The World's Finest Mystery Part 69

"Supposedly drunk."

"Supposedly?"

"Oh, several bottles of your finest port are missing."

"Charles's port! But you sound as if you doubt Henry drank them."

"I'm not sure. I find myself wondering where the empty bottles are and why, at breakfast this morning, he did not appear to be suffering any ill effects after such a binge."

"A veteran drinker might be able to manage both the bottles and the morning."

"True. And since I have long avoided the Banes, I have no idea if our cousin is a souse or abstemious."

"Which leaves us where we started."

"Do you know, this morning I found myself thinking like a soldier for the first time in a long time."

"Meaning?"

"We must use strategy, Lucien. And I believe we would do well to take the offensive rather than wait for the murderous Bane to make another attempt on Charles's life."

"Ah!" he said, smiling. "You want to set a trap."

"Yes. We will each have a role- including Charles. Do you suppose, dear Lucien, that you could play the part of a headless monk?"

Act I, Scene I, took place just outside the morning room door. Lucien told us that Henry had settled into a chair before the fire to read a newspaper there, thus determining where we must stage our play. Charles proved to be his father's equal as an actor. He acted out a perfect tantrum, with Fibbens providing able support.

"There's no such thing as ghosts!" Charles shouted angrily.

"Perhaps not, your lords.h.i.+p," Fibbens said anxiously, "but the north tower is dangerous. Your father meant to undertake repairs but-"

"I'm not afraid. It's my treasure!"

"Not so loud, please, your lords.h.i.+p!" Fibbens said, knowing perfectly well that Henry Bane was undoubtedly pressing his ear to the door.

"Uncle Edward knows how to find it." Charles declared. "We're going treasure hunting!"

"Not with a houseful of guests, your lords.h.i.+p. It would be- er, impolite."

That was my cue. "Charles, Charles! Are you talking that treasure nonsense again?" I asked. After a brief pause I said, "Fibbens, I believe I will need my heavier cloak- and his lords.h.i.+p will need his own as well."

"Yes, sir," Fibbens said and, treading heavily, left the hallway.

"Charles, what have I told you about the treasure?"

"That we will find it tonight because you promised Papa you would show me where it is."

"Yes. And what else?"

"Not to tell the Banes. But Fibbens isn't the Banes."

"Fibbens is entirely trustworthy, but you never know who might be listening. So please don't discuss it with anyone else. Now, here's Fibbens with our cloaks. Have you your gloves? Excellent. Let's go for our walk."

Two slight variations on this performance were given- one for the benefit of f.a.n.n.y and one for William.

Only Lady Bane seemed to enjoy a normal appet.i.te at dinner that evening. Charles kept looking conspiratorially at me, which required no real acting.

Lucien's role was proving the most difficult. To our dismay he could not move objects, and any attempt to dress him in something other than the riding clothes he had been wearing on the day of his accident met with utter failure. Bogsley had unearthed the old headless abbot- the one the village seamstress had manufactured for that long ago Christmas haunting. It was losing its stuffing and looked a little aged, but we only needed the robe itself. When Lucien tried to put it on, however, it simply fell to the ground.

Making the best of what he could do, he practiced materializing and soon had the knack of partial materialization. "I do so hate the prospect of being dead from the neck up," he said when he'd managed to appear before us without a head. Charles, who had been rather thrilled with our story of swinging the "headless monk" past the Banes' windows, asked the housekeeper if it might be possible to repair it. She stuffed a few pillows into the old costume, and our headless abbot had yet another round of life. Before falling asleep Charles enjoyed playing with this large, if rather gruesome, doll.

"Boys is all alike" was the housekeeper's a.s.sessment, with a nod toward Lucien and me.

At ten o'clock that evening I awakened Charles from his brief slumbers. Bundled up in warm clothing, we carried s.h.i.+elded lanterns as we went through one of the secret pa.s.sages to the North Tower. The tower was built into the rise on which The Abbey stood. Perhaps at one time, it had indeed towered over the castle that had been here, but very little of the castle remained. Now the only apparent entrance to the tower was near the top of what remained of it- the tower was more akin to a well than a tower: more of it was reached by descending a staircase than by climbing. It was dank, musty smelling, and of no practical use.

I knew of no Rolingbroke who would dream of tearing it down.

After the treasure story had been spread about, Fibbens, several footmen, and other servants had taken turns keeping an eye on the Banes. None of them had yet been seen at the only tower entrance- the only entrance they would know of.

In addition to that entrance, there were two means of reaching the tower by secret pa.s.sage. The one we were in ended on a st.u.r.dy, wide, stone platform, about halfway up (or down, as it seemed) the tower. Above us a relatively new wooden staircase led to the usual tower entrance, off one of The Abbey hallways. Below us, at the foot of a crumbling stone staircase, was the other secret pa.s.sage. As boys, Lucien and I had explored it, half-hoping, half-dreading we'd encounter the Headless Abbot. We found damp stones and little else.

Charles and I waited in relative comfort, hidden from view, our lantern s.h.i.+elded. We soon knew who the first of our arrivals would most likely be- Lucien came to report that within a few minutes of one another Henry and f.a.n.n.y had each softly knocked at the door to my room and peered inside. They had then hurried back to their own rooms.

But it was William who opened the door at the top of the stairs, carrying a candle. He was halfway down the stairs when the door opened a second time. He turned to see f.a.n.n.y. "What on earth are you doing here?" he asked her.

"I might ask the same of you."

"I'm looking for Henry. Do you know where he is?"

"I haven't the vaguest. Where are Edward and the brat?"

In the darkness of our hiding place I laid a finger to Charles's lips. He nodded his understanding.

"How should I know?"

"I should have known it was all a Banbury tale," she said.

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't try to gammon me, dear brother. You're here looking for the treasure, too!"

"I'm not worried about any treasure-"

"Not worried about any treasure! That's a loud one! You who've been punting on River Tick for I don't know how long!"

"If Mama could hear you using such terms-"

"Mama is sound asleep. Go on, deny that you're one step ahead of the bailiff."

"All right, I deny it. I'm not in debt. I've come about- thanks to Cousin Lucien."

"What!"

"I never told you or Henry, but it's true. He helped me, f.a.n.n.y."

"Why you?"

"Because he cared about the family, bacon-brain! Wasn't just the money- he talked to me. Made me think, I tell you. So anyone planning further mischief around here will have to come through me. I was too late for Lucien, and last night I was sure I was too late to help Charles. But now I've caught you, and I tell you I won't allow it!"

"Help Charles? Mischief? What on earth are you talking about?"

"My horse is in the stall next to Fine Lad. I think you know what that means."

"That he's eating his head off at his lords.h.i.+p's expense."

"f.a.n.n.y!"

She eyed him malevolently.

"Enough of your nonsense, William. Let me by. Edward and the brat will be here any minute- probably working their way through the secret pa.s.sage now."

"Secret pa.s.sage!" William said. "What secret pa.s.sage?"

"The place is full of them. Don't you remember my telling you so when we were down here that last Christmas?"

William frowned. "No."

"Well, maybe I told Henry, then. Which is of no importance in any case! Move off this staircase before I have to shove you off!"

"Touch me, and I'll tell Mama that nothing pleases her spinster daughter so much as to dress up like a man and ride astride!"

"Oh! You won't be alive to tell her! They'll burying you next to Lucien!"

"Now!" I heard Lucien say, and I pulled the s.h.i.+eld off the lantern.

The sudden light caught the attention of the two Banes. But it was Lucien who caused William to give out a bloodcurdling scream.

Charles clung to me, apparently more frightened by the scream than anything that had gone before.

"Lord Almighty!" f.a.n.n.y said. "You frightened the life right out of me. What's gotten into you! You'll bring the whole house down on us!"

William, the color gone from his face, pointed a shaking hand toward Lucien.

"What?" f.a.n.n.y said. "Speak up, now!"

"The Headless Abbot."

"Headless Abbot! I don't see any Headless Abbot! It's just a light coming from one of those pa.s.sages I told you about."

"Don't you see him?" William cried. "In riding clothes!"

"Are you back to giving me trouble over that? What's it to you if I find men's clothes more sensible for riding?"

Lucien tried moving closer to her. But while William swayed on his feet, f.a.n.n.y was oblivious to him.

"William?" she said. "Are you feeling quite the thing?"

In frustration Lucien materialized completely.

"Lucien!" William said and fainted. Unfortunately, he was still on the stairs when this happened. Lucien tried to make a grab for him, but William fell right through him, tumbling down to the ledge.

Now f.a.n.n.y screamed, but obviously she still could not see my brother.

"Fibbens, please take his lords.h.i.+p to safety," I said over Charles's protests. "Ask Bogsley to bring some men with a litter to me." And picking up a lantern, I limped out as quickly as I could to the landing, where William lay in a heap.

"Edward!" f.a.n.n.y called, hurrying down the stairs and straight through Lucien without so much as a blink, "Oh, help him, Edward!"

She stood nervously watching me. William made a groaning sound and opened his eyes. "Edward?" he said dazedly. "Was it you all along?"

He then caught sight of Lucien standing behind me, though, and fainted once again.

I did my best to make him more comfortable. "Help will be here soon, f.a.n.n.y," I said.

"He's broken his arm," Lucien said, "but I don't think he has any more serious injuries. Why do you suppose he could see me but she can't?"

"I don't understand it," I said.

f.a.n.n.y, thinking I spoke to her, said, "Well! I understand it! It's all because of Lucien's stupid story about the monk. He thought he saw the ghost. Just your lantern light, I daresay."

We heard a sound then, a faint cracking noise from below.

f.a.n.n.y's face grew pale. "The abbot!" she said weakly.

"Henry," I called, "are you down there in the dark eating walnuts?"

A long laugh echoed up the tower.

"Henry!" f.a.n.n.y exclaimed.

"Get help," I said to Lucien.

"I'll stay here, thank you," f.a.n.n.y replied. "Besides, you said help is already on the way."

"Oh, it is, dear f.a.n.n.y, it is!" Henry said, lighting a lantern. He started up the stone stairs. "Where's Charles?"

Lucien made a wild banshee sound and swooped toward Henry. Nothing.