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Crime in The Crypt
WELL, YOU MUST
admit it was a surprising sight, to say the
A dead man of today, in an old, crumbling
sarcophagus, in an old, crumbling crypt in the
old, medieval cathedral at Welbury.
No member of a sight-seeing tour would expect to
see such a sight or would fail to lose a little
of his equanimity if he did see it.
As for me, I not only lost a little of my
equanimity, but my whole consignment of that
valuable and desirable commodity went by the
For I was the one who first saw it,—saw that
modern corpse in that ancient casket, and I was
so flabbergasted that I almost yelled aloud in
my fear and terror.
But though my poise was seriously disturbed, my
common sense stood by me, and I quickly realized
that I must meet this emergency as a hundred per
cent American should meet it, and behave as a
member of the Tripp and Hastings Personally
Conducted Foreign Tours Company would be
expected to behave.
I was ahead of the group being conducted through
the old cathedral by a venerable verger, who
intoned his lecture in cultivated English
The group numbered about twenty-five, for the
Tripp and Hastings concern was of the first
class, and limited its clientele as to quality
Tapestry Room Murder
THE room was black dark. The sort of
darkness that is described as Cimmerian, Stygian,
Egyptian, but is called by most of us, pitch-dark.
Though invisible by reason of the darkness, it
was a beautiful room, filled with interesting
and valuable pictures, tapestries, curios.
Nor were the people in the room visible to one
another. Only could be heard the breathing of
its occupants, calm, ordinary breathing, as of
untroubled breasts and care-free minds.
Scents there were. Darkness could not conceal
Faint, elusive perfume of cyclamen; heavy,
haunting fragrance of jasmine. A suggestion of
tobacco. Another pungent familiar odor—indescribable
but unmistakable—the clean, homely smell of
mothballs. And over all, circling in invisible
spirals, the oppressive yet poignant fumes of
And then, with a sudden flash the place was
Not glaringly; save for a pair of shaded lamps,
the lighting was indirect.
The room revealed itself as a man’s library or
sanctum, four-square, each side a deep arched
alcove, lined with bookshelves.
The arches framed mural paintings of beauty and
worth. The shelves held books of all sorts;
antique tomes and rare bindings neighbored by
the latest novels and mystery stories...
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