Secret of the Underground Room (3 page)

 

Sn Cu Sb

 

Johnny's head was whirling. He still had not gotten over his fright, and now he had to puzzle over this object that had been left on his chair. What did it all mean? Was Father Higgins dead? Johnny read a lot, and he had heard stories of how ghosts of living people sometimes appeared to their friends, to warn them or to ask for help. To ask for help. Johnny's head was beginning to clear, and this seemed to be the most likely explanation for what he had just seen. The last time he had talked to Father Higgins, the poor man had been up to his ears in trouble. But if he was asking for help, what kind of help did he need?

Johnny sat on the edge of his bed for a long while, turning the funny little spoon over and over in his hands. Then sleepiness came over him, and he felt his eyelids beginning to flutter. With a sigh he laid the spoon back on the chair, took off his glasses, and snapped off the light. In the morning he would talk to the professor, and together they would figure the mystery out. Johnny laid his head on the pillow and slid off into deep, delicious sleep.

The next day was Saturday. Usually on Saturdays Johnny had a long leisurely breakfast of pancakes and sausages prepared by Gramma. But today he wanted to skip breakfast altogether and tear over to the professor's house to tell him about the things he had seen last night. Unfortunately, he couldn't do this. Gramma would have been disappointed. So Johnny fought down his impatience and munched pancakes and tried to chat pleasantly with his grandparents. But his mind was definitely someplace else, and he wondered if either of the two old people would notice this. Grampa began telling a long story about the time he had visited Utah back in the Wild West days, when there were still gun-toting killers, tough marshals, and blue-jacketed cavalrymen roaming around. He was just getting to the exciting part when they heard a loud knocking at the front door.

"My gosh!" exclaimed Grampa as he got up. "I wonder who
that
is. Sounds like he's tryin' to break down the door!"

"Whoever it is, he doesn't have the brains to use the doorbell," Gramma said. Calmly she flipped a pancake on the griddle. "You'd think people would notice where the button is," she added.

Walking slowly because of his arthritis, Grampa went to the door. When he opened it, there stood the professor, looking more disheveled than usual. His glasses were stuck crookedly on his face, and his hair was a mess. He was still wearing his pajama top, which was tucked clumsily into his trousers. His face was red, and he was breathing hard.

"Henry!" he gasped, stumbling into the front hall. "It's... there's never been a... I mean, how... " After giving Grampa a very wild, confused glance, the professor brushed past him and headed straight for the kitchen. When he got there, he stopped in the middle of the floor and just stood still, breathing heavily and looking from Johnny to Gramma and back to Johnny again. Johnny was alarmed, and he jumped up from his seat.

"What... what is it, professor?" he exclaimed.

The professor closed his eyes, and with a struggle he pulled himself together and slumped into a chair, folding his hands on the kitchen table. Staring hard at the sugar bowl, he began to talk in a quiet, matter-of-fact voice.

"Father Higgins has disappeared," he said. "I just got a call from his housekeeper. He didn't show up to say Mass this morning, so people got worried, and they went over to his house, and it was totally empty. No Father Higgins, no Father Higgins anywhere. Search parties are out looking for him in the woods near Rocks Village and... and... " Here the professor paused and choked back a sob. "... And they are even dragging the river."

Johnny turned pale and swallowed hard. Had he seen the ghost of the dead Father Higgins? Or had he seen something else? More than ever, he wanted to be in some private place so he could talk with the professor. Gramma and Grampa were nice people, but they didn't believe much in ghosts and specters and things that go bump in the night.

Gramma clucked and said sympathetic things, and Grampa asked a lot of questions that the professor couldn't answer. Then silence fell. The kitchen clock buzzed, and you could hear children playing at the end of the street.

"I wish I could think of something to do," said the professor in a dull, despairing voice. "But I can't. We'll just have to wait and see if the poor man shows up. I have a full load of classes and meetings today, but I'll go down to the church and say a prayer for him tonight."

"Can I go down with you?" said Johnny suddenly.

The professor turned and stared curiously at his young friend. The two of them knew each other very well, and sometimes one would know what the other was thinking without a word being spoken. Instantly the professor guessed that Johnny had something important to tell him, something that he couldn't talk about in front of his grandparents.

"Why... why yes, John, of course you may go down to the church with me," said the professor in a stiff, formal voice. "I... hrumph!... don't always believe that lighting candles and praying will solve things, but I don't suppose it'll hurt any. Shall we say eight o'clock?"

That evening Johnny and the professor were sitting in one of the front pews at St. Michael's church. The smell of incense still hung in the air from an earlier service. As clearly as he could, Johnny told the old man about what he had seen last night. The professor listened intently, and he nodded gravely or shook his head every now and then. When he had finished his tale, Johnny reached into his pocket and pulled out the spoon. Without a word, he handed it to the professor.

Thoughtfully, the professor turned the shiny object over in his hands. After what seemed like a long time, he spoke.

"So this is what he left?" he asked.

Johnny nodded. "Yeah. Professor, what do you think it means?"

The professor rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Well, to begin with," he said, slowly, "this is what they call an apostle spoon. People used to buy them in sets and hang them in wooden racks on their dining room walls. Each of the twelve spoons had a handle that looked like one of the twelve apostles who followed Jesus. This one is Thomas—as it should be, since that is Father Higgins's first name."

"What about the tag, professor?" asked Johnny. "What do those letters mean?"

The professor smiled faintly. "You know," he began, "it's funny what you remember from high school chemistry. Those are symbols for three elements:
Sn
stands for tin,
Cu
copper, and
Sb
antimony. They're all metals. Beyond that, I don't have the faintest idea why Higgy would have given you that spoon with that tag on it."

There was a long silence. Johnny stared at the red sanctuary lamp that cast weird shadows across the church's altar. "Do... do you think he's alive?" he asked in a weak, throaty voice. "Father Higgins, I mean."

The professor twiddled the spoon back and forth between his fingers. "Yes," he said firmly, "I honestly do. You were right when you said that ghosts of the living sometimes appear to people. And when you think about it, why would Higgy appear to you and leave mysterious messages if he were dead? No one could help him then. So I think we have to believe that he's trying to contact us. But I don't know if there's anything we can do—we just don't have enough to go on. I'm going to call up a friend of mine tonight. He's a chemistry prof at Haggstrum College, and he might know if there's any connection between the three metals that are listed on that tag. And now let's say a few prayers for our friend, shall we?"

Johnny nodded, and the two of them walked up to the communion rail, knelt down, and prayed for Father Higgins.

 

 

 

CHAPTER FOUR

 

 

Two days passed. Then one evening, as Johnny was sitting by the radio in the parlor, the phone rang. Quickly he snapped off the radio and jumped up. He ran into the front hall and picked up the receiver, and he was not terribly surprised to hear the professor's voice at the other end. He had been expecting to hear from him. However, the first thing the professor said absolutely stunned Johnny.

"Hello, John. How would you like to go to England with me?"

Johnny could not have been more surprised if the professor had invited him to go to Mars.
"England?
Professor, what's going on?"

"If you will stop yelping at me and come over here right away, I'll tell you," said the professor smoothly. "I've just taken a pan of my fudge-covered super brownies out of the oven, and you can have some if you're good."

A few minutes later Johnny and the professor were sitting at the white-enameled table in the professor's kitchen munching brownies and drinking milk. The professor was wearing a flour-smeared white apron and a puffy white chef's hat, and every now and then Johnny would glance at the old man and see the sly, secretive smile on his face. Finally he decided that he couldn't stand the suspense any longer.

"All right, professor!" he exclaimed irritably. "You said that you were gonna take me to England. Come on, tell me about it."

The professor took another bite of his brownie and chewed it thoroughly. Then suddenly he leaned forward, put his elbows on the table, and stared intently at Johnny. "John," he said quietly, "I think I know where Higgy has gone to. You see, I took that spoon to the chemistry professor, and do you know what he told me? He said that it is made out of Britannia metal, an alloy that contains copper, tin, and antimony—the three elements whose symbols were on the tag."

Johnny stared wonderingly at the professor. "You mean... you think Father Higgins has gone to England?" Johnny knew that
Britannia
was one of the old names for England—he had read it somewhere.

The professor nodded gravely. "Yes," he said. "When he appeared by your bedside, that is what he was trying to tell you. You see, his mother is buried in England. And do you remember that card that was stuck onto the piece of stained glass? It said
To raise the dead.
I think that Higgy has some crazy idea that he's going to use that piece of glass to bring his mom back. Or maybe he's under some kind of evil spell that is making him do strange things. Whatever is going on, I think he needs help badly. We've got to go to England and try to find him."

England! Johnny's head was really spinning now. He had been to England once before with Fergie and the professor. It had been a sightseeing trip for the most part, but this was something different. They were going to England to save Father Higgins's life. Suddenly a thought occurred to him.

"Professor?" he said. "Do you have any idea where Father Higgins might be?"

The professor sighed. "Well," he began, slowly, "I couldn't say where he is at this moment, but I'll bet I know a town he'll be visiting: Glastonbury. It's an old rural village in the western part of England. Some people think that King Arthur and his wife were buried in the abbey there."

Johnny was getting more puzzled by the minute. "Why would Father Higgins want to go there?"

"Because that's where his mother is buried. Higgy's father was Irish and his mother was English. When her husband died, Mrs. Higgins went back to England to live with her relatives. After her death she was cremated, and her ashes were buried under the floor of a little church in Glastonbury—I remember Higgy talking about how—"

"But Catholics don't believe in cremation," said Johnny, interrupting. "How come they did that to Mrs. Higgins?"

The professor smiled. "Well, Mrs. Higgins wasn't a Catholic." The professor opened his box of cigarettes and took one out. Thoughtfully he lit it. "Of course," he said as he blew out a stream of smoke, "I could be wrong about the place Higgy has gone to—I could be wrong about a lot of things. But going to Glastonbury is better than running up and down England yelling
Higgy!
at the tops of our voices. As I said before, I really do think he wants to bring his mom back from the dead so he can talk to her. I know it sounds crazy, but a lot of crazy things have been happening to the poor man lately."

Silence. Johnny toyed with the crumbs on his plate, and then he spoke up. "Do you think my gramma and grampa will let me go?" he asked.

The professor grinned slyly. "They will if I pretend that this is an educational trip, something that will help you get better grades in school. Leave that part to me. And it's my treat, in case you were wondering. Are there any questions?"

Johnny hesitated. There was something he wanted to ask for, but he didn't know how to put it. "Professor?" he said hoarsely. "Can... I mean, would it be possible... could Fergie come with us?"

The professor stared for a while at the burning tip of his cigarette, and then he laughed loudly. "This is turning into an expedition, isn't it? Well—hrmph! I
suppose
we could take young Byron along. Do you think his parents would let him go?"

Johnny stared hard at the tabletop. He was beginning to feel embarrassed. "I think they would if you paid his way," he said in a low voice.

"Hmm... " said the professor as he scratched his chin. "You know, Byron is pretty strong, and if it turns out that Higgy is off his rocker, then it might take three of us to hold him down. All right, let's include Byron too."

Johnny was very busy for the next two weeks. He bought new clothes, read guidebooks, and talked a lot with Fergie about the trip. Finally, on a sunny, warm day, they all went down to Boston in the professor's car. The professor drove to the airport parking lot and left the car so he could use it on his return. The three of them flew across the Atlantic on a big four-engine plane, and when they landed at an airport, they took another taxi to Paddington Station in London. There they caught a train for the city of Bath, which is a double-decker-bus ride away from Glastonbury. The professor had reserved rooms for them at a Glastonbury hotel called the Cross Keys, and by the time they arrived in the evening, the travelers were very tired.

After they had been shown to their rooms, Johnny Fergie, and the professor went down to have a cold supper in the dining room of the hotel. Then they went outdoors and walked in the mild June air. Although it was after nine-thirty, it was light enough to read a newspaper on the street. In the distance the gaunt ruins of the abbey loomed, and towering over the town rose a high steep hill called Glastonbury Tor. On top of the Tor stood a stone building called St. Michael's Tower—it looked as if it belonged to a church that had somehow mysteriously disappeared. They wandered around for only a short time and then headed back toward the inn and their nice soft beds.