"Why, then," interposed Sir Richard Blunt, "I'm afraid we should have to
stay there until Sunday, unless some couple kindly got married in the
meantime." The Lord Mayor gave a very odd kind of cough, as he said--

"What would the Lady Mayoress say?" The air without had been cold, but what was that compared with the
coldness within? At least, the street breeze had been dry, but in the
church there was such a fearful dampness pervading the narrow passage in
which the party found itself, that every one felt as though his very
marrow was cold. "This passage," said Mr. Villimay, "hasn't been opened for many a long
day." "Indeed!" said the secretary. "No, my lord, it has not: and it's only a wonder that, after a good hunt
in the vestry cupboard, I at all found the key of it." "Fortunate that you did," said Sir Richard Blunt, who was all this time
making exertions to procure a light, which were as often defeated by the
dampness of the air. At length he was successful in igniting a piece of
wax candle, and he said--

"Gentlemen, this will show us our way through the church to the vestry,
where we can get lanthorns." "Yes," said the Lord Mayor, who was getting so nervous that he thought
himself called upon to make some reply to anything and anybody. "Yes,
lanthorns in the vestry." "Well," said the secretary, "my Lord Mayor, your mayoralty will be
distinguished by this dreadful affair for all time to come." "Many thanks to your lordship, it will." The secretary smiled as he whispered to his friend Donkin--

"The city magistrate don't seem happy, Donkin." "Far from it." At the end of the little narrow, damp, gloomy, cobwebby passage in which
they were, was another little door, the upper half of which was of
highly ornamented iron fret work, the side of which next to the church
interior being gilt. This door likewise yielded to a key which Mr.
Villimay produced, and then they found themselves at once in the western
aisle of the church. "The stench don't seem so bad," said Sir Richard. "No, sir," said Villimay. "We have got all the windows open far up above
there, and there's quite a current of air, too, right up the belfry." CHAPTER LXVI. THE COOK'S VISITORS. Sir Richard shaded with his hand the little light that he carried as he
walked solemnly across the nave towards the chancel, where the vestry
room was situated. He was followed closely by the whole party, and the
audible breathing of the Lord Mayor sufficiently proclaimed the uneasy
state of his lordship's nerves. "How strange it is," said the secretary, "that men will pile up stones
and timber until they make something to enter, which then terrifies
their weak natures, and they become the slaves of the very materials
that they have made to enclose and roof in a certain space upon which
otherwise they would stand unmoved." "It is so," said Donkin. "Why the fact is, I suppose," said Sir Richard Blunt, "that it is what
is called original sin that sticks to us, and so--

    'Conscience doth make cowards of us all!' whether we are personally or not obnoxious to the pangs of the still
small voice." "Upon my word, Sir Richard," said the secretary, "you are quite a
free-thinker--indeed you are." Suddenly the whole party paused, for something resembling a moan was
heard from among the pews in the centre of the church, and every one was
anxious to listen for a repetition of the sound. "Did you hear it?" whispered the secretary. "In faith, I did," said Mr. Donkin. "And I," said Sir Richard Blunt. "And we," said the Lord Mayor, in defiance of grammar. "I--I--feel
rather unwell, gentlemen, do you know." "Hush! let us listen," said the secretary. They all stood profoundly still for a few minutes, and then, just as
they were one and all beginning to think that after all it must be a
mere thing of fancy, the same mournful moan came once more upon their
ears. "There can be no mistake," said Sir Richard. "We all hear that; is it
not so, gentlemen?" "Yes--yes!" said everybody. "I'm getting worser," said the Lord Mayor. "This mystery must be cleared up," said the secretary. "Is it a trick
upon us, do you think, Sir Richard?" "No, my lord, certainly not." "Then we cannot go on until this is cleared up. You are armed, of
course, Sir Richard?" "Yes, my lord." Sir Richard Blunt took from his pocket a double-barrelled pistol. There
was now a sort of pause, as though each of those present expected the
others to say or to do something which should have the effect of
discovering what the singular noise portended. Of course, Sir Richard
Blunt felt that in such an emergency he would be the man naturally
looked to. "It is absolutely necessary," he said, "that we should find out what
this means before proceeding farther." "Yes, yes," said the Lord Mayor, "no doubt of it; and in the meantime
I'll run to the Mansion House and get some assistance, gentlemen." "Oh, no, my lord--oh, no," said the secretary to the chief magistrate of
the city. "We cannot think of sparing you." "But--but--"

"Certainly not," said Sir Richard Blunt, who was keenly alive to the
tone of irony in which the secretary spoke. "Certainly not; and as I
fancy the sound which has excited our curiosity comes from about the
centre of the pews, you and I, my lord, will go and find out who it is. Come, if you please, at once." "I--I--" stammered the Lord Mayor, "I really--humph! If I felt quite
well, do you know, Sir Richard, I should not hesitate a moment." "Pho! pho!" said Sir Richard, taking his arm, and leading him
unwillingly forward. "Remember that the eyes of those are upon you whose
opinions are to you of importance." With a groan the unfortunate Lord Mayor, who from the first had shrunk
from the enterprise altogether, being fearful that it might possibly
involve dangerous consequences, allowed himself to be dragged by Sir
Richard Blunt in the direction of the pews. "If you have a pistol," said the magistrate, "you had better keep it in
your hand ready for service." "Lord bless you," said the Lord Mayor, in a nervous whisper, "I never
fired off a pistol in all my life." "Is that possible?" "I don't know about being possible, but it's true." "Well, you do surprise me." "So--so you see, Sir Richard," added his temporary lordship, suddenly
popping into the churchwarden's pew, which they had just reached--"so
I'll stay here and keep an eye upon you." Sir Richard Blunt was not at all sorry to get rid of such a companion as
the Lord Mayor, so with a cough, he left him in the pew, and went
forward alone, determined to find out what it was that made the
extraordinary noise. As he went forward, towards the spot from whence it
had come, he heard it once again, and in such close proximity to him,
that albeit, unaccustomed to allow anything to affect his nerves, he
started back a pace. Shading, then, the little bit of wax candle that he
had in his hand, he looked steadily in the direction of the low moaning
sound. In an instant he found a solution of the mystery.