Secret of the Underground Room Page 3

  The professor nodded gravely. "Yes," he said. "When he appeared by your bedside, that is what he was trying to tell you. You see, his mother is buried in England. And do you remember that card that was stuck onto the piece of stained glass? It said To raise the dead. I think that Higgy has some crazy idea that he's going to use that piece of glass to bring his mom back. Or maybe he's under some kind of evil spell that is making him do strange things. Whatever is going on, I think he needs help badly. We've got to go to England and try to find him."

  England! Johnny's head was really spinning now. He had been to England once before with Fergie and the professor. It had been a sightseeing trip for the most part, but this was something different. They were going to England to save Father Higgins's life. Suddenly a thought occurred to him.

  "Professor?" he said. "Do you have any idea where Father Higgins might be?"

  The professor sighed. "Well," he began, slowly, "I couldn't say where he is at this moment, but I'll bet I know a town he'll be visiting: Glastonbury. It's an old rural village in the western part of England. Some people think that King Arthur and his wife were buried in the abbey there."

  Johnny was getting more puzzled by the minute. "Why would Father Higgins want to go there?"

  "Because that's where his mother is buried. Higgy's father was Irish and his mother was English. When her husband died, Mrs. Higgins went back to England to live with her relatives. After her death she was cremated, and her ashes were buried under the floor of a little church in Glastonbury—I remember Higgy talking about how—"

  "But Catholics don't believe in cremation," said Johnny, interrupting. "How come they did that to Mrs. Higgins?"

  The professor smiled. "Well, Mrs. Higgins wasn't a Catholic." The professor opened his box of cigarettes and took one out. Thoughtfully he lit it. "Of course," he said as he blew out a stream of smoke, "I could be wrong about the place Higgy has gone to—I could be wrong about a lot of things. But going to Glastonbury is better than running up and down England yelling Higgy! at the tops of our voices. As I said before, I really do think he wants to bring his mom back from the dead so he can talk to her. I know it sounds crazy, but a lot of crazy things have been happening to the poor man lately."

  Silence. Johnny toyed with the crumbs on his plate, and then he spoke up. "Do you think my gramma and grampa will let me go?" he asked.

  The professor grinned slyly. "They will if I pretend that this is an educational trip, something that will help you get better grades in school. Leave that part to me. And it's my treat, in case you were wondering. Are there any questions?"

  Johnny hesitated. There was something he wanted to ask for, but he didn't know how to put it. "Professor?" he said hoarsely. "Can... I mean, would it be possible... could Fergie come with us?"

  The professor stared for a while at the burning tip of his cigarette, and then he laughed loudly. "This is turning into an expedition, isn't it? Well—hrmph! I suppose we could take young Byron along. Do you think his parents would let him go?"

  Johnny stared hard at the tabletop. He was beginning to feel embarrassed. "I think they would if you paid his way," he said in a low voice.

  "Hmm... " said the professor as he scratched his chin. "You know, Byron is pretty strong, and if it turns out that Higgy is off his rocker, then it might take three of us to hold him down. All right, let's include Byron too."

  Johnny was very busy for the next two weeks. He bought new clothes, read guidebooks, and talked a lot with Fergie about the trip. Finally, on a sunny, warm day, they all went down to Boston in the professor's car. The professor drove to the airport parking lot and left the car so he could use it on his return. The three of them flew across the Atlantic on a big four-engine plane, and when they landed at an airport, they took another taxi to Paddington Station in London. There they caught a train for the city of Bath, which is a double-decker-bus ride away from Glastonbury. The professor had reserved rooms for them at a Glastonbury hotel called the Cross Keys, and by the time they arrived in the evening, the travelers were very tired.

  After they had been shown to their rooms, Johnny Fergie, and the professor went down to have a cold supper in the dining room of the hotel. Then they went outdoors and walked in the mild June air. Although it was after nine-thirty, it was light enough to read a newspaper on the street. In the distance the gaunt ruins of the abbey loomed, and towering over the town rose a high steep hill called Glastonbury Tor. On top of the Tor stood a stone building called St. Michael's Tower—it looked as if it belonged to a church that had somehow mysteriously disappeared. They wandered around for only a short time and then headed back toward the inn and their nice soft beds.

  The next morning, after breakfast, the professor led his two friends down the main street of the town to an old church named for St. John the Baptist. Before entering the church, the professor stepped back and peered up at the tower. Then he reached into his jacket pocket and took out a folded sheet of paper. As he opened it, the two boys crowded in next to him and peered over his shoulder. Fergie was thoroughly puzzled, but Johnny knew the professor had copied down all the mysterious notes that had been sent to Father Higgins. Smugly, the professor explained to Fergie how he had sneaked into Father Higgins's house while policemen were roaming around upstairs.

  "... and so I copied the notes down as fast as I could and scrammed," said the professor. "And I was just looking up at the tower to see if there are any faceless images on it. But there aren't." He paused and folded up the paper again. "Well, gentlemen? Shall we go in?"

  The boys followed the professor into the cold, dank gloom of the old stone church. Their voices rose and echoed as they walked along, looking at the worn stones on the floor. The professor explained that this was the church where Father Higgins's mother was supposed to be buried. Many of the square flint slabs were gravestones with names and dates on them, but none mentioned Mrs. Higgins. Finally they came to a wide space in front of the high altar, where broad steps rose to a beautifully carved marble screen covered with gesturing figures. At the bottom of the steps were more inscribed stones, and the professor hunched over with his hands on his knees so he could see them better. Scuttling sideways, he went from one to the next, until suddenly he let out a loud exclamation.

  "Hah!" he crowed. "This is it! My memory did not fail me after all! This is where Father Higgins's mother is buried!"

  The boys moved in close to look. Sure enough, the neat letters said:

  In memory of

  MARY ELIZABETH HIGGINS (1888-1946)

  whose ashes repose beneath this stone

  Dropping quickly to his knees, the professor examined the edges of the stone, which was cemented firmly into the pavement. There was no sign that the slab had been pried up or tampered with in any way.

  "Huh!" snorted the professor as he pulled himself to his feet. "So maybe I was wrong about what Higgy is trying to do. He's had plenty of time to come here, swipe his mom's ashes, and skedaddle. But then if he isn't planning to raise his mother's—"

  "Excuse me, sir," said a deep grave voice, "but I was wondering if I could be of any assistance to you?"

  The professor looked up. Standing above him was a tall, lean, old clergyman in a floor-length black cassock. He had a long, horsy face and big droopy ears. A mop of white hair hung down over his forehead. Startled and flustered, the professor tried to make up a story on the spur of the moment—he didn't dare tell the man why they were really there.

  "Uh... well, er, ahem!" spluttered the professor, as his mind raced madly. "I... we, that is, we have a friend in America whose mother is buried here. I promised him that we would look up his mother's grave while we were in England."

  A faint smile creased the old man's lips. "How very kind of you," he said in a slightly sarcastic tone that puzzled the professor. "You are welcome to examine our church until noon, when a communion service will be held. After that... "

  The old man rattled on, but the professor was not listening to him. He was
staring into the man's eyes. Their gaze met, and the professor flinched. Quickly he glanced away, and then with a great effort the professor pulled himself together. He looked at Johnny and Fergie and forced himself to smile pleasantly at the old man. Then he coughed pompously and yanked his gold watch out of his vest pocket.

  "Hem!" said the professor, popping the gold lid to read the face. "I fear that we must be off to examine the ruins of the abbey. Thank you for your kindness, sir, and I'm sorry our visit has to be so short." Awkwardly the professor started to shake hands with the clergyman, but at the last minute he closed his hand into a fist, turned, and stalked out of the church. The boys followed him with bewildered expressions on their faces. When they were outside and the church door had closed behind them, the boys turned to the professor. They were waiting for an explanation.

  "What was that all about, prof?" asked Fergie.

  The professor folded his arms and looked grim. Johnny noticed that the corner of his mouth was twitching, as it often did when he was upset. "I'll explain it to you in a minute," said the professor in a strained voice. "I just don't want to talk about it now. What a shock! Let's go and have a look at the ruins of the abbey."

  A few minutes later they were walking among the tall, roofless stone walls of Glastonbury Abbey. Normally the professor would have been talking a mile a minute, but he was dead silent. They wandered across the well-trimmed grass till they came to a low brick wall that lay beyond the great towering masses of wrecked stone. The professor sat down on the wall and took out a black cardboard box decorated with a gold two-headed eagle. From it he plucked a black-and-gold cigarette, and when it was lit, he stared off into space with the strangest of looks on his face. By now the boys were very impatient—the professor obviously knew something, and they wanted to know it too.

  "Come on, professor!" said Johnny anxiously. "If you've found out anything, we have a right to know too!"

  "Yeah," chimed in Fergie.

  The professor's face was stony. He went on smoking awhile before he spoke. "When I was talking to that old clergyman," he began, slowly, "I happened to look into his eyes, and if I had a weak heart I probably wouldn't be talking to you now. Boys, I tell you—that old man has Father Higgins's eyes!"

  Johnny gasped. "Are you sure?"

  The professor nodded. "Higgy's eyes are a peculiar shade of green, with little yellow flecks mixed in. I know him well enough to say that those are his eyes. There is absolutely no doubt about it in my mind. A lot of people never notice the special things about a person's appearance, but I always do!"

  The boys looked at each other. They knew the professor well, and he wasn't acting any crazier than he usually did. Could he be right? And if so, what did all this mean?

  Fergie gave the professor a skeptical glance. "So do you mean that Father Higgins is dead, and that old coot stole his eyes?"

  "No, no, no!" snapped the professor. "I didn't say that at all! What I mean is that that was Father Higgins we were talking to. Some evil spirit has invaded his body, and it has changed his appearance for some unknown reason. And if you ask me why some spirit would want to snatch our poor friend, I don't know! Lord above! Not in my wildest dreams would I have believed that this was possible!"

  CHAPTER FIVE

  For a long time the three of them sat there watching the other tourists prowl among the ruins. The morning sun cast long shadows on the grass, and birds twittered in the thorn tree nearby. Johnny could hardly believe that what the professor was saying really was true. But if it was, what chance did they have of finding Father Higgins? If some evil force was strong enough to change the priest's appearance, what could the three of them do?

  As if in answer to Johnny's thoughts, the professor spoke. "I don't think we ought to give up," he said with tight-jawed determination. "At least we know that Higgy is here, and we have to wait for him to make his move. Why he hasn't swiped his mother's ashes already, who knows? Maybe the evil spirit doesn't want what Higgy wants, and is fighting against his will. Maybe there's a night watchman in the church, or an electric-eye system or something like that. But I'm sure he wants his mother's ashes, or he wouldn't be here."

  Fergie looked exasperated. "So what are we supposed to do?" he asked. "Camp outside the church door and wait for this old white-haired character to show up?"

  "No," said the professor calmly. "That would be kind of silly, wouldn't it? The clergyman would spot us. No, I think we should just let Father Higgins dig the ashes up and then try to follow him. That shouldn't be too hard because there are only two ways he can get out of town—by bus or by car. People visiting from out of town have to leave their car license numbers at the hotels they're staying at, and there are only two hotels in town, ours and the Royal George down the street. I've checked out the local license plates and I know the numbers they start with. There are no out-of-town plates listed in the register at our hotel, and I've already checked the Royal George, just to see if Higgy was traveling under a fake name. No out-of-town plates there either. So, that leaves the bus station. We'll check it, and hopefully there will be someone around who remembers a horsy-faced British clergyman and where he was bound for."

  "But where do you think he'll be going to?" asked Johnny.

  The professor shrugged. "That's something we'll find out later. If I'm right, he has to work some magic ritual to bring his mother back from the dead. And the ritual probably has something to do with that piece of green glass that he showed us. The day I invaded his house and copied his notes, I looked in the desk drawer where he kept the glass—the drawer was unlocked, and the glass was gone. So he must have it with him. Remember what one of the notes said? Half a moon is bad—a full moon might be worse-—or is it? If you want to be imaginative, a round piece of glass could be like the moon. Well, I will bet that there is another piece of glass out there, the other half of this 'moon' that the note is talking about. Somehow, Higgy has got to get his hands on it, and that is why we're going to follow him."

  As he listened to this speech, Fergie got more and more irritated. "Prof!" he exclaimed in exasperation. "How are we gonna follow Father Higgins around if he keeps changing his shape?"

  The professor sighed and took a long drag on his cigarette. "I was afraid you'd say something like that, Byron," he growled. "You've got a good point—I can't deny it. But when you don't have much to go on, you have to gamble." The professor held up two knobby fingers. "I'm betting on two things," he said. "First, that the spirit that has possessed Higgy doesn't realize yet that we're onto him. Second, that he will go on making Higgy look like an elderly English clergyman. There are reasons why he might do this. Old clergymen are terribly respectable, and they aren't likely to be challenged by cops or anyone else." The professor looked sharply from one boy to the other. "Gentlemen," he said, "I realize that I'm betting on a thousand-to-one shot. But there's not much else that we can do, is there?"

  The professor and the boys whiled away the day as well as they could. They took a Green Line bus to the nearby town of Wells and wandered through the famous old cathedral. They admired the astronomical clock and the other treasures that the church held, and they fed the swans that swim in the moat that surrounds the bishop's palace. They drank tea and munched cream cakes covered with strawberry jam in a small old-fashioned tea shop. By the time they got back to Glastonbury, it was five in the evening. As soon as they got off the bus, they went back to the church of St. John to see if Mrs. Higgins's tomb slab had been moved. It had not, so they went to look at the abbey once more and then returned to their hotel to have dinner. By now they were all thoroughly exhausted, and they spent the evening reading and writing letters in the hotel lounge.

  Next morning, when the professor and the boys gathered in the dining room for breakfast, they noticed immediately that something was going on. Waiters and maids and hotel residents were standing around in groups and talking excitedly to each other. Immediately the professor guessed what had happened. Putting on his best no-nonsense manner
, he strode up to one group and coughed loudly.

  "Hem! Excuse me, folks, but is... is something the matter?"

  One waiter turned to him and smiled sourly. "You might say so, sir. It seems that someone broke into St. John's church last night around midnight and knocked the watchman cold. Then he pried up a stone in the floor and made off with the ashes of a lady who was buried there. As you might imagine, there's been quite a commotion."

  The professor pretended to be surprised. "Good heavens!" he exclaimed. "Why on earth would anyone do such a thing?"

  The waiter shrugged. "I can't imagine, sir. This is a very quiet town usually, and that's why everyone is so upset."

  The professor nodded stiffly to the waiter and went back to the table, where the boys were waiting. When he told them the news, they felt relieved. At last it had happened.

  Fergie stared hard at the professor. "Okay, prof," he said. "So what do we do now?"

  The professor sipped his coffee. "We finish our breakfasts and check out of the hotel. Then we go down to the bus station to see if an elderly, white-haired clergyman has left on a bus at any time this morning."

  "What if he left last night?" asked Johnny anxiously.

  "He couldn't have," said the professor with a confident smile. "The break-in happened around midnight, and British bus stations don't stay open that late in these small towns. No. He'll probably leave this morning, and I don't mind if he gets a head start on us—I just want to know where the devil he's going!"

  About an hour later the three travelers showed up at the Glastonbury bus station with suitcases in hand. Big green double-decker buses were pulled up under a long porch, and behind the porch was a ticket office. When the professor asked the ticket seller about the old clergyman, the man's eyes lit up immediately.