It was pitch-dark and without a moon, but Mason led us overthe grass-lands until a dark mass loomed up in front of us whichproved to be the ancient chapel. We entered the broken gapwhich was once the porch, and our guide, stumbling among heapsof loose masonry, picked his way to the corner of the building,where a steep stair led down into the crypt. Striking a match, heilluminated the melancholy place—dismal and evil-smelling, withancient crumbling walls of rough-hewn stone, and piles of coffins,some of lead and some of stone, extending upon one side right upto the arched and groined roof which lost itself in the shadowsabove our heads. Holmes had lit his lantern, which shot a tinytunnel of vivid yellow light upon the mournful scene. Its rays werereflected back from the coffin-plates, many of them adorned withthe griffin and coronet of this old family which carried its honourseven to the gate of Death.
“You spoke of some bones, Mr. Mason. Could you show thembefore you go?”
“They are here in this corner.” The trainer strode across andthen stood in silent surprise as our light was turned upon theplace. “They are gone,” said he.
“So I expected,” said Holmes, chuckling. “I fancy the ashes ofthem might even now be found in that oven which had alreadyconsumed a part.”
“But why in the world would anyone want to burn the bones ofa man who has been dead a thousand years?” asked John Mason.
“That is what we are here to find out,” said Holmes. “It maymean a long search, and we need not detain you. I fancy that weshall get our solution before morning.”
When John Mason had left us, Holmes set to work making avery careful examination of the graves, ranging from a very ancientone, which appeared to be Saxon, in the centre, through a long lineof Norman Hugos and Odos, until we reached the Sir William andSir Denis Falder of the eighteenth century. It was an hour or morebefore Holmes came to a leaden coffin standing on end before theentrance to the vault. I heard his little cry of satisfaction and wasaware from his hurried but purposeful movements that he hadreached a goal. With his lens he was eagerly examining the edgesof the heavy lid. Then he drew from his pocket a short jemmy, abox-opener, which he thrust into a chink, levering back the wholefront, which seemed to be secured by only a couple of clamps.
There was a rending, tearing sound as it gave way, but it had hardlyhinged back and partly revealed the contents before we had anunforeseen interruption.
Someone was walking in the chapel above. It was the firm, rapidstep of one who came with a definite purpose and knew well theground upon which he walked. A light streamed down the stairs,and an instant later the man who bore it was framed in the Gothicarchway. He was a terrible figure, huge in stature and fierce inmanner. A large stable-lantern which he held in front of him shoneupward upon a strong, heavily moustached face and angry eyes,which glared round him into every recess of the vault, finally fixingthemselves with a deadly stare upon my companion and myself.
“Who the devil are you?” he thundered. “And what are youdoing upon my property?” Then, as Holmes returned no answer hetook a couple of steps forward and raised a heavy stick which hecarried. “Do you hear me?” he cried. “Who are you? What are youdoing here?” His cudgel quivered in the air.
But instead of shrinking Holmes advanced to meet him.
“I also have a question to ask you, Sir Robert,” he said in hissternest tone. “Who is this? And what is it doing here?”
He turned and tore open the coffin-lid behind him. In the glareof the lantern I saw a body swathed in a sheet from head to footwith dreadful, witch-like features, all nose and chin, projectingat one end, the dim, glazed eyes staring from a discoloured andcrumbling face.
The baronet had staggered back with a cry and supportedhimself against a stone sarcophagus.
“How came you to know of this?” he cried. And then, with somereturn of his truculent manner: “What business is it of yours?”
“My name is Sherlock Holmes,” said my companion. “ Possiblyit is familiar to you. In any case, my business is that of every othergood citizen—to uphold the law. It seems to me that you havemuch to answer for.”
Sir Robert glared for a moment, but Holmes’s quiet voice andcool, assured manner had their effect.
“ ‘Fore God, Mr. Holmes, it’s all right,” said he. “ Appearancesare against me, I’ll admit, but I could act no otherwise.”
“I should be happy to think so, but I fear your explanationsmust be before the police.”
Sir Robert shrugged his broad shoulders.
“Well, if it must be, it must. Come up to the house and you canjudge for yourself how the matter stands.”
A quarter of an hour later we found ourselves in what I judge,from the lines of polished barrels behind glass covers, to be thegun-room of the old house. It was comfortably furnished, andhere Sir Robert left us for a few moments. When he returned hehad two companions with him; the one, the florid young womanwhom we had seen in the carriage; the other, a small rat-faced manwith a disagreeably furtive manner. These two wore an appearanceof utter bewilderment, which showed that the baronet had not yethad time to explain to them the turn events had taken.
“There,” said Sir Robert with a wave of his hand, “are Mr. andMrs. Norlett. Mrs. Norlett, under her maiden name of Evans, hasfor some years been my sister’s confidential maid. I have broughtthem here because I feel that my best course is to explain the trueposition to you, and they are the two people upon earth who cansubstantiate what I say.”
“Is this necessary, Sir Robert? Have you thought what you aredoing?” cried the woman.
“As to me, I entirely disclaim all responsibility,” said her husband.
Sir Robert gave him a glance of contempt. “I will take allresponsibility,” said he. “Now, Mr. Holmes, listen to a plainstatement of the facts.
