CHAPTER LXVI.

THE COOK'S VISITORS.

Sir Richard shaded with his hand the little light that he carried as he

walked solemnly across the nave towards the chancel, where the vestry

room was situated. He was followed closely by the whole party, and the

audible breathing of the Lord Mayor sufficiently proclaimed the uneasy

state of his lordship's nerves.

"How strange it is," said the secretary, "that men will pile up stones

and timber until they make something to enter, which then terrifies

their weak natures, and they become the slaves of the very materials

that they have made to enclose and roof in a certain space upon which

otherwise they would stand unmoved."

"It is so," said Donkin.

"Why the fact is, I suppose," said Sir Richard Blunt, "that it is what

is called original sin that sticks to us, and so--

'Conscience doth make cowards of us all!'

whether we are personally or not obnoxious to the pangs of the still

small voice."

"Upon my word, Sir Richard," said the secretary, "you are quite a

free-thinker--indeed you are."

Suddenly the whole party paused, for something resembling a moan was

heard from among the pews in the centre of the church, and every one was

anxious to listen for a repetition of the sound.

"Did you hear it?" whispered the secretary.

"In faith, I did," said Mr. Donkin.

"And I," said Sir Richard Blunt.

"And we," said the Lord Mayor, in defiance of grammar. "I--I--feel

rather unwell, gentlemen, do you know."

"Hush! let us listen," said the secretary.

They all stood profoundly still for a few minutes, and then, just as

they were one and all beginning to think that after all it must be a

mere thing of fancy, the same mournful moan came once more upon their

ears.

"There can be no mistake," said Sir Richard. "We all hear that; is it

not so, gentlemen?"

"Yes--yes!" said everybody.

"I'm getting worser," said the Lord Mayor.

"This mystery must be cleared up," said the secretary. "Is it a trick

upon us, do you think, Sir Richard?"

"No, my lord, certainly not."

"Then we cannot go on until this is cleared up. You are armed, of

course, Sir Richard?"

"Yes, my lord."

Sir Richard Blunt took from his pocket a double-barrelled pistol. There

was now a sort of pause, as though each of those present expected the

others to say or to do something which should have the effect of

discovering what the singular noise portended. Of course, Sir Richard

Blunt felt that in such an emergency he would be the man naturally

looked to.

"It is absolutely necessary," he said, "that we should find out what

this means before proceeding farther."

"Yes, yes," said the Lord Mayor, "no doubt of it; and in the meantime

I'll run to the Mansion House and get some assistance, gentlemen."

"Oh, no, my lord--oh, no," said the secretary to the chief magistrate of

the city. "We cannot think of sparing you."

"But--but--"

"Certainly not," said Sir Richard Blunt, who was keenly alive to the

tone of irony in which the secretary spoke. "Certainly not; and as I

fancy the sound which has excited our curiosity comes from about the

centre of the pews, you and I, my lord, will go and find out who it is.

Come, if you please, at once."

"I--I--" stammered the Lord Mayor, "I really--humph! If I felt quite

well, do you know, Sir Richard, I should not hesitate a moment."

"Pho! pho!" said Sir Richard, taking his arm, and leading him

unwillingly forward. "Remember that the eyes of those are upon you whose

opinions are to you of importance."

With a groan the unfortunate Lord Mayor, who from the first had shrunk

from the enterprise altogether, being fearful that it might possibly

involve dangerous consequences, allowed himself to be dragged by Sir

Richard Blunt in the direction of the pews.

"If you have a pistol," said the magistrate, "you had better keep it in

your hand ready for service."

"Lord bless you," said the Lord Mayor, in a nervous whisper, "I never

fired off a pistol in all my life."

"Is that possible?"

"I don't know about being possible, but it's true."

"Well, you do surprise me."

"So--so you see, Sir Richard," added his temporary lordship, suddenly

popping into the churchwarden's pew, which they had just reached--"so

I'll stay here and keep an eye upon you."

Sir Richard Blunt was not at all sorry to get rid of such a companion as

the Lord Mayor, so with a cough, he left him in the pew, and went

forward alone, determined to find out what it was that made the

extraordinary noise. As he went forward, towards the spot from whence it

had come, he heard it once again, and in such close proximity to him,

that albeit, unaccustomed to allow anything to affect his nerves, he

started back a pace. Shading, then, the little bit of wax candle that he

had in his hand, he looked steadily in the direction of the low moaning

sound. In an instant he found a solution of the mystery. A couple of

pigeons stood upon the hand rail of one of the pews, and it was the

peculiar sound made by these birds, that, by the aid of echo in the

silent empty church, had seemed to be of a very different character from

its ordinary one.

"And from such simple causes," said Sir Richard, "arise all the

well-authenticated stories of superstition which fancy and cowardice

give credence to."

He looked up, and saw that in the wish to ventilate the church, the

windows had been liberally opened, which had afforded the means of

ingress to the pigeons, who, no doubt, would have slumbered soundly

enough until morning, if not disturbed by the arrival of the party at

the church. As Sir Richard Blunt retraced his steps, he passed the pew

where the Lord Mayor was; and willing to punish that functionary for his

cowardice, he said, in a well-affected voice of alarm--

"Gracious Heaven! what will become of us?"

With a groan, the Lord Mayor flopped down to the floor of the pew, and

there he lay, crouching under one of the seats in such an agony of

terror, that Sir Richard felt certain he and the others would be able to

transact all the business they came about, before he would venture to

move from that place of concealment. The magistrate speedily informed

the rest of the party what was the cause of the alarm, and likewise

hinted the position of the Lord Mayor, upon which the secretary said--

"Let him be. Of course, as a matter of courtesy, I was obliged to write

to him upon the subject; but we are as well, and perhaps better without

him."

"I am of the same opinion," said Sir Richard.

They now went at once to the vestry, and two good lanterns were then

procured, and lit. The magistrate at once led the way to the stone that

had been raised by the workmen, in the floor of the church, and which

had never been effectually fastened down again. In a corner, where no

one was likely to look, Sir Richard placed his hand for a crow-bar which

he knew to be there, and, having found it, he quickly raised the stone

on one side. The other gentlemen lent their assistance, and it was

turned fairly over, having exposed the steps that led down to the vaults

of old St. Dunstan's church.

"Let us descend at once," said the secretary, who, to tell the truth, in

the whole affair, showed no lack of personal courage.

"Allow me to precede you, gentlemen," said Sir Richard Blunt; "and you,

Mr. Villimay, will, perhaps, bring up the rear."

"Yes, oh, yes," said the churchwarden, with some degree of nervousness,

but he was quite a hero compared to the Lord Mayor.

Sir Richard handed one of the lanterns, then, to Mr. Villimay, and took

the other himself. Without another moment's delay, then, he began the

descent. They could all, as they went, feel conscious that there was

certainly a most unearthly smell in the vaults--a smell which,

considering the number of years that had elapsed since any interments

had taken place in them, was perfectly unaccountable. As they proceeded,

this stench became more and more sickening, and the secretary said, as

he held a handkerchief to his mouth and nose--

"The Bishop of London spoke to me of this, but I really thought he was

exaggerating."

"It would be difficult to do that," said Sir Richard. "It is as bad

almost as it can very well be, and the measures taken for the purpose of

ventilation, have not as yet had a very great effect upon it."

"I should say not."

With tolerable speed the magistrate led the party on through a vast

number of vaults, and through several narrow and rather tortuous

passages, after which he came to an iron door. It was locked, but

placing the lantern for a few moments upon the floor, he soon succeeded

in opening it with a skeleton key. The moment he had done so, the

secretary exclaimed--

"Hey day! This is something different."

"In what respect, my lord?"

"Why, if my senses don't deceive me, the horrible charnel-house smell,

which we have been enduring for some time past, has given way to one

much more grateful."

"What is it like, my lord?"

"Well, I should say some delicious cooking was going on."

"You are right. There is cooking going on. We are not very far from Mrs.

Lovett's pie manufactory."

"Indeed!"

"Yes; and the smell, or rather I ought to say the odour of which the air

is full, comes from the bakehouse."

The secretary gave a perceptible shudder, and Mr. Villimay uttered a

groan. The gentleman who was with the secretary was about to say

something, but the magistrate, in a low voice, interrupted him, saying--

"Pardon me, but now we are in close proximity to the place of our

destination, I would recommend the profoundest caution and silence."

"Certainly--certainly. We will only be silent spectators."

"It is better, I think," added Sir Richard Blunt, "to allow me to carry

on the whole of the conversation that is to ensue; and at the same time,

any of you gentlemen can suggest to me a question to ask, and I will at

once put it to the man we come to speak to."

"That will do, Sir Richard, that will do."

The magistrate now hurried on as though those savoury steams that

scented the air from the bakehouse of Mrs. Lovett's pies were to him

more disagreeable than the horrible smell in the vaults that made

everybody shake again. In a few minutes he arrived at a room, for it

could not be called a vault. It had a floor of rough stone flags, which

seemed as though they had originally belonged to some of the vaults, and

had been pulled up and carried to this place to make a rude flooring.

There was nothing very remarkable about the walls of this place, save at

one part, and there there was evidently a door, across which was placed

a heavy iron bar.

"It is through there," said Sir Richard.

"But--but you do not intend to open it?"

"Certainly not. There is a small crevice through which there will be no

difficulty in maintaining a conversation with the imprisoned cook, if I

can only make him hear me from this spot."