

The valley seemed pale and quiet in the moonlight. In a trice I had the casement open and had stepped through to the ground, concealed beneath those outside stairs leading to the door at the end of the first floor corridor. I pushed the window shut, and on the instant the long screech of some predatory night-bird shrilled from the summer-house park. If it was an omen, it was not for good—and my path lay among those shadows!

This was for secrecy. If I passed directly across the lawn, some wakeful eye in one of the long range of windows might find me out; so I had no choice but a long three parts of a circle screened by trees. First I stole behind the birches where I concealed myself at dawn the other day on catching sight of the red-bearded runner, next through the cypresses, then the sycamores of the park, and finally the strawberry trees. These last extended far enough south to enable me to reach the towers from the side opposite the House. The door was on the other side, unconcealed, but I had to risk being seen while I unlocked it.

I stood still beneath the twin, mute towers for a minute or two before gathering determination for my effort. Salt, of course, visited this place the day after his arrival, but has kept his discoveries secret. My hope, of course, was that someone came here after Salt, in particular the black-robed object of our pursuit to-night.

I noticed that the moon was near setting, since it had but a short progress to make from eastern to western hill. When it was down, the Vale would be dark indeed. Was it worth waiting until that happened?

Impatience decided not. I sped around the tower that contained the door, turned the monumental key, got safely inside the entrance, and stood with bated breath. Seen or unseen, I was in for it now. Heaven help me if I found a presence inside these walls.

My light showed the beginning of the spiral stair; there was absolutely no sound. I commenced to climb.

It was a long way up. My stockinged feet were all but noiseless on the overlapping stony steps, and more than once I checked myself, thinking that I heard footfalls following mine. The torch, directed downward, revealed the empty stair winding into nether darkness. This delusion persisted; indeed, when I was at the point of entering the little room atop the tower, I thought that I heard even the breath of some stealthy climber. The light showed only the bare winding beneath me, and I spoke a murrain on the narrow tower which had no well to enable me to see clear to the bottom.

My imagination cooled down, and I set about examining the circular chamber. Owing to the thickness of the walls, it was only some five feet in diameter. It was low, and save in the centre, where the pointed roof gave space, I could not stand upright. For windows it had three slots, through one of which the moon cast a slanting beam. The floor was thickly daubed with mud, but this in itself was not surprising when one considered that Salt had sloshed through here on the morning of the downpour.