Inspector Morse
The 12th Century Abbey on Druids’ Rock occupied by the Cistercian order of Saint Morwenna, was a gloomy, forbidding sight as the car in which Rupert was imprisoned approached the gatehouse. Through high iron railings, the silhouette of the towers and spires of the old abbey were silent and eerie against the night sky. Bats swooped around the high ramparts.
‘Drew wasn’t wrong about Castle Dracula,’ Rupert shuddered grimly. He wondered what awaited him in this place. Iron gates led onto a high narrow bridge, a hundred feet above a strip of sea between the island and the mainland. Rupert watched as the driver got out to unlock the heavy chains. ‘So the monks are tied up in this. Not keen on visitors though’, he said to himself.
The car swept across the bridge and passed through another gateway, finally pulling up outside a gloomy, creeper-covered doorway. A lone bell tolled the hour, echoing loudly in the paved courtyard. The moon disappeared behind a cloud. In the shadow of the building, the darkness was suddenly impenetrable. For a few seconds, they sat in silence in the car. Rupert knocked on the window between himself and the driver. To his surprise, the driver simply opened the door, got out and walked off. Rupert yelled after him and hammered on the window, but realised it was futile. The gloomy abbey walls betrayed nothing, not a flicker of light showing at the windows. Rupert was scared. His heart beat faster and his hands tightened into fists.
The quiet was suddenly shattered as two snarling dogs leaped against the windows of the car, their eyes wild and jaws snapping as they barked savagely at him. Rupert shrank back at once, horrified. These were Dobermans, which he knew were often used as guard dogs.
Why would peaceful monks in a monastery have such fierce animals on the loose? As quickly as they had appeared, the dogs vanished. Silence fell once more.
‘Out!’ Startled, Rupert looked round. A bald-headed monk had appeared out of nowhere and opened the car door. A claw-like hand gripped Rupert’s wrist like a vice and pulled him outside. He was shoved unceremoniously across the gravel and in through the darkened entrance, the dogs barking savagely, straining at leashes which now shackled them to the wall. Obliged by the grip on his wrist to follow where he was led, Rupert stumbled and staggered along a maze of low passageways, through creaking doors that slammed shut behind him. They went up and down so many corridors and flights of stairs that he lost all sense of direction and realised he would not be able to find his way back outside, were he able to escape. Finally he was dragged through a door into a room and allowed to collapse onto a bench. The door slammed, shutting out the light. His breath coming in painful gasps, Rupert realised he was alone in the darkness.
* * *
‘A charming young lady paying a call twice in the same day? To what does an old man owe this honour?’ James Hendricks beamed delightedly at Laura in the entrance to the Smugglers’ Chapel.
‘Hello again! Is it okay if my friends and I take a look around? Think we might have found out something interesting about the cap.’
‘Oh, how exciting! Do come in, all of you. James Hendricks at your service!’
Drew caught hold of Rebecca’s arm as they followed the others inside, and stopped.
‘How sure are we about this guy Von Krankl? Do you trust him?’
Rebecca paused for a second, looking at the back of the wheelchair in front.
‘Yes … gut instinct.’
‘But how do we know he isn’t in with the bad guys?’
‘Why? Because he’s German and he was on the other side?’
‘I dunno … he is German though and who knows?’
‘Less than half the German people voted for Hitler, you know … and a lot fewer were actual Nazis.’
‘Give me a bit more credit, please! I’m just suspicious. We can’t verify all the stuff he is saying about the Admiral and him because the Admiral isn’t around, can we?
Rebecca gave a nod and a shrug. ‘Point. Proceed with caution, I suppose.’
They broke off as introductions were made. The vicar led the way towards the staircase to the chamber where the Admiral was to be buried and where Laura had discovered the cap.
As they arrived at the top step, the old vicar turned around and looked at the wheelchair bound Von Krankl, a concerned look on his face. Before he could speak, von Krankl rose slowly to his feet and smiled.
‘Like Lazarus he rises! Miraculous!’ chirped the vicar, clapping his hands.
‘Lead on, Reverend,’ smiled von Krankl. Downstairs, they gathered round to examine the collapsed wall and peek inside the chamber where the bones had been found.
‘How did this wall collapse?’ asked Rebecca.
‘Nobody is entirely sure, my dear. Bit of a mystery. Jolly exciting, though!’
Rebecca could not help taking an instant liking to this charming old vicar with his old-fashioned politeness and exuberance.
‘If you ask me, somebody took a sledgehammer to it,’ muttered Drew, peering closely at pieces of a shattered brick on the floor. Von Krankl looked up sharply.
‘That would be interesting,’ he said, cryptically. They all crowded round Drew.
‘What makes you think that?’
‘These chips all over the floor. Reverend, was this part of the burial area?
I would say this had to have been bricked up with this poor fellow inside.’ Drew gestured to the brickwork which differed markedly from the rest of the stonework in the chamber.
‘These bricks have been here quite some time, so I’d reckon.’
‘And that would mean there is no way of knowing if he was dead before it was bricked up or whether, in fact, he died in there.’ Everyone turned to look at Rebecca as she spoke.
‘The way your mind works,’ muttered Drew, shaking his head.
James Hendricks’ eyes widened. ‘He was not in the coffin. He was laid out on the floor, or rather his bones were. We brought the coffin here ourselves. Suppose we probably ought to tell the police, not that they will be interested, I wouldn’t imagine.’
‘Was anything else in there, Reverend?’ Rebecca peered into the hole in the wall.
‘I have to admit I haven’t really looked. The crypts and tombs here are a labyrinth and very unsafe. When we discovered the bones, we just popped them in the coffin there.’
‘Does anybody have a torch? We have to look inside.’
‘There’s a hurricane lamp behind you,’ offered the old vicar. ‘Old- fashioned but works okay. And I have some matches somewhere.’ He rummaged through his pockets, before producing a small box and striking a match to light the lamp.
Everybody crouched down to look though the gap to the musty chamber, the flickering yellow lamplight playing dark shadows around the walls.
‘You go in first, young man,’ said Von Krankl to Drew. ‘My old bones don’t like bending down that far. Not polite to ask the ladies.’
‘Why not?’ asked Rebecca, just managing to stop her voice sounding sharp.
‘I’m sorry. Old school manners. You have to forgive chaps of our generation, you see, we were brought up to treat the fairer sex with a degree of chivalry.’
‘I can handle a bit of chivalry,’ smiled Laura.
‘Some so-called modern men could learn a bit, too,’ said Rebecca, eyeing Drew mischievously. He frowned as he bent down and disappeared inside the hole.
‘What do you see in there?’ asked Von Krankl.
Drew’s voice came back, muffled.
‘Mostly dust … wait a minute …’ His voice grew higher in excitement. ‘There’s something on the walls! All over the walls, actually, by the look of it.’
‘What?’ called Rebecca. There was no immediate response, so she called again, louder.
Drew’s head popped out.
‘Come and look yourself. The roof slopes and there’s room to stand up over the other side.’
Rebecca dropped to her knees and squeezed through the hole, emerging into a chamber about ten feet square, with a sharply sloping roof. It had a dank, fusty odour and was covered in cobwebs. Part way up was a small opening with a metal grate to the outside, through which grass was growing and the cool outside air drifted. In one corner stood a rusty old iron bedstead with a stained, moth-eaten mattress.
‘Do you think he died in here?’ Rebecca scanned the chamber for clues.
‘What, rather than being put in here afterwards?’
‘Well you’d hardly give a corpse a bed and mattress, would you?’ Her tone was faintly sarcastic. Drew gave a short smile.
‘I take your point.’
‘Anyway, what were you talking about being all over the walls?’
Drew raised the hurricane lamp. Scratched onto the wall in black paint were rows and rows of small lines and dots. They extended over every inch.
‘Funny sort of decoration. What is it?’ said Laura, appearing next to them, brushing the dust off her arms and legs.
‘Haven’t a clue,’ answered Rebecca.
‘Good job the Scotsman’s here then,’ said Drew, nonchalantly. ‘You’ve heard of Morse.’
‘Inspector Morse?’ Laura looked blankly.
‘Dots and dashes, Morse code, you’ – Drew felt a sudden sharp kick from Rebecca.
‘How do you know Morse code?’ There was disbelief in her voice.
‘Any boatman worth his salt knows Morse.’
‘You don’t have a mobile but you understand Morse code? Drew, please don’t tell anyone we’re friends.’
Drew paused, glowering at her.
‘Hmmm…So what does it say then?’ Rebecca challenged him as he studied the lines of dots and dashes, opened his mouth, closed it again and frowned.
‘I doubt if young Drew will be able to decipher this unless he speaks German.’ Von Krankl had now joined them in the smaller chamber. ‘Ogh! Not good for my ageing body. I should stick to wheelchairs. Now, what does this say? Where to begin … perhaps here …
Wer hier liesst …Whoever reads this … please send for Admiral Dewhust-Hobb.’
‘Was this Kraus? Did he write this?’ asked Rebecca.
‘Let’s try and find out, my dear,’ said the old man, peering closely at the rows of faded marks. ‘I will do my best to translate … perhaps somebody could help me by writing this down?’ He looked at Laura who nodded quickly. James Hendricks obligingly produced pencil and paper. Von Krankl and Laura spent several minutes conferring as the old man worked his way around the cramped room, translating the spidery symbols into words and phrases that Laura could write down. Eventually they looked at one another in satisfaction and the old man turned to the others to read the fruits of their labour.
‘Admiral
Welcome to my prison. The Komrades shut me in because I will not tell the secret. Don’t know how long left. No food, no water. Strength fails. They found Himmel’s gold. Followed us that day. Why I never came back. Himmel took me back to move it, and to kill me. Himmel is now no more. Only I now know the true location.
My life’s work, Saladin’s nemesis, Napoleon, where to look. Answer to another mystery.
JK June 17th 1955
JK … Jurgen Kraus! He was still here in 1955.’ Von Krankl’s face was incredulous.
‘Seven years after he disappeared. Seven years with those cruel, evil men, trying to break his will.’ There was a shocked silence in the little chamber as Von Krankl finished.
‘This has been here, undiscovered for over fifty years.’ Drew shook his head in disbelief.
‘The poor man.’ Laura’s face was white.
‘Such courage is humbling,’ said James Hendricks, putting a consoling hand on her shoulder.
Rebecca’s eyes held an odd look. The vicar noticed her. ‘Young lady?’
‘It suggests we now have the answer in our hands but I can’t see where he tells us what it is. It’s a very cryptic message in places. Why? I assume he dared not tell the secret since the only ones bound to read it would be the people who imprisoned him, the very people he was keeping it from. I think there is more here than at first appears. And why, if he came back in 1948 and died here in 1955, was he found in his wartime uniform?’
‘Curious,’ nodded Drew. ‘The pointer to who killed him, perhaps?’
‘Was it indeed his uniform?’ murmured von Krankl.
‘Are we just supposed to think it is him?’ said Rebecca.
‘But they hardly left him somewhere easy to find, which they would have done if the intention was to fool everybody … surely?’ asked Laura.
‘I mean, we are the first people in 50 years in this chamber, aren’t we?’
‘Do not understand me too quickly, as Gide said,’ smiled Hendricks. Rebecca looked at him in puzzlement. ‘Keep your mind open when the way forward is not obvious.’
‘We must please ask that we keep this between ourselves, Reverend,’ said Von Krankl.
‘We must not mention that we have discovered this prison. If news reaches the Komrades at the monastery or our friend Sky, things will become dangerous for all of us.’
‘Righto! Mum’s the word!’ said James Hendricks. ‘Haven’t got a clue what this is all about but jolly exciting!’
‘All rather serious too, Reverend,’ warned Von Krankl. ‘This is not a game and we must not underestimate these men. We saw what calamitous evil they were capable of all those years ago.’
‘Indeed,’ said Hendricks, suddenly very grave.
‘I can’t understand why decent Germans didn’t stop them … or voted for them in the first place?’ Drew looked contemptuous.
‘Judge not lest ye be judged yourself, as our friend Jesus said’. James Hendricks put a hand on Drew’s shoulder. ‘Before we judge, just reflect for a moment what we might have done, faced with the same options. This was not the comfortable world of Britain in the 21st century. It was not a choice between different types of cheese, or a ‘pick up the phone and vote for the couple you want to stay in the game for next week’. This was do you want to live or do you want to die? Make your mind up now. Will you put your loved ones at risk? What are you going to do when a gun is pointed at you and you are seconds away from eternity?
‘This was a state that did not regard you as human, where your continued life or death came at the whim of some mindless scum you had never met. I suggest that any country, any people in the world, would have behaved exactly as the Germans did. Some of us are strong enough to die for what they believe in. Most are not. And what is achieved through a meaningless death if you leave others behind to live on without you, perhaps left alone facing the consequences of your actions? Parents abandon a child? What is that child going to think? That their own parents valued a point of principle more highly than themselves?
I am not suggesting that all ordinary Germans, or all of any people, were saints. Far from it. The weak are always easily led. But it is not as straightforward as you might at first think.’
Drew looked at James Hendricks with a mixture of shock, respect and admiration. ‘Blimey, Rev Respect. Sort of puts it all in into a new light.’
One by one they clambered back into the larger chamber. Drew gathered the bricks and began to replace them in the opening, sliding the pieces of mortar between them as best he could. He stepped back to examine his handiwork.
‘We might just be able to hide this. The bricks are pretty much intact and if we can find something to put in front of it … like that casket thing.’ He pointed to an ornamental stone casket. With the help of Hendricks and Rebecca, they managed to slide it across the floor and against the opening, rendering it barely visible.
‘What about the bones? The, er, body?’ asked Laura, uncertainly.
‘As you so correctly reminded me this morning, a dead body is not an entirely unusual thing in a crypt,’ smiled Hendricks. ‘I can take care of Herr Kraus without arousing suspicion. My curate is the only other person who knows and he does not know his identity. He won’t tell a soul, I promise. We will tell the authorities, naturally, but in due course.’
‘I must get back before the hotel locks its doors and I am missed,’ said Von Krankl. ‘Please come to find me tomorrow morning. We need to work out our next move and you need to track down Rupert.’
‘Blimey! Rupe! I’d almost forgotten him!’ Laura’s hand flew to her mouth.
‘Some girlfriend you are!’ Drew shook his head in mock disgust.
‘Perhaps he’s back by now?’ Laura looked hopeful. Drew’s expression was doubtful. Rebecca shook her head.
‘I don’t think so, Gilmour. I think we are going to have to find him.’
Von Krankl shook hands with James Hendricks, nodded to Rebecca, Drew and Laura and disappeared swiftly out of the church, pushing his wheelchair before him towards a little car park down the winding path. Drew smiled as he watched the old man depart. Rebecca picked up an old leather-bound book off a pile beside where Hendricks had been working.
‘The parish records,’ said the old vicar, seeing her questioning frown. ‘Do borrow one if you think it might be of any assistance to you. Here, these are the forties and early fifties, immediately after the war.’
‘Thank you Reverend,’ said Rebecca. ‘I will let you have them back soon.’
‘Yes, of course. All jolly good fun, what?’
* * *
‘That vicar is barking,’ smirked Drew as they retreated down the path from the chapel.
‘All that stuff about the war, real serious thinking stuff, then ‘Jolly good fun, what?’ Jimmy flaming Hendrix!’
‘Had you heard of him?’ asked Laura. ‘Meant nothing to me’.
‘Legendary guitarist, one of the all-time greats, says Rebecca’s Uncle Henry. Actually, I’ve never heard anything he did.’
‘And who on earth is Gide?’ Laura and Drew shrugged at one another.
‘French writer and philosopher.’ They both looked across at Rebecca, who had not been paying attention and appeared lost in thought, the books Hendricks had entrusted to her clasped firmly under her arm.
Drew gave Laura a conspiratorial look. ‘And you thought Rupe was a boffin. The things this girl knows make you wonder if she’s real sometimes. But hey, the great brain is ticking, I can feel it.’
Rebecca looked up as Drew raised his eyebrows.
‘I still don’t get it,’ she said. ‘If you are leaving what you think may be your last message to the world, surely you would try and leave some clear clue? – I would.’
‘What did the code say? That bit about the location?’
‘Hold on,’ said Laura, fumbling in her pocket and producing the scrap of paper.
‘De dah de – here! … Only I know the true location. My life’s work, Saladin’s nemesis, Napoleon, where to look.
‘There!’ said Rebecca. ‘Why his life’s work? Odd phrase, don’t you think?’
‘It was all he thought he had left to do, I guess,’ said Drew.
‘But did the monks make him do, if they had him here for all that time? Ten years after the war ended?’ Rebecca warmed to her theme.
‘The vicar said the monks helped restore the chapel after the war. They made the stained glass window,’ said Laura.
‘Did they indeed?’ Rebecca looked up sharply, a half-smile breaking out on her face.
She looked up at the window, shrouded in darkness. ‘What if the window is the key?’
‘The window? How?’ Drew’s expression suggested he thought Rebecca had taken leave of her senses.
Rebecca went closer and gazed up at the coloured glass. She noticed a couple of hooks inset into one of the panes, her expression momentarily puzzled.
‘We need daylight to see better,’ said Laura.
‘We don’t know he definitely DID work on it, do we?’ asked Drew. ‘We’re just guessing.’
Rebecca looked at him disparagingly. ‘Chapel is restored after the war, window is restored. Monks do work. Kraus is prisoner of monks during said time. Call me daft but I’d call that a possibility worth investigating.’
‘And we, her friends, have to put up with this. The loss of the Empire has not dimmed this Englishwoman’s superiority complex,’ said Drew to Laura. She smiled and took his arm.
‘You are so good natured about it. I’d tell her what for.’
‘No, I’d rather just do all the donkey work, find all the clues, Morse code messages, that sort of thing. She can have the glory.’ Drew and Laura nodded, in clear agreement with each other.
‘I’ve got a few donkey droppings to hand out for tomorrow, so don’t dawdle,’ said Rebecca, giving them both a look and setting off back in the direction of the farm.
‘There’s Rupert to track down … and what is all that stuff about Saladin and Napoleon?’