Good call. Going on would indeed have led to a trap, and a bad end.
A few yards back along the passage was one of the many turnings. I shone the torch down it and picked out a pile of rubbish strewn across the floor. That had been the noise that I'd heard. I was sure that I hadn't been that way myself. If someone else had been there, then they hadn't come my way. They couldn't be walking around in the dark and if they had come in my direction, then I would have seen their light.
I started down the new passage, stopping now and then to see if I could hear anyone but, sheltered from noises like the wind and the rain, the place was completely silent.
I found myself back at the lift. It was still there, doors open, exactly as I had left it. Nobody had left the basement that way. A sudden draught of cold air on my face made me look to the side of the lift. A door was swinging gently in the draught. It was far enough open to see a flight of stairs beyond. I should have realised that where there is a lift, there are usually stairs as well.
I climbed the stairs to the ground floor. The tailor's dummy was still lying on the floor outside the lift doors. I stopped again to listen. This time I could hear something, and not the kind of sound that I was expecting. It was very faint and very muffled. It could have been shouting, but it was very difficult to tell where it might be coming from.
As I moved away from the lift shaft, it got much fainter. I went back and put my ear against the lift doors. Now, it was much louder. I knew that lift shafts could carry sounds from quite a long way off. I also knew that it wasn't coming from the basement; I'd just come from there.
So it was something above me, though I had no means of knowing whether it was on the first, second or third floor. I was deciding that I only had to walk up the stairs to find out, when it stopped. I waited, but I didn't hear it again.
I wanted to explore the tower. I decided to start at the top and work my way down.
The third floor wasn’t going to take much searching. There were only three rooms. The first was a store cupboard, the second an empty room. The third was locked, but the key was in the door. I turned it in and pushed the door open. My heart missed a beat. It was what I had seen at the top of the staircase from the hall all over again—an old man sitting hunched in a wheel chair!
Before I could say anything he had spoken.
'Who are the devil are you?' The voice was thin but strong. 'Another of Crabtree's bunch I suppose!'
I had no doubt who he was—Jasper Vane Markus, my uncle Jasper, and looking very much alive! I told him who I was and, very quickly, what I was doing there.
'Then close the door,' he said, 'and lock it, and don’t put your gun away. You might need it. I know that Crabtree plans to do away with me. Now
that his plan's gone wrong, he’s got to do away with you as well. Can you shoot that thing?'
I told him that I could if I had to. I asked him if there was any other way out of the room apart from the door.
'Not unless you’ve got wings. Go to the window and take a look for yourself.' I was going to say that it would be too dark, when I saw the first streaks of dawn were just appearing in the sky. I looked there was a sheer drop; I couldn’t even see a drain pipe. But I could see something else—two figures hurrying away from the house. I could see only that one was taller than the other. I asked my uncle who he thought was in the house.
'Crabtree,' he said, and the other one—tall thin fellow, elderly, and walks with a limp.'
'The caretaker!' I exclaimed.
'Rubbish!' said my uncle. 'Haven’t got a caretaker. Used to have a couple, man and wife who looked after me these 10 years, 'till Crabtree sent them packing with some cock and bull story!'
I now felt certain that we were not going to see Mr. Crabtree or his assistant again and that it was safe to get my uncle downstairs.
I thought that my uncle should be in his bed but he wanted to hear everything. I told him about some of the things that had happened during the night.
'Crabtree had to scare you off,' my uncle explained. 'Faking my death would be easy, but he had to get you to sell the house. Crabtree believes in the Marsh Hall treasure. He would’ve bought the place himself and pulled up the pieces to find it.'
'What treasure?' I asked, looking puzzled.
My uncle laughed.
'Of course,' he said, 'you wouldn’t know about the treasure. You see we do have a ghost, a real one, the ghost of Thomas Fulton. When Henry VIII's men were destroying the monasteries, a priest called Thomas Fulton fled with some of the treasure of Tay’s Abbey. He was chased and took refuge in this house. The kings men searched the place for days. They even arrested the whole household, but neither Thomas Fulton nor the treasure were ever found. Some, like Crabtree, believe that it’s still here guarded by Thomas Fulton‘s ghost. You can see him for yourself, not his ghost, his portrait in the picture gallery upstairs.'
As I had expected, Crabtree was not heard of again. He had not returned to the offices of the London solicitors where he had worked. A few days later, those offices were broken into during the night. All that was taken was some of Crabtree’s papers and a large sum of money from the office safe.
My uncle promised that, one day, Marsh Hall would be mine. One day, I might even find Thomas Fulton's treasure! Until then, the secret treasure of Marsh Hall remains a secret, known only to Thomas Fulton's ghost.
So this is the second best ending in the book (you might have guessed that the best involves finding the ghost and the treasure.) I
think this is a good enough ending to call the LP done, because I'm still really worn out. I think I might take a break from posting on the Den in general. Not sure if/when I'll return to posting regularly. I
will answer any questions/comments/concerns about this book though.
