Chessmen of Doom (3 page)

"Merciful heavens! This is worse than I thought!" he muttered. "The doors are ajar! Now, who on earth . . ."

The professor shoved one door open and quickly played the beam of his light around. The coffin was in its place, and everything seemed the way it should be. With a sudden angry jerk the professor pulled the doors shut and twisted the handle that latched them. He closed the iron gates and loosely fastened them with the iron chain, and then he began to stalk grimly back to the house. The boys could not see the expression on his face, but they knew he was shaken and upset.

 

 

 

CHAPTER THREE

 

 

That night the professor and the boys slept on the floor of the study. While the rain rattled on the window-panes, they lay snug in their sleeping bags and tried to forget about the scary thing that had happened earlier that evening. The professor did not get much sleep—he lay awake most of the night listening to the rain and hoping that he would not see any more ghostly faces. Around five in the morning he gave up trying to sleep and went out to the wide front porch, where he sat smoking cigarettes till dawn. When they woke up, Fergie and Johnny washed up in the kitchen sink and helped the professor make breakfast on the old black iron gas range. The boys were in a cheerful mood, and they were itching to explore the crumbling, run-down estate. The professor stayed moody for most of the morning, because he was convinced that he had seen his dead brother's ghost. Later, though, he began to cheer up. A repair-man arrived and went to the basement to fix the broken oil burner, and this was definitely a step in the right direction. As he sat in the sunlit kitchen, sipping coffee and listening to the pinging and banging that came from below, the professor began to feel that everything might just possibly work out all right.

After lunch Fergie and Johnny went out to play flies and grounders on the long sloping back lawn. The professor went upstairs and began to explore the many rooms of the vast echoing old mansion. As he plodded along the gloomy corridors, he tried to imagine his brother living all alone in this place. "He must have been out of his ever-loving mind," said the professor to himself as he kicked at the worn hall carpet. He walked up a narrow staircase to the tower room on the third floor. At the top of the stairs was a tall, pointed doorway. The heavy black oak door hung ajar, but beyond lay darkness. How very odd, thought the professor as he stepped into the room. He fumbled for the light switch, and the bare bulb in the ceiling fixture came on. Now the professor understood why the room was so dark. The windows were boarded up. Quickly he looked around the small circular room—it was bare and desolate, and smelled strongly of dust. A brick fireplace was built into one wall, and above the mantel a metal disk was bolted to the wall. This was a stovepipe-hole cover. Apparently at one time there had been a woodstove in the room, and the smoke had gotten out through a pipe that ran into the fireplace's chimney. On the disk a pleasant scene of fields and trees had been painted, and it made the professor smile, because he liked old-fashioned things.

Humming quietly, he began to poke around the room. Not really much to see, was there? Off in a far corner, beyond the fireplace, was a closet door. He opened it, half hoping that a body would fall out. But all he saw were some old warped golf clubs and a slab of varnished wood. Reaching in, he pulled the piece of wood out and turned it over. To his surprise he saw chessboard squares! But the board was very warped, and unusable. "What on earth . . ." said the professor quietly, and he walked out into the middle of the room holding the bizarre object that he had found. Some very peculiar thoughts began to run through his mind. He remembered the first two lines of the weird poem that had been included in his dead brother's letter:

 

Why a dead eye in a room with no view?

Why pallid dwarves on a board that's not true?

 

This shuttered room definitely had no view, and in his hands he was holding a chessboard that was warped— not true, in other words. But what was the dead eye? He didn't see any around, and he hoped that he never would. As for the "pallid dwarves," they ought to be chessmen, and it certainly was true that ivory chessmen were pale or pallid, but—but what? Pacing nervously back and forth, the professor tried to think, but the more he thought the more confused he got. "It's all in my mind," he grumbled, as he carried the board back to the closet and propped it up in a corner. "I've just made up something to entertain myself with, and if I'm not careful I'll drive myself batty!" Sighing, he closed the closet door and wiped his dusty hands on his trousers. He left the room and trotted down the stairs, but at the first landing he paused and peered anxiously over his shoulder at the dark doorway above him. "I wonder . . . he muttered thoughtfully. "I really wonder!"

The professor spent the rest of the afternoon doing mindless tasks—he oiled the old hand-powered lawn mower in the garage and actually managed to shove it back and forth on the grass a few times. Then he went down to the cellar of the mansion to see how the repairman was doing, and he got there just in time to hear the oil burner roar into life. This was great, because it meant that he and his friends would not have to huddle in sleeping bags tonight—they would be able to sleep in real beds on soft mattresses, with clean sheets and pillowcases. After he had paid the repairman, the professor went out to the back lawn and sat down to watch the boys as they batted balls in the air and caught them. He sighed with contentment. Tonight they would drive back to the town of Stone Arabia and eat at Big Ed's and go to a movie. When they got back to their nice comfy warm house, life would seem better than it had for some time.

Big Ed's burgers were as good as they had been before, and the Cornel Wilde pirate movie at the Mecca Theater was exciting, so by the time Fergie, Johnny, and the professor piled into the car and headed for home, they felt tired and happy. The car sped along dark, winding roads and finally turned into the driveway where the two tall stone gateposts loomed. As they bumped and jounced toward the mansion, the professor found that he was getting more and more nervous. He felt a sense of foreboding, as if something awful was going to happen. Normally he would have shrugged the feeling off, but some pretty uncanny things had happened since the three of them arrived at Perry's estate, and it was possible that more unpleasant surprises were on the way. Fireflies winked among the bushes, and brief flashes of heat lightning glowed above the clouds that hung over the old mansion. On they drove.

"We're not gonna need that furnace tonight, Prof," Fergie said. "I'm sweatin' bullets, an' I guess you guys are too. You shouldn't of paid that guy to fix it. We could get through the summer without a furnace, I'll bet."

"Oh, really?" growled the professor. "If you're such an expert on Maine weather, Byron, I would suggest that you rent yourself out to a local radio station. But I will bet you five dollars that we will have some pretty chilly nights before this summer is over. Remember, we have to stay here until . . ."

The professor's voice died, and he jammed on the brakes. The long pale beams of the car's headlights had picked out something in the distance. Something that was wrong. At a bend in the drive a flagstone path began. It led to the door of the gloomy stone house where Peregrine Childermass lay buried. On the winding track of pale stones a shapeless dark lump lay. Silently the professor shut off the car's motor and got out. He trotted up the path, turned on his flashlight, and stooped over the object. It was a black tailcoat, the kind that people sometimes wear to weddings. With a shock the professor recognized the coat—it was the one that Perry had owned. Stooping, the professor grasped a lapel and saw the Masonic pin. Then he reached inside and found the label:
Pine Tree State Tailors. Bangor, Maine.
It was definitely Perry's coat—no doubt about that. Probably it was the one he had been buried in.

With a strange look on his face the professor walked up the path, playing the beam of his flashlight before him. Fergie and Johnny followed a few steps behind. They were curious, but they were not quite as fearless as the professor was. At last the three of them stopped outside the entrance to the ornate stone tomb. There stood Perry's statue, smiling weirdly at them and pointing toward the door. But the wrought-iron gates had once again been wrenched open, and on the broad marble steps lay an open coffin. The lid lay nearby, and it was cracked and splintered, as if someone had forced it loose with a crowbar.

"Heavenly days, McGee!" the professor whispered in an awestruck tone. "It looks as if a ghoul has been wandering around. I cannot imagine . . ." His voice trailed off as he bent over the empty coffin and touched the quilted lining with his fingers. Then, with a haunted look in his eyes, he turned back to the boys. "I'm afraid that mischief is afoot," he announced solemnly. "Mischief and dirty dealing and the Lord knows what! Who on earth would be so rotten as to steal my poor brother's corpse?
Who?''

Fergie threw a quick look at Johnny and shrugged. "You got me, Prof!" he said, folding his arms solemnly. "I used to read about body snatchers, but they were people who stole corpses so medical students could work on them. But that was in the old days."

The professor nodded. "You're right," he said grimly. "So why was my brother's tomb violated? I really would like to know!"

For quite some time the professor and the two boys stood there in the dark. While the crickets chirped loudly in the tall grass behind the mausoleum, they talked in whispers about grave robbers and the face at the window and whether or not the police ought to be notified. On one thing they were in complete agreement—something very strange was going on.

With a gloomy sigh the professor glanced at the gaping door of the looted tomb.

"Better go turn the car lights off," muttered the professor. "Ghouls or no ghouls, it's time for some shut eye. We can call the cops in the morning."

Johnny and Fergie followed the professor back to the car. When he had shut off the headlights he led the way to the front door of the house. The lamp that burned behind the fanlight seemed very friendly to the boys, who kept glancing nervously over their shoulders to see if anyone was following them. Once they were inside, they helped the professor with the two heavy sliding bolts that secured the top and bottom of the stout oak door, and then they went upstairs to bed. The professor was still feeling pretty upset, so he went to the kitchen and played solitaire until he began to feel calmer. The ticking of the old Waterbury shelf clock and the hum of the refrigerator relaxed him. He poured himself a shot of brandy from the silver-plated pint flask he had brought with him. After downing the fiery liquid in one gulp he shut off the lights and walked up the broad staircase, humming tunelessly. But instead of going to his bedroom he went to the narrow flight of steps that led to the tower room. The professor really didn't know why he wanted to go to that eerie boarded-up chamber. He just felt a powerful urge, as if someone were shoving him from behind, making him go. With the beam of his flashlight showing the way, he stomped up the dusty steps till he stood once again before the gloomy paneled door. There was a hall light here, but when he flipped the switch, the professor got a little bluish flash and then darkness—the bulb had burned out. With a muttered curse the professor opened the door of the room, reached inside, and pushed a small black button. The overhead bulb came on, and he went on in.

In the middle of the floor the professor paused.
Why did this place upset him so much?
He found that he was breathing heavily, and his heart was hammering. The room was ugly and depressing—no doubt about that. But there really wasn't anything evil or frightening here that he could see. He had felt bad enough the first time he came here, but now he felt worse—much worse. The grim boarded windows seemed like dark portals that might suddenly fly open and let in . . . let in what? The professor had no idea. He tried to hum, but the humming died in his throat. He walked over to the painted metal disk that was bolted to the fireplace chimney. He stared at it fixedly, and the longer he stared, the stranger he felt. It was as if waves of power were coming from the disk, waves as strong as the heat from a heat lamp. He had the peculiar feeling that the cheerful little scene of trees and flowery fields was just a mask that hid something horrible from view. And—strangest of all— he had the very powerful impression that someone was staring at him from behind the painted disk. It was a very unsettling feeling, and he kept trying to fight it down, but the feeling kept coming back. This is very foolish, the professor told himself. But still he had to struggle against the urge to go and kneel down on the hearth and peer up the fireplace's chimney. What did he expect to see? Nothing, probably. This is a lot of dratted poppycock! thought the professor, and with a shuddering sigh he pulled himself together and marched out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

 

 

 

CHAPTER FOUR

 

 

The next morning the professor called up the police in Stone Arabia and told them about the break-in. Around ten, two policemen showed up in a rusty squad car, took notes, asked questions, and peered into the empty tomb. The professor was glad when the two men finally left. He was convinced that the police would not find a clue. In the mysteries he read the cops never solved anything. He was sure that things would work out the same in real life.

Days passed. The professor brought in supplies and stocked the refrigerator with food. Meanwhile the boys did more exploring. Several times they hiked out to the Herkimer Column, and one afternoon they even climbed the wooded bluff to have a look at the abandoned observatory. Unfortunately the door of the building was padlocked tight, but the boys peered up at the greenish copper dome that covered the broken telescope. The concrete walls of the circular building were covered with kids' initials and smart-alecky remarks. The whole place looked as if it had been neglected for years, and the boys wondered why Perry Childermass had wanted to build it in the first place. They didn't hang around the observatory long, however—the professor was frying porterhouse steaks for dinner that night, and the boys started feeling hungry.