THE GATES OF HELL
1
“I know a cut-in,” said Lonergan, “to where I figure they aim for.
If we move fast and have luck we maybe can beat ’em to it.”
I followed his lead, and a devil of a cut-in it proved to be. The
discovery that Marusa was an associate of Mme. Yburg had positively
dazed me. Marusa, a member of a criminal organization!
Marusa!
Even the miracle of Lonergan’s disguise was forgotten.
On we went at a killing pace, using byways which seemed to be familiar
to my guide. I lost sense of direction but my thoughts were so chaotic
that I did not even trouble to ask him where we were going, until:
“Not a sound, now,” he warned. “From here on we’re trespassing.”
Turning from a narrow climbing street into a street yet narrower,
between houses the first-floor windows of which overlooked the roof of
a neighbour, we scrambled up a crazily steep and muddy path, a gully
dark as a mine.
I remember wondering vaguely what my dress trousers would look like at
the end of the expedition. Presently we climbed out into a neglected
kitchen garden.
“Keep me in sight,” said Lonergan, “but don’t talk.”
We crossed an open space, so shadowed by tall trees that no moonlight
penetrated to it. I heard the grating of a rusty bolt and followed my
guide out upon a narrow lane climbing yet upward into wooded darkness.
For some reason it was more dry than the gully between the houses and
the going was better. Presently we left it to go stumbling through a
little orchard, with some broken barbed wire to be negotiated and a
coppice of pines, the fallen cones soft underfoot. Here the slope was
steep as a roof.
We were both breathing heavily as we plunged ankle-deep through soft,
damp cones. At the speed we had kept up, it had been a terrific climb.
But now we were out on a winding road. Below us lay trees; the town
lower yet. Above us were more trees through which I caught a glimpse
of a white wall. Lonergan began to run, and although I had little
heart for the task, I followed.
He turned aside and plunged up the bank in the direction of the wall.
It was a hard scramble and once he stumbled to his knees. He recovered
and went on. As we reached the wall--only some four feet high--I
inhaled sharply and stared at my companion.
We had come to the cemetery!
“Lonergan,” I said, “what’s the meaning of this? They cannot possibly
be _here_!”
He rested his hand on my arm.
“Listen!”
We both listened intently. But I could detect no sound.
There was a drop of some eight feet on the other side, the level being
much below that of the bank upon which we stood. Lonergan climbed over
and dropped. I followed and found myself in the oldest part of the
burial ground.
We were not twenty yards from the Felsenweir mausoleum. I could see it
outlined in moonlight: a sombre, mysterious building.
Lonergan crept forward, choosing shadowy places between the tombs.
Inspired by those ghostly surroundings, terrible ideas flocked to my
mind. In the Middle Ages, many vampires were reputed to be young and
lovely; deathless youth in a living death…
I was checked by a grip on my arm that made me wince.
But I, too, had heard the sound.
Someone was moving softly along on the farther side of the Felsenweir
vault!
We crouched down by a moss-grown monument. Blackly one corner of the
building lay outlined upon the ancient pathway. I could hear Lonergan
breathing. But that faint sound of ghostly movement had ceased.
What I expected to see I cannot attempt to describe. What I did see
was an incredibly elongated shadow slowly creeping forward--slowly
creeping forward.…
A headless figure!
It is difficult to explain my feelings at this moment. Tense though my
curiosity was, redoubled by the shock of to-night’s discovery, I
wanted desperately to close my eyes… _not_ to see the Thing which,
slowly creeping forward, silently, must soon appear upon the path.
The shadow lengthened, and lengthened--and now, my senses recoiling
from that which must come, a dark form detached itself from the angle
of the tomb.
Lonergan’s grip upon my arm tightened.
The shape--draped in black from head to feet--glided into moonlight.…
A monk!
My heart was beating wildly. This was so true to pattern, so
traditional, yet so ghastly. The shape moved forward, and I saw that
what I had mistaken for a black garment was actually purple.
Crouching in an unnatural position, at this moment my foot slipped. I
stumbled. Instantly the figure turned.
Under the hood of what I now saw to be a sort of purple domino, keen
eyes stared at me.
We were discovered!
Lonergan’s grip relaxed. His hand shot to his hip and he sprang
upright. So did I.
“Great heavens!” The hooded man spoke, in a low voice. “It is you!”
_Gaston Max!_
Lonergan’s hand dropped to his side. He uttered a sound resembling a
subdued whistle.
“Suffering Moses!” he said. “This proposition’s got me shot to
ribbons!”
Max silently joined us, and:
“You are following the two women?”
He spoke urgently, in an undertone. He was agitated.
“Sure.”
“They are here! Move farther back--still farther.… I arrived one
minute too late. They disappeared by the Felsenweir vault. They have
not come out.”
2
In dense darkness under the high wall, we crouched. We were silent.
Twenty yards removed, palled in shadow, vaguely resembling the Kaaba
at Mecca, the vault of the Felsenweirs jutted up against a starry sky.
I reflected that no one seemed to know where Mme. Yburg lived. I could
not forget that I had met her coming from this place under
circumstances which she had never satisfactorily explained. Marusa’s
residence was equally a mystery. Could it be possible…
My ideas led me into a maze of ghoulish horrors.
Moments passed, lengthening into age-long minutes. A sense of pending
horror grew and grew until it became all but insupportable. My mind
persistently dwelled upon the shrouded figure of that Countess
Adelheid whose body had been dragged from its resting place to…
A dim, hollow booming sound disturbed my ghastly train of thought.
I had heard it before… and, suddenly, I remembered when! I became
conscious of a sort of vibration--a drumming in my ears--a sense of
pressure.
The guardian cypresses beyond the mausoleum, ebony silhouettes,
quivered--or so I thought--like objects seen through a heat haze.
Lonergan was very still.
“_Mon Dieu!_”
Gaston Max’s whisper was barely audible.
Above the roof of the vault floated a gigantic bat!
Great wings outspanned and long body held almost horizontal, without
perceptible movements of flight the thing swept swiftly upward into
starry darkness.
I clutched Lonergan’s arm convulsively.
Higher the horror mounted, fast, ever faster, effortlessly--up and up
and up--until it looked no larger than a nighthawk far above our
heads.
Then… from out of the blue came remote buzzing, like an amplified
drone of a wasp. I saw that the bat was headed westward… toward Castle
Felsenweir!…
A second purplish winged monster arose from the tomb--a creature
identical in every respect! Upward it went--upward… soundlessly. At
what I judged to be the same elevation as the other came that high,
strange drone.
The second bat headed westward in the track of the first.…
That painful throbbing in my ears ceased. I could see the tops of the
cypresses motionless and no longer as through a moving haze. Deep
down, from under our feet it seemed, came the dim rumbling. It died
away. Silence claimed the old cemetery.
I cannot recall that I have ever before found myself in such a state
of passive terror. I was literally bathed in cold perspiration.
That we had seen and heard things of another world would appear to be
indisputable. That Mme. Yburg and Marusa--Marusa!--were ghouls,
witches, vampires, name them as you please, presented itself as a fact
no logic could assail.
Lonergan spoke hoarsely.
“Good God! The way of things is inscrutable. But, unless we’re all
mad, I say that to-night we’ve heard the gates of hell open and shut!”
3
“There will be time enough after midnight to talk--if we are still
alive,” said Gaston Max. He tossed his purple domino across his
shoulder. “Until then, it is vital that we should _act_. I have my car
hidden below. We can reach it in a few minutes. Attack is always the
best defence.… If I knew one thing, I should propose a plan.”
We were following a footpath which would bring us to the town.
“Propose the plan,” Lonergan growled, “and then tell us the one thing
you don’t know.”
“Very well. My plan would be this: to drive to the woods below
Felsenweir and under cover of darkness to climb up and try to explore
that mysterious ruin.”
He paused for a moment, and then:
“Felsenweir is the heart of the mystery, my friends,” he added simply.
“It was to Felsenweir the bats flew.”
We walked on in silence for a while.
“I should move to accept your plan,” said Lonergan, “only I kind of
feel we’re invisibly covered all the time.… That’s why I changed my
identity.”
“Forget this feeling!” cried Gaston Max. “Presently I shall prove to
you that such is not the case.”
“Is that so? If you’re right maybe I can help things along. What is it
you don’t know?”
“I don’t know how to reach this ruin. I have investigated
cautiously--very cautiously. In daytime it would be madness to attempt
it. The original entrance is closed and is barred. Quite impossible
without ladders. It is then a great climb to the castle ruins. I have
explored every foot of the base of that hill but have found not a
single point where one could penetrate with hope of climbing to the
top.”
“You surprise me a whole lot,” Lonergan declared. “I’ve explored it
too, but here’s the difference: I _have_ found a way.”
“What is this?”
“I know a way in! It’s camouflaged, but I found it.”
“Triumph!” Max cried excitedly. “Do you carry a pocket torch?”
“Sure.”
“So also do I. My friends, we are three, and I take it all armed. Let
us be resolute, and as Right is on our side, it may be that we shall
unmask even the Voice!”
Five minutes later, in Max’s Hispano-Suiza--parked behind a hedge in a
meadow--we were speeding along empty roads toward the hill of
Felsenweir. I was unfamiliar with the route, but Max, who drove,
clearly knew it well.
The little valley of the Oos was already sleeping and we passed not a
single pedestrian. Very soon habitations were left behind and the
solitude of the Black Forest closed in upon us like a black-gloved
hand. Left of the climbing road vast aisles of trees fell away to the
valley, to our right they towered up, a menacing wall.
Max pushed on at a speed dangerous for a less skillful driver. Then
suddenly he slowed up. He negotiated a hairpin bend, and:
“The woods of Felsenweir,” he said. “On which side of the gateway is
this entrance you have found, my friend?”
“East,” Lonergan growled, “but it’s going to be some cross-word puzzle
to find at night.”
“All the same, we must find it.”
Here the road lay white under the moon and Max shut off his
headlights.
“Don’t drive past the gate!” I said suddenly--“wherever the gate may
be. Someone--or _something_--may be on guard there.”
At my words, Max slowed up--stopped altogether. He turned and stared
at me in the darkness.
“I believe this is wisdom. What say you, friend Lonergan?”
“I say,” Lonergan replied, “that we’re the craziest trio from here to
the North Pole. I’ve been figuring as we came along that we’re just
three cornered rats. We’re scared stiff. Let’s agree we know it. We
aim at the throat of the thing that’s cornering us.”
“Name of a good little man!” Max murmured, “it is true. You analyze me
so perfectly! But are we to sit down and wait for this threat of
midnight?”
“No, sir,” Lonergan answered.
“I’m with you,” said I. “But let’s observe common precautions. Where’s
the gateway?”
“It is about another five hundred yards,” Max decided.
“And have we to pass it, Lonergan, to reach this point which you
discovered?”
“We surely have.”
“Is there no other route?”
“There is!” Max replied; “though it will cost us fifteen minutes.
However…”
He found a spot at which it was just possible to turn the car and we
retraced our route for a considerable distance and then turned south
along a narrow, bad road.
For a time, it was merely a high-banked, tree-topped tunnel, a cart
track villainously rutted, until on the right, crouching under the
frowning hill, a moon-patched space opened out.
I could see the sky and the stars and a sort of scarred piece of
countryside covered with stunted vegetation and a few trees. Max
slowed up.
“Here,” said he, “up to the time of Countess Adelheid, the village of
Felsenweir stood.”
The road became all but impassable, inclining easterly. Then, where a
fleeting glimpse of stars came again, I saw that we were headed north
once more.
“Go easy,” Lonergan growled.
We proceeded very slowly.
“Stop!”
We got out in darkness on to an uneven road. Twenty paces ahead a moon
patch lay stark across the path and it pierced some little way up the
Felsenweir slopes. The effect was as though silver had been spilled
about the bases of ebony pines.
“It’s just beyond the light bit,” Lonergan said. “Maybe we’re safer to
leave the caravan right here?”
“Someone must stay to guard the car,” Max stated simply. “Our retreat
might be cut off. And then…”
I imagined him shrugging in the darkness.
“Suffering Moses!” said Lonergan. “You’re right! Listen! We all carry
German money. Everybody lay a coin on the running board. Odd man for
guard duty.”
There was a moment of silence, broken only by the sound of metal on
metal. Lonergan snapped up his torch, snapped it off again.
“I am unlucky,” said Max resignedly. “This is the plan I have thought
out. Be cautious, but try to reach the ruins. If we can be sure they
are inhabited, then without delay, to-night, we will use official
pressure and this place shall be raided.… Good fortune, my friends!”