He offered to go to the village for a doctor, and, before leaving, handed me a pint bottle of Johnny Walker.
"Your freend will be needing a nip o' this," he said. "If Dr. MacReady's in I'll be back within the hour."
As he clattered off down the narrow lane, I turned and hurried back to the bedchamber. After a pull at the flask Anderson brightened up considerably.
While I was getting breakfast he found his voice and, despite my protest on account of his weakened condition, insisted on telling his story. His broken limb had grown numb, and it did not bother him so much as might be expected.
"When I left you last evening," he began, "I went out in the courtyard for firewood. The sight of the chapel windows, reflecting the rays of the setting sun, reminded me of that part of Sandy Magruder's story which had to do with the disappearance of the coffin from the tomb which was supposed to be near the place of worship. As I knew you had enough fuel to last for a considerable time, and it would not be dark for a half hour or more, I decided to do a little exploring and, if possible, learn if the story had any foundation in fact.
"After climbing the shaky turret, I made my way to the chapel and, sure enough, there was the marble tomb of the laird with a beautifully chiseled epitaph. I raised the ponderous lid to a vertical position with considerable difficulty, for the brass hinges had corroded and did not turn easily. The tomb was empty, and appeared to be of solid masonry, but I wished to make sure, so lowered myself inside.
"Scarcely had my feet touched the bottom when the lid closed with a loud bang, the floor opened beneath me, and I shot swiftly down a smooth chute of polished wood. When I reached the bottom my right leg crumpled under me, my head struck against something hard, and I lost consciousness.
"It must have been some little time before I regained my senses. My head ached, and a sharp pain shot through my leg when I moved, so that I cried out in agony. As I was in total darkness I took out my pocket flash-light and looked about me.
"I was in a small, square room three sides of which were built of solid masonry. The fourth side was rusted steel, riveted in such a way as to suggest paneling. There was a steel door in the stone wall at my left, which evidently fastened from the other side, for I could not pry it open. A wooden chute curved down beneath it and straightened out to a horizontal position above the floor. On this, a leaden casket rested.
"Evidently both the casket and I had come through that door, which could be pushed open from above, but could not be budged from the inside. What impressed and horrified me the most, however, was the proximity of two human skeletons, the smaller lying across the larger, which was stretched on a narrow, raised platform.
"I dragged myself to the metal partition, each movement wringing a groan from my lips, and pounded on it at intervals in the hope of attracting your attention. I beat and shouted until my voice sunk to a whisper, without avail.
"At length I grew weak from my exertions and numb from the cold, and desisted. It was then that my attention was attracted to a rusty poniard with a jeweled handle, lying beside the coffin. Above it were a number of scratches which looked like writing. I moved closer and read an explanation of the disappearance of the terrible laird's young and beautiful wife, written by her own hand.
"Briefly, it states that on the night of the banquet, her husband summoned her to his room. In his hand was a huge silver goblet from which he commanded her to drink the health of the young minister. Mystified by this strange request, but ever obedient to the command of her lord, she placed the vessel to her lips then cast it from her in horror. Instead of wine, it was filled with fresh, warm blood!
"With a demoniac grin on his face, Sir Malcolm strode to the wall, and reaching under a tapestry, pulled a hidden lever, whereupon a section of paneling slid upward, revealing her former lover lying on a dais with face pale and drawn. His left arm dangled limply over the edge, and the last of his lifeblood dripped from a slash in his wrist to an urn on the floor.
"'You have drunk a toast to your lover in his own blood,' said her husband. 'Now go and spend the few remaining days you have on earth with his filthy carcass.'
"He gave her a push that sent her headlong into the aperture, and the paneling closed behind her, leaving her in total darkness. She fell in a swoon that lasted for hours. When she regained consciousness, she groped her way about the place, but could find no exit. Upon touching the brow of the young minister she found it cold in death. There were food and wine in the room, placed there by her husband to prolong her agony, but she knew she was doomed eventually to die from starvation.
"It was just as the chapel bell tolled the hour of eleven that she placed the cup of blood to her lips, and each evening when she heard the bell at that hour the memory of it brought on prolonged fits of weeping.
"On the fourth night, she heard the cursing and raving of her husband as on previous nights, and also his instructions to his nephew regarding the disposition of his body. She felt that the hour of her deliverance was at hand, and shrieked with might and main, but instead of bringing the young laird and his retainers to her rescue, she frightened them from the room.
"The next day the coffin, which she knew contained the remains of her fiendish husband, suddenly slid into the room, and as all sounds about the castle were stilled shortly after, she rightly guessed that it had been abandoned.
"With all hope of rescue gone, she took the blood-caked poniard which had slashed the wrist of the martyred young minister, and inscribed her story on the side of the leaden casket. She worked in total darkness solely by the sense of touch, as the irregularity of the characters will testify, keeping at her task for two days after her food supply was exhausted in order that future generations might know the truth. At the end she emphatically denied any improper relations with the minister, and commended her spirit to her maker."
SANDY arrived in due time with Dr. MacReady, who set my friend's leg, and helped me to convey him to the cart in which we took him to the nearest village.
The story of our discovery spread like wild-fire, and for several days we were besieged by newspaper reporters. People journeyed from far and near to sate their morbid curiosity in that chamber of horrors, which I was more than glad to be away from. A month later we sailed for the United States.
I am writing these lines in the front room of an apartment which Anderson and I have taken in New York City. On the table before me lies a rusty poniard with a gaily jeweled hilt. It has a historic value which far exceeds its intrinsic worth, for through its instrumentality I am able to reveal to the world the ghastly secret of Bludmanton Castle.
