Secret of the Underground Room (6 page)

When he was all washed up and dressed, Johnny went down to the breakfast room on the ground floor. It was a cheerful room with brass plaques and crossed swords on the walls, and little tables covered with checkered cloths. Silently Johnny slid into his seat across from Fergie and the professor, and he tried hard to get interested in the large English breakfast that was served to him: scrambled eggs, sausage, and toast with marmalade. But food didn't interest him much this morning, and he just fiddled with the things on his plate. The professor was always quick to pick up Johnny's moods.

"What's the matter, John?" he asked.

Johnny looked uncertainly from the professor to Fergie. Would his friends laugh at him if he told them about the face at the window? As he was trying to decide what to say, the professor spoke up again.

"You know, John," he said in a strange tone of voice, "I went out early this morning to buy a newspaper at a store near here, and I got into a conversation with the store owner. He told me the strangest story about things that happened to him and some other people last night. They saw faces—faces of old, fierce-looking men hovering outside second- and third-story windows. They heard hands clawing at windowpanes, and they thought they heard voices—faint, whispery voices saying things they couldn't understand." The professor paused and began to draw lines on the tablecloth with his fork. "Now then," he went on thoughtfully, "if one person has an odd nightmarish experience, it's no great matter. If two have the same experience on the same night, it would really seem bizarre, and people would start talking about telepathy and ESP. But if half a dozen folks think they've seen the same identical thing, you'd have to believe that something pretty darned weird is going on. Did a scary and unexplainable thing happen to you last night?"

Johnny swallowed hard. Hesitantly he told Fergie and the professor about what he had heard and seen.

"... And I really don't think it was a dream," he said slowly.

The professor nodded solemnly. "I know. None of the other people thought they were dreaming. They all felt that they had seen... well, supernatural creatures, ghosts. I can't help wondering if all this has anything to do with Father Higgins and the broken piece of glass and Dr. Masterman."

No one said a word. They could hear bacon sizzling in the nearby kitchen and the shelf clock ticking quietly. Finally Fergie spoke.

"Well, prof," he said. "You told us to wait till something happened. So now something has happened, but
what can we do about it?"

"I might have known that you would ask a question like that, Byron," the professor said. "Right at this minute I haven't the vaguest idea of what we can do. If there is a solution to this frightening business, it is probably in the crazy notes, as I've said before, and I just have to keep plugging away at the library till I find something."

Johnny looked troubled. There was something he wanted to ask the professor, but he was afraid of sounding like an idiot. Finally he coughed and said, "Professor?"

"Yes, John? What is it?"

"Well," Johnny began, "if some evil spirit grabbed Father Higgins and wants to use him for evil purposes, why would the spirit leave notes that would help us to stop him?"

The professor smiled. He liked it when Johnny tried to punch holes in his arguments—it was almost like playing chess with him. "I never said that the notes were left by evil spirits," the professor answered. "I think the ghost of the little girl was definitely an evil spirit. Do you know the saying
The devil hath power to assume a pleasing shape?
Well, the little girl was probably the same demonic power that later made Father Higgins take on the shape of Dr. Rufus Masterman. But there are also forces for good in the world. They can't always speak directly, because the powers of evil are fighting them all the way. But some kindly spirit may have left those strange riddling messages in the hope that Father Higgins would decode them and stomp all over the evil power. Unfortunately Father Higgins got stomped himself. But we're still around, and we're not possessed by demons—not yet, anyway. Sooo... I think we ought to get ready to
fight!"

Days dragged past. The professor labored on at the library, and the boys felt more and more useless. They had run out of things to see, so they just sat in the lounge of the boardinghouse and played chess. By now Johnny and Fergie were convinced that the professor would never find out anything, that they would never see Father Higgins again.

One evening something odd happened.

The boys met the professor outside the main door of the Bristol Library at five P.M., as they usually did. All three of them were hungry, so they went to the center of town to find a restaurant. When they were through eating, they decided to walk back to the boardinghouse. The easiest way was to climb the Christmas Steps, a winding stone staircase that led to the heights above the city. Halfway up the steps the professor paused to catch his breath on a stone landing where an old-fashioned streetlamp burned. As he stood panting, the boys looked around, and suddenly they froze. In a narrow, shadowy alley nearby a man was watching them. The light was poor, but the boys could see that the man was bearded, burly, and fairly tall. He wore a double-breasted navy-blue jacket.

For several seconds the boys said nothing—they were too startled to speak. Finally Fergie found his voice.

"Hey prof!" he exclaimed, tugging at the old man's sleeve. "There's somebody watchin' us in that alleyway there!"

The professor whirled around and stared. There was no one there.

"Byron," he said as he glowered at Fergie over the tops of his glasses, "have you been reading too many Hardy Boys adventures?"

"I saw him too, professor," said Johnny timidly. "He really was there! Honest!"

The professor snorted. "Well," he snapped, "it was probably some old bum, and he didn't have anything better to look at than the three of us. Now come on. We'd better keep climbing."

The boys glanced at each other helplessly. When the professor was feeling stubborn, you couldn't make him see anything. They sighed and followed him up the steps.

When they turned on the radio that night, the boys and the professor heard more reports about ghostly apparitions like the one that Johnny had seen days before. People all over the city had seen the hollow-cheeked floating faces, and panic was setting in. The Bristol Police Department was being flooded with phone calls. Local ghost experts gave the Bristol
Post
their opinions, which the professor felt were worthless. Psychiatrists said that it was a case of people infecting one another with fear. Everybody seemed to have a theory about what was happening, and this enraged the professor.

"Why can't they all keep their traps shut or at least admit that they don't know anything?" he growled as he sat in the parlor one evening. "If all the so-called experts in the world were put on a barge and shoved out to sea, we'd all be better off!"

Fergie and Johnny were sitting nearby eating cream cakes that they had bought at a local bakery.

"Uh... prof?" said Fergie cautiously. "Have you figured out anything about those notes?"

The professor glowered at Fergie over the top of his glasses. "If I had," he muttered, "don't you think I would have told you?" And giving his newspaper a shake, he went back to reading. For the time being he was not in a very conversational mood.

The next evening the boys went out after dinner to look at the Clifton suspension bridge, which was a ten-minute walk from the boardinghouse. It was a beautiful old structure, built by the famous engineer Isambard Kingdom Brunei. The bridge leaps across a two-hundred-foot-deep chasm, and far down below the Avon River flows. When the boys got to the park near the bridge, they saw a breathtaking sight: The setting sun shone in between the heavy gray clouds, bathing the stone towers and swooping steel cables of the old bridge in golden light. Johnny and Fergie just stood staring in amazement. As the sun began to sink and the sky darkened, the boys turned to go home. When they got back to the boardinghouse, they saw that a light was on in the parlor on their floor. The professor had gone back to the library after dinner, but the light meant that he had returned.

"I wonder what kind of mood he's in," muttered Johnny as he shoved the creaky iron gate open. "For the last couple of days he hasn't been much fun to live with."

"No, he sure hasn't!" said Fergie with a shake of his head.

When they opened the door of the parlor, they got a shock: The professor sat in an armchair smoking one of his smelly Balkan Sobranie cigarettes. And across from him, in another chair, sat the burly, bearded man who had been watching them from the alley the night before.

"Good evening, boys!" said the professor, waving cheerfully. "I'd like you to meet my brother Humphrey, who is supposed to be dead."

 

 

 

CHAPTER EIGHT

 

 

Humphrey Childermass stood up, and the boys got their first good look at him. He was tall and broad, with ruddy cheeks and a grayish beard sprinkled with black hairs. The wrinkles around his eyes showed that he was an old man. In his teeth he clenched the stem of a briar pipe that sent forth curls of fragrant smoke.

"Greetings, lads!" he boomed as he stepped forward to shake their hands. "As my charming brother has pointed out, the reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated."

"He faked his death," said the professor tartly. "Apparently he decided that the world was getting to be too much for him, so he went into hiding. He has come back from the grave because he thinks he can help us. And in case you're wondering, he has developed his powers of ESP. That's how he knew what we were up to."

Johnny and Fergie stared in amazement. They were too flabbergasted to speak.

Humphrey motioned for the boys to sit down. He puffed at his pipe and looked thoughtfully out the window. Finally he spoke. "I know you boys will have trouble understanding this," he began, "but I have been interested in the case of the De Marisco Knights for a long time."

"The
who?"
said Johnny and Fergie at the same time.

Humphrey laughed. "The De Mariscos were a family of pirates and warriors who once owned the island of Lundy, which is in the mouth of the Bristol Channel, not far from here. They built a castle on the island and terrorized the people for miles around. They were ruthless and cunning men who thought that looting and killing were delightful things to do. Well, a few of them went a bit further than ordinary villainy. Six of them decided to sell their souls to the devil."

Johnny was astonished. "Why... why would they do a thing like that?" he asked hesitantly.

"For the usual reasons," the professor put in. "Power. They could become invisible and fly through the air. They could read your mind and possess your body and use it for awful purposes. As you might guess, these knights had to do some pretty nasty things to get these powers, but they wouldn't let anything stand in their way. They wanted to become superhuman beings. But during the Middle Ages, good people got together and decided to put an end to their activities."

Fergie looked mystified. "How did they do that?"

"No one is sure how it was done," answered Humphrey. "But according to the old stories, they were placed under a magic spell and trapped in an underground room with thick stone walls. Unfortunately one of the six knights got away. He died a natural death, but his spirit wandered the earth restlessly, waiting for a chance to set his fellow knights free. As far as I can figure out, the spirit is the thing that calls itself Dr. Rufus Masterman."

Johnny and Fergie gasped. They looked at each other and wondered if Humphrey could possibly be telling the truth.

"In case you're doubtful," the professor added, "Humphrey and I have put our information together, and we think we're right. The legends tell of a magic stained-glass circle that had something to do with the imprisonment of these knights. And they say that the knight who escaped was named Rufus."

Johnny felt a chill, and he thought of the haggard face that he had seen outside his window. "Have... have the knights been turned loose in the world again?" he asked in a faltering voice.

Humphrey shook his head firmly. "No. Not quite," he said. "Masterman must have gone to the place where they are buried in order to set their spirits free. That is why people have been seeing strange things lately. However, the spirits of the knights are harmless without their bodies. They can only frighten. Right now I imagine that the evil Dr. Masterman is waiting for a chance to free the bodies of his long-dead friends from their tomb. And if he does that, horrible things will happen. A pack of vicious, merciless, bloodthirsty creatures will be turned loose on the world."

Humphrey frowned grimly, and everyone was silent. After several minutes Fergie spoke up. He sounded skeptical.

"Look, Mr. Childermass," he said, "if this Rufus Whatsisname can turn loose the spirits of his buddies, why can't he turn loose their bodies?"

Humphrey shrugged. "I'm not sure why. Maybe Father Higgins is resisting him. Even though he's possessed, maybe he still has a mind of his own, sort of, and that mind may be fighting against doing something evil. Or maybe Masterman has to wait until a certain time to do his dirty work—magic has its rules, and they have to be followed. The important thing is that we still may have some time to stop something ghastly from happening. And here's what we have to do: We have to go to the isle of Lundy, find the room where these knights are trapped, and fix things so that they will never ever bother the world again."

Johnny's eyes shone, and he began to get excited. Years ago he had read about Lundy in
National Geographic.
The island was about three miles long, and it had all sorts of odd rock formations as well as the ruins of an old castle. In the logo's a man named Harman had owned Lundy, and he had tried to make it a separate country with its own coins and stamps. In the midst of his thoughts, Johnny paused—something was puzzling him.