Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 48, No. 1, January 2003

“Jacob, I would not ask you to. You and I would be blown and foundering in the first fifty yards. Go to the buttery and dining hall and find a healthy-looking young man. Offer him a shilling to run to the market place and seek out any coach bound for London. Regardless of who he finds on the coach or waiting for it, he is to proclaim aloud and to all a simple message, ‘If you leave, Dr. Darwin will be forced to reveal your secret. If you return to the college, you can be protected.’ Do you have it?”

“Down pat. Should he wait for some answer?”

“No. There may be no answer. But go now, with your best foot forward and my profound thanks.”

Pole headed off into the driving rain without another word. Half a minute later Driscoll Wentworth appeared, his hat streaming water. He was alone and carrying a crowbar, a big hammer, and an axe.

“Not a servant to be found, Erasmus, when you need one. I’ll have Trelawney’s guts for this. What now? Do you want this door broken down?”

“Not unless you enjoy destroying college property. You have a key. Use it, Collie, and stand back while I take a look inside.”

Darwin waited as the door swung wide, then pushed his way through. The sky outside the narrow windows had become so dark that the interior was all gloom. Darwin paced around, examining each wall and stooping low to peer at the floor. The others had followed him in. All were very conscious of Barton’s body in the bedroom just a few feet away.

“What, Erasmus?” said Wentworth. “Tell us what you are seeking, or we cannot help.”

Darwin banged with an open hand on the wall beside a storage cupboard, and grunted at the feel of solid stone. “The obvious. The alchemic laboratory must be here. Look for evidence of oddities of wall or floor. With lack of forethought, I failed to realize the need for more light.” He moved to the table lamp. “Plenty of oil in this. Unless I am all thumbs it should take no more than a few seconds to ignite the wick.”

“What kind of oddity? In this room or the bedroom?” Arbuthnot was over by a massive bookcase set along the wall. “Behind this, maybe. Take two men to move.”

“Then it is not a candidate.” Darwin was working the flint obsessively. “Barton must be able to have acted alone.”

“Something like this, perhaps?” Driscoll Wentworth had been exploring beneath a wooden table. He had removed his wig, and emerged with his bald head veiled in cobwebs. Now he was rolling back a faded Persian rug and rubbing his hand along the wooden planks beneath. “I feel a seam or crack here, running crosswise to the grain of the boards. Erasmus, where is that lamp? And, Rufus, if you will give me a hand this can proceed more quickly.”

He and Arbuthnot rolled the rug back all the way. Darwin, the oil lamp lit at last and producing a guttering yellow flame, held it low.

“A little farther,” Wentworth said. “There! See the metal ring set in flat to the floor? This whole section should move.” He reached down, raised the iron loop, and lifted. The square trapdoor rose on brass hinges to reveal a square opening two feet on a side.

The three men craned forward.

“A room below!” Arbuthnot exclaimed. “Thought we were on the ground floor.”

“We are. And now we know why Elias Barton showed no inclination to move to other quarters.” Darwin was leaning over, precariously far. “You said that he employed out-of-town workers on the modification of his rooms. And he paid them well, I will warrant, for their future silence. Move aside, Collie. It will be a close fit, but I see a ladder there. I propose to go down.”

“Better if I do it, Erasmus. I’m a good deal more limber.”

“So is almost everyone. But it is better if I descend. And, if I am correct in my conjectures, Dr. Arbuthnot should accompany me. You should remain here.”

Darwin had already set the lamp down on the floor. He did not wait for Wentworth’s approval, but sat on his ample rear and gingerly lowered his feet to meet the top rung of the ladder. He turned, took four cautious steps down, and reached up for the oil lamp. Arbuthnot, unsure of the ladder’s strength, waited until Darwin had reached bottom. Then he came scuttling down and was talking before his foot hit the dirt floor.

“It is indeed a regular alchemic workshop!” He was breathless. “Just as you said: retorts, furnace, crucibles, alembics, and against that wall bottles, jars, and vials.”

“Completely equipped.” Darwin held the lamp close to the array of bottles. “Here is yellow sulfur, red lead oxide, red and black iron ores. There are the acids, acetic and citric, and perhaps nitric and sulfuric. And here is quicksilver, whose heated vapors contributed to Barton’s downfall.”

“Some animal essence here.” Arbuthnot had the stopper out of one of the bottles. “What a mix of stinks, when all was going!”