Staggering back, I gave vent to an exclamation of despair. The pain in
my skull was terrible, and as I placed my hand at the back of my head I
felt my hair stiff and matted by congealed blood. One thought alone
possessed me. I knew that my life depended on my escape. Again I tried
to recollect minutely every incident of the previous night, but it all
seemed like some terrible nightmare. In fact, in my nervous anxiety to
free myself, I was unable to realise that Dora had actually been
present, and tried to convince myself that it had been merely some
strange chimera produced by my unbalanced imagination.
Yet so vividly did it all recur to me that there seemed no room for
doubt. The one fear uppermost in my mind was that Dora herself had met
with foul play. I remembered the firm look of desperation upon her
face, and I tried to imagine what scene of horror she had witnessed in
that brilliantly-lit inner room that should cause that look of horror
upon her countenance. Evidently she had entered this weird, neglected
house with a firm resolve, but what her purpose had been I failed to
imagine.
Had I been placed in that cellar by my assailant, who, finding me
unconscious, had been under the apprehension that he had committed
murder? This seemed at least a reasonable surmise. Yet it was utterly
inexplicable.
But the necessity for freedom impressed itself upon me. The nauseating
odour that filled the place choked me; I gasped for fresh air. The
small opening in the further wall, near the roof, did not admit any air,
as there was a piece of thick, dirt-begrimed glass before it so high up
that I could not reach to break it. The door was the only means of
exit, but when I again endeavoured to open it I found all efforts
unavailing. True, the great thickly-rusted lock with its formidable
socket was on the inside, but it was of such dimensions that to break it
was utterly impossible.
I knew that I had been conveyed to that place by some unknown enemy, who
had either believed me dead, or who intended that I should remain there
to starve; therefore, to escape without delay before darkness fell was
absolutely imperative. By the meagre light afforded by the single ray
of sunshine I made a careful examination of the lock, but was compelled
to admit that in order to break it I should require a heavy hammer or a
chisel. Both lock and hinges had evidently been freshly oiled, probably
in order that the door could be opened and shut without creaking.
For a considerable time I was engaged in searching among the lumber for
some instrument with which to effect my escape, but could discover none.
There were a large number of empty wine cases, old books, broken
furniture, discarded wearing apparel, a table with one leg missing, and
a variety of miscellaneous domestic articles; but none of these could I
utilise for the purpose of breaking out of my prison. At last, hidden
away beneath a pile of old boxes, I discerned a large black
old-fashioned travelling trunk, with long iron hinges. Pulling away
some of the rubbish piled about it, I felt the iron clamps, and it
occurred to me if I could only detach one of them they were heavy enough
to use as a hammer to break off the socket of the lock. Unlike the
other boxes, which were dry, the wood of this trunk was damp, mildewed
and rotting. Along the side was a great crack, into which I could have
placed my hand, and the side had bulged as if the trunk had been burst
open by some terrific force. With care I felt one of the iron
fastenings, and before long came to the conclusion that to remove it
would be an easy task. Therefore, without delay, I threw down the boxes
piled above it; but in doing so, the big heavy trunk also lurched over,
and before I could steady it, fell with a crash upon the flags.
The fall loosened the iron clamp, and kneeling upon the box, exerting
all my efforts, I succeeded at last in tearing it bodily from the wet
decaying wood.
As I did so, however, my weight upon the trunk caused part of the
damaged side to fall out, and thus the lid, that had once been securely
locked, became unloosened. Out of sheer curiosity to see what it
contained, I pulled it aside and gazed in.
"My God!" I cried next second, thrilled with horror.
I had recklessly thrust my hand into the trunk, thinking it to contain
some old wearing apparel, and my fingers had, with startling suddenness,
come into contact with a cold, lifeless human hand.
The sun had been obscured, and there was not sufficient light to enable
me to discern distinctly the lifeless form therein concealed. I could,
however, see that it was a body, the clenched hand of which, stretched
above, pointed to the suggestion that the person had been doubled up and
placed there before the spark of vitality had been extinguished. The
fingers showed in what terrible paroxysm of agony the victim's last
breath had been drawn.
This discovery appalled me. I stood with the long iron hinge still in
my hand, gazing awe-stricken at the box in which the body was concealed.
I now realised how, by decomposition of the contents, the wood had
rotted; how, by the accumulation of gases, it had been rent asunder, and
that the sickening stifling odour that nauseated me emanated from this
hidden evidence of a crime.
Around this cellar that had been converted into a charnel-house I gazed
half fearfully, my eyes penetrating its darkest recesses, dreading to
meet some spectral form or to face the unknown person who had made such
a violent attempt upon my life on the previous night. Once again I
summoned courage to peer into the decaying trunk, but could distinguish
little in that tantalising darkness. Repugnance prevented me from
turning over the box, and emptying its gruesome contents on the flags;
therefore, I replaced the lid and waited a few moments to recover
myself. The appalling discovery had filled me with an indescribable
fear, and weakened as I had been by the injuries to my head, my senses
reeled.
At last, summoning a firm resolution to arm myself against this terror
and misfortune, I doubled the hinges back together so as to strengthen
them, and walking to the door, made a carefully directed but frantic
attack upon the socket holding the lock. Although old and very rusty,
it seemed that no effort of mine was strong enough to break it, for it
withstood all attack, and the damage I did consisted in merely knocking
off a little of the incrustation. Again and again I rained blows upon
it with my improvised hammer, but the iron itself was strong, and four
large screws that secured it to the woodwork remained unloosened.
Presently my weakness compelled me to pause to regain breath, as with
failing heart I was forced to acknowledge myself utterly baffled. Again
I examined it long and earnestly. After another quarter of an hour's
effort, however, the thought momentarily flashed through my mind that by
the exercise of patience I could utilise one end of the hinge which was
narrow and thin, as a screw-driver, and by its aid remove the screws.
This had not before occurred to me, but in a few moments I was kneeling
at the lintel, and, using the hinge deftly, had half removed the first
screw. Within ten minutes I succeeded in extracting them all, and,
taking off the socket, emerged into the passage, afterwards closing the
entrance to the gruesome place.
Passing down the stone passage in the basement, which I remembered
having explored on the previous night, I ascended at last into the
spacious gloomy hall and walked towards the street door. As I did so an
unusual noise startled me. I halted, listening with breathless anxiety.
It came from above. Through the deserted mansion it once again
resounded, clearly distinct and dismal. It was a wild, shrill cry--a
woman's despairing shriek!
My first impulse was to rush upstairs and resume my investigations, but,
a sudden fear seizing me, I opened the door and fled precipitately from
the weird house of hidden mysteries.