He had a vague aura of authority and
though his clothes were certainly plain, they were, I thought, somewhat
better in cut and quality than those of the area countrymen whom I had
observed. A trivial incident opened a conversation between us. An unusually sharp
crack of thunder made him turn toward the window. As he did so, he
accidentally brushed his wet cap onto the floor. I retrieved it for
him; he thanked me; and then we exchanged commonplace remarks about the
weather. I had an intuitive feeling that although he was a normally reticent
individual, he was presently wrestling with some severe problem which
made him want to hear a human voice. Realizing there was always
the possibility that my intuition might have for once failed me, I
nevertheless babbled on about my trip, about my genealogical researches
in Kilkenny, London and Chesterfield, and finally about my distant
relationship to the Chilton-Paynes and my desire to get a good look at
Chilton Castle. Suddenly I found that he was gazing at me with an expression which,
if not fierce, was disturbingly intense. An awkward silence ensued. I
coughed, wondering uneasily what I had said to make those cold blue
eyes stare at me so fixedly. At length he became aware of my growing embarrassment. "You must
excuse me for staring," he apologized, "but something you said...." He
hesitated. "Could we perhaps take that table?" He nodded toward a small
table which sat half in shadow in the far corner of the room. I agreed, mystified but curious, and we took our drinks to the secluded
table. He sat frowning for a minute, as if uncertain how to begin. Finally
he introduced himself as William Cowath. I gave him my name and still
he hesitated. At length he took a swallow of brandy and then looked
straight at me. "I am," he stated, "the Factor at Chilton Castle." I surveyed him with surprise and renewed interest. "What an agreeable
coincidence!" I exclaimed. "Then perhaps tomorrow you could arrange for
me to have a look at the castle?" He seemed scarcely to hear me. "Yes, yes, of course," he replied
absently. Puzzled and a bit irritated by his air of detachment, I remained silent. He took a deep breath and then spoke rapidly, running some of his words
together. "Robert Chilton-Payne, the Twelfth Earl of Chilton, was
buried in the family vaults one week ago. Frederick, the young heir and
now Thirteenth Earl, came of age just three days ago. Tonight it is
imperative that he be conducted to the secret chamber!" I gaped at him in incredulous amazement. For a moment I had an idea
that he had somehow heard of my interest in Chilton Castle and was
merely "pulling my leg" for amusement in the belief that I was the
greenest of gullible tourists. But there could be no mistaking his deadly seriousness. There was not
the faintest suspicion of humor in his eyes. I groped for words. "It seems so strange--so unbelievable! Just before
you arrived, I had been thinking about the various legends connected
with the secret room." His cold eyes held my own. "It is not legend that confronts us; it is
fact." A thrill of fear and excitement ran through me. "You are going
there--tonight?" He nodded. "Tonight. Myself, the young Earl--and one other." I stared at him. "Ordinarily," he continued, "the Earl himself would accompany us. That is the custom. But he is dead. Shortly before he passed away, he
instructed me to select someone to go with the young Earl and myself. That person must be male--and preferably of the blood." I took a deep drink of ale and said not a word. He continued. "Besides the young Earl, there is no one at the Castle
save his elderly mother, Lady Beatrice Chilton, and an ailing aunt." "Who could the Earl have had in mind?" I inquired cautiously. The Factor frowned. "There are some distant male cousins residing
in the country. I have an idea he thought at least one of them might
appear for the obsequies. But not one of them did." "That was most unfortunate!" I observed. "Extremely unfortunate. And I am therefore asking you, as one of the
blood, to accompany the young Earl and myself to the secret room
tonight!" I gulped like a bumpkin. Lightning flashed against the windows and I
could hear rain swishing along the stones outside. When feathers of ice
stopped fluttering in my stomach, I managed a reply. "But I--that is--my relationship is so very remote! I am "of the blood"
only by courtesy, you might say! The strain in me is so very diluted!" He shrugged. "You bear the name. And you possess at least a few drops
of the Payne blood. Under the present urgent circumstances, no more is
necessary. I am sure that Earl Robert would agree with me, could he
still speak. You will come?" There was no escaping the intensity, the pressure, of those cold blue
eyes. They seemed to follow my mind about as it groped for further
excuses. Finally, inevitably it seemed, I agreed. A feeling grew in me that the
meeting had been preordained, that, somehow, I had always been destined
to visit the secret chamber in Chilton Castle. We finished our drinks and I went up to my room for rain ware. When
I descended, suitably attired for the storm, the obese bartender was
snoring on his stool in spite of savage crashes of thunder which had
now become almost incessant. I envied him as I left the cozy room with
William Cowath. Once outside, my guide informed me that we would have to go afoot to
the castle. He had purposely walked down to the inn, he explained, in
order that he might have time and solitude to straighten out in his own
mind the things which he would have to do. The sheets of heavy rain, the strong wind and the roar of thunder made
conversation difficult. I walked Indian-fashion behind the Factor who
took enormous strides and appeared to know every inch of the way in
spite of the darkness. We walked only a short distance down the village street and then struck
into a side road which very soon dwindled to a foot path made slippery
and treacherous by the driving rain. Abruptly the path began to ascend; the footing became more precarious. It was at once necessary to concentrate all one's attention on one's
feet. Fortunately, the flashes of lightning were frequent. It seemed to me that we had been walking for an hour--actually, I
suppose, it was only a few minutes--when the Factor finally stopped. I found myself standing beside him on a flat rocky plateau. He pointed
up an incline which rose before us. "Chilton Castle," he said. For a moment I saw nothing in the unrelieved darkness. Then the
lightning flashed. Beyond high battlemented walls, fissured with age, I glimpsed a great
square Norman castle with four rectangular corner towers pierced by
narrow window apertures which looked like evil slitted eyes. The huge
weathered pile was half covered by a mantle of ivy which appeared more
black than green. "It looks incredibly old!" I commented. William Cowath nodded. "It was begun in 1122 by Henry de Montargis." Without another word he started up the incline.