Secret of the Underground Room (7 page)

"Wait a minute!" he exclaimed. "How come you think that's where the tomb of the knights is?"

The professor smiled smugly. "Well, we're not absolutely sure," he said, "but that's where the knights came from. And Lundy is the solution to one of those notes. Remember
bustard custard
and
drake cake?
Well, how about puffin muffins?"

"Puffin
what?"
asked Fergie. "What are you talkin' about?"

Johnny knew. Suddenly he remembered that puffins nested all over the isle of Lundy. Puffins are large birds with bodies like ducks, big feathery ruffs around their faces, and enormous curved beaks. Harman had put puffins on the Lundy stamps and coins that he had issued. Patiently Johnny explained all this to Fergie, who looked at him as if he didn't believe one word he was saying.

"Young John is correct," put in Humphrey with a kind smile. "In fact, in the old Norse language
Lund Y
means Puffin Island. There's always the possibility, I suppose, that we're going on a wild goose chase, but I don't think so, and neither does Roderick. I'm not exactly sure what we'll do when we find the tomb of the knights, but the riddles on those other scraps of paper may help us to figure that out. Are you boys ready for a short ocean voyage out to the mouth of the stormy Bristol Channel?"

Fergie and Johnny looked at each other. They imagined themselves in a rowboat, being pitched about by mountainous waves. But they were not about to admit that they were scared, so they nodded and said that they wanted to go.

"Fine!" said Humphrey, rubbing his hands enthusiastically. "And now I'd like to invite you all over to my house for dinner."

As it turned out, Humphrey lived just on the other side of the Clifton suspension bridge. His house was made of yellowish stone with steep Gothic gables and fancy carved wooden decorations on the eaves. Tall brick chimneys rose above the trees that crowded about the house, and on the front porch were stacks of broken chairs. Inside, the house smelled of wood smoke and damp paper, and in the enormous living room logs crackled in the fireplace. A large threadbare Oriental rug covered the floor, and leather-covered chairs and couches stood grouped together. Steins and old tarnished silver trophies littered the mantelpiece and the built-in shelves of the walls, and piles of books could be seen in the shadowy corners of the room. Some of these books were very large and had ribbed vellum covers. Johnny wanted to know what was in them, but he was too shy to ask.

Dinner was served at the kitchen table, and it was delicious. Cold roast beef and tongue, Stilton and Cheshire cheeses, homemade bread, fresh lettuce, and cherry tomatoes. For the boys there were Cokes, and for the two men Newcastle brown ale. On the table was a tiny pot of Coleman's mustard, and the boys soon found that a little of it went a long way. For dessert Humphrey served a sherry trifle that he had made himself: lots of little cubes of cake soaked in sherry and covered with fruit and whipped cream. After the meal Humphrey and the professor took their coffee into the living room, where they sat for hours, talking about old times. The boys went to the recreation room, which had two pinball machines, a pool table, and an oblong overhead light with green fringe around its shade. Fergie was a hotshot pool player, and Johnny knew he couldn't compete with him. But they played anyway and enjoyed themselves very much.

Finally it was time to go. The professor and the boys bade Humphrey good-bye, and they walked down the path between the trees to the sidewalk that led to the bridge. Fog had drifted into the city, and eerie haloes hung around the streetlamps. As the three of them started across the bridge, a stiff wind began to blow. The old bridge groaned and creaked in the wind. By the time they got to the middle of the bridge, the wind had turned into a roaring gale, and the boys and the professor had to cling to the iron handrail as they inched forward.

"My... this is... incredible," gasped the professor as he struggled along. "I don't think... we're going to make it to... the... "

His voice was lost in the shrieking of the wind. Far ahead, on the other side of the bridge, a tall, gaunt figure could be seen standing under a streetlamp. It looked like a man in an overcoat and narrow-brimmed hat. Mists swirled about the figure, who now raised his hand and made a strange sign in the air. The wind began to blow harder. Johnny was slammed against the railing, which was only about chest high. He found that incredibly, he was being lifted up by unseen forces. A few minutes more and he would be hurled headlong two hundred feet to his death.

 

 

 

CHAPTER NINE

 

 

Slowly Johnny felt his body moving up the railing. He clung desperately to the iron bar, closed his eyes tight, and prayed. In his ears the wild wind boomed, and he was so frightened that he was afraid he would black out. How long could he hang on? Would he lose consciousness before he hit the stones that lay far below? But suddenly a loud voice rose above the howling storm:

 

I wish the wind may cease to roar,
 

No thrashing of the flood.
 

By him that harrowed hell I swear
 

And by the holy rood!

 

The wind died, and Johnny slid gasping to the riveted iron walkway of the bridge. Stunned, he looked around and saw the professor and Fergie not far from him. They were kneeling with their hands over their faces, and both of them seemed to be sobbing. Walking toward them from the far end of the bridge was Humphrey. He strode briskly along, and as he went he hummed a jaunty little tune. When Humphrey got to the place where his brother was kneeling, he bent and helped him up. With a lot of sneezing and harrumphing, the professor pulled himself together. He didn't like to have people see him in a weepy state, so he tried to hide his feelings as well as he could. He was glad to be alive.

"Goodness!" he exclaimed, mopping his face with his handkerchief. "I have never felt anything like that in my life! Another few seconds and—" He paused and glared accusingly at his brother. "Humphrey!" he roared. "You know magic spells! And you never told me!"

Humphrey smiled modestly and bowed. "I never like to brag about my accomplishments," he said. "But I'm glad I was able to save you. A few seconds after you left the house, I sensed his presence, and I'm glad I came as fast as I did."

"Presence?" growled the professor. "Presence? Whose presence?"

Humphrey sighed and looked down toward the other end of the bridge, where a streetlamp burned quietly in the fog. "Masterman's," he said with a sour grimace. "I should have known that he would be capable of doing something like this. As long as he lives inside Father Higgins's body, he is a menace. Some of his ancient powers must have returned to him, and who knows what he is capable of now? Luckily, I have a few little tricks of my own."

"I'll say!" said Fergie, gazing admiringly at Humphrey. "I thought we were all goners!"

"You very nearly were," said Humphrey gravely. "But see here! I think you had better come back and spend the night at my place. It's not absolutely one-hundred-percent safe, but it's a lot safer than your place. Master-man knows you're onto him, and he's afraid you'll mess up his plans. He'll be back—you can be sure of that. But for the time being our little duel may have scared him off. Come on. Let's go."

No one needed to be persuaded. With grateful smiles the boys and the professor tramped back across the bridge to Humphrey's house, where Humphrey showed them all to their rooms. The huge oak beds were inviting, and in each room a portable electric heater was plugged into the wall. Johnny's heater had a plastic front made to look like heaps of coal, and behind the coals a red light flickered. In spite of the musty sheets, the room seemed warm and cozy, and Johnny fell asleep thinking about how Humphrey had stood on the bridge uttering words of power to drive the forces of darkness away.

 

The next day was a very busy one. The professor paid their bill at the O'Triggers' house, and Humphrey found out about a small ferry that sailed between a town called Ilfracombe and the isle of Lundy. Then Humphrey packed a tent, a Coleman lamp, sleeping bags, and a portable stove, which he had used camping in Wales. He pointed out that these things might be necessary—Lundy had only forty people living on it, and there was only one small inn. Finally all the arrangements were made, and in the afternoon, Humphrey rolled his old, mud-spattered Bentley out of the garage. It was a windy day, with tattered clouds flying across the sky. A storm had been predicted, but Humphrey remained optimistic, and he whistled cheerfully as he helped the others load their equipment into the car. Johnny and Fergie climbed into the roomy backseat, and the two men got into the front. Soon they were on narrow back roads that ran between high stone walls or rows of hedges. Humphrey was just as terrifying a driver as the professor was, and the boys were hurled all over the backseat as the car careened around curves. The sky began to get darker and thunder rumbled in the distance. Trees and bushes thrashed in a wind that suddenly sprang up, and rain fell in big drops that splatted on the windshield. Soon the rain was falling in sheets, and the car slowed to a crawl. Humphrey turned on his headlights and began to bravely sing "The Three Fishers," an old song about some fishermen who got drowned in a storm at sea:

 

... And the night rack came rolling in ragged and brown.

For men must work, and women must weep
 

Though storms be sudden and waters be deep
 

And the harbor bar be moaning....

 

"You have great taste in songs," said the professor sarcastically. "How long do you think this blasted storm is going to last?"

Humphrey shrugged. "Search me. Sometimes they go on for days in these parts. It's sea weather, because we're so close to the coast. If it's storming this hard when we reach Ilfracombe, the ferry may not be able to take us to Lundy today."

"Peachy," grumbled the professor. "So what do we do in that case?"

"We wait—that's all we can do. But there is one good thing—if we can't get to Lundy, then neither can Masterman—unless of course he's out there already."

Johnny shivered and looked out at the pouring rain. "Do you think he's waiting for us somewhere, professor?" he asked in a quavering voice.

"Anything's possible," put in Humphrey. "Especially when you're dealing with the ghost of a sorcerer. But I hope I'll be equal to the old buzzard, whatever he tries to pull. As I said, I have some knowledge of magic arts, though I certainly am not a wizard."

The car crawled up and down hills, as the rain fell steadily and the car's yellow fog lamps sent their beams out into the dark. After another hour the Bentley came rolling into the pleasant little fishing port of Ilfracombe—except that it didn't look all that pleasant, with a driving rain falling and wind whipping the harbor water into a fury of white froth. Carefully Humphrey nosed the car into a narrow, winding street and pulled up in front of a respectable-looking red-brick hotel. Two gas lamps burned outside the door, and a wooden sign creaked and swung in the wind. On the sign was a picture of a stuffy-looking British navy officer in a cocked hat, blue uniform, and gold epaulets, and the name of the hotel—the Admiral Hood Inn.

Humphrey turned off the engine and sat staring at the raindrops that danced on the hood of the car. "Well, here we are," he said wearily. "This is a very nice hotel—I've stayed here before. We can't get to Lundy tonight. God only knows when this awful weather will let up."

The professor patted his brother on the arm. "What can't be helped can't be helped," he said gently. "You've done all you could, Humphrey, and more besides. Let's hope tomorrow we'll wake up to clear skies and a quiet sea. In the meantime, let's go in and find some rooms. I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm good for dinner and not much more."

The boys followed the two men into the inn. As it turned out, there were two adjoining rooms available— one for the boys and one for the professor and his brother. After the four of them had gotten checked in, Humphrey led the way down the street to a restaurant. By eight in the evening everyone was sitting around in the hotel's lounge, watching television or leafing through magazines. And by ten they were all sound asleep.

Johnny and Fergie shared a low-ceilinged room with framed engravings of hunting dogs on the walls. The windows were half open, so they fell asleep to the sound of rain pattering in the courtyard behind the inn. Afterward Johnny never could figure out what it was that awoke him. But around 3 A.M. he came awake with a start and sat upright in his bed, glancing around and wondering what was the matter. A few feet away Fergie snored on. Carefully, Johnny put his glasses on. He could not shake off the feeling that there was something very wrong. With a worried frown on his face, he got up and padded across the rug to the door that led to the room where Humphrey and the professor were sleeping. As quietly as he could, Johnny twisted the knob and peered inside. The room wasn't completely dark, with light from a streetlamp filtering in. Johnny could see two empty beds covered with rumpled sheets. And the door leading to the hall was ajar. The men had gone! But where to, and why?

Johnny felt cold all over, but he managed to pull himself together. Stiffly he marched back into the other room and started shaking Fergie.

"Wha... what the... " mumbled Fergie thickly. He brushed his hair out of his eyes and then sat up. "What's goin' on?" he grumbled irritably. "Is the hotel on fire?"

"They're gone!" whispered Johnny. "Humphrey and the professor are gone! They're not in their room!"

Fergie yawned. "Maybe they couldn't sleep, so they went out to catch a late movie."

Johnny shook his head. "No, no, that's not possible!" he said. "Everything in these English towns shuts down early—you know that as well as I do. And the weather outside is terrible. They didn't go for a walk. Fergie, I'm scared—I mean it!"

Wearily, Fergie peeled back the sheet and swung his legs out of the bed. He sat there with his hands on his knees, staring glumly up at Johnny. "Well, what are we supposed to do?" he asked. "Run around the streets hollering for them? They might've just wanted to have a private talk somewhere. I think you're pushin' the panic button a little early, big John!"