It had been planned and used in an
earlier age as a protection for the gold vessels of the ritual, which
were, it seemed, kept in a hidden recess at the back of the altar. "This recess Sir Alfred Jarnock had utilized, secretly, to store his
wife's jewelry. She had died some twelve years back, and the young man
told me that his father had never seemed quite himself since. "I mentioned to young Jarnock how puzzled I was that the trap had been
set _before_ the service, on the night that the butler was struck; for,
if I understood him aright, his father had been in the habit of setting
the trap late every night and unsetting it each morning before anyone
entered the Chapel. He replied that his father, in a fit of temporary
forgetfulness (natural enough in his neurotic condition), must have set
it too early and hence what had so nearly proved a tragedy. "That is about all there is to tell. The old man is not (so far as I
could learn), really insane in the popularly accepted sense of the word. He is extremely neurotic and has developed into a hypochondriac, the
whole condition probably brought about by the shock and sorrow resultant
on the death of his wife, leading to years of sad broodings and to
overmuch of his own company and thoughts. Indeed, young Jarnock told me
that his father would sometimes pray for hours together, alone in the
Chapel." Carnacki made an end of speaking and leant forward for a spill. "But you've never told us just _how_ you discovered the secret of the
divided post and all that," I said, speaking for the four of us. "Oh, that!" replied Carnacki, puffing vigorously at his pipe. "I
found--on comparing the--photos, that the one--taken in the--daytime,
showed a thicker left-hand gatepost, than the one taken at night by the
flashlight. That put me on to the track. I saw at once that there might
be some mechanical dodge at the back of the whole queer business and
nothing at all of an abnormal nature. I examined the post and the rest
was simple enough, you know. "By the way," he continued, rising and going to the mantelpiece, "you may
be interested to have a look at the so-called 'waeful dagger.' Young
Jarnock was kind enough to present it to me, as a little memento of my
adventure." He handed it 'round to us and whilst we examined it, stood silent before
the fire, puffing meditatively at his pipe. "Jarnock and I made the trap so that it won't work," he remarked after a
few moments. "I've got the dagger, as you see, and old Bellett's getting
about again, so that the whole business can be hushed up, decently. All
the same I fancy the Chapel will never lose its reputation as a dangerous
place. Should be pretty safe now to keep valuables in." "There's two things you haven't explained yet," I said. "What do you
think caused the two clangey sounds when you were in the Chapel in the
dark? And do you believe the soft tready sounds were real, or only a
fancy, with your being so worked up and tense?" "Don't know for certain about the clangs," replied Carnacki. "I've puzzled quite a bit about them. I can only think that the spring
which worked the post must have 'given' a trifle, slipped you know, in
the catch. If it did, under such a tension, it would make a bit of a
ringing noise. And a little sound goes a long way in the middle of the
night when you're thinking of 'ghostesses.' You can understand that--eh?" "Yes," I agreed. "And the other sounds?" "Well, the same thing--I mean the extraordinary quietness--may help to
explain these a bit. They may have been some usual enough sound that
would never have been noticed under ordinary conditions, or they may have
been only fancy. It is just impossible to say. They were disgustingly
real to me. As for the slithery noise, I am pretty sure that one of the
tripod legs of my camera must have slipped a few inches: if it did so, it
may easily have jolted the lens cap off the baseboard, which would
account for that queer little tap which I heard directly after." "How do you account for the dagger being in its place above the altar
when you first examined it that night?" I asked. "How could it be there,
when at that very moment it was set in the trap?" "That was my mistake," replied Carnacki. "The dagger could not possibly
have been in its sheath at the time, though I thought it was. You see,
the curious cross-hilted sheath gave the appearance of the complete
weapon, as you can understand. The hilt of the dagger protrudes very
little above the continued portion of the sheath--a most inconvenient
arrangement for drawing quickly!" He nodded sagely at the lot of us and
yawned, then glanced at the clock. "Out you go!" he said, in friendly fashion, using the recognized formula. "I want a sleep." We rose, shook him by the hand, and went out presently into the night and
the quiet of the Embankment, and so to our homes.