Buried for Pleasure (19 page)

‘From the poltergeist?'

‘No. From the investigators.'

‘Well, now you mention it, I suppose they must have been a bit trying.'

‘Sealed doors,' said the Rector. ‘Microphones. Vigils. Seismographs, for all I know.'

‘I scarcely think – –'

‘But you admit the general principle.'

‘What general principle?' Fen asked vaguely, contemplating his finger.

‘That the investigation,' said the Rector with patience, ‘must have constituted a great hindrance.'

‘Well, yes, but – –'

‘A fact which I anticipated many years ago.'

‘Indeed.'

‘You perceive my drift?'

‘I'm afraid not,' said Fen, shaking his head.

The Rector sighed. ‘The point is, you see, that
I
have a poltergeist – that there is a poltergeist
here
.'

If he had offered to levitate, Fen could scarcely have been more dumbfounded.

‘Do you mean to say,' he exclaimed convulsively, ‘that that coffee-cup – –'

‘It was thrown by the poltergeist. Yes.'

‘But are you
sure
you have a poltergeist? A more natural explanation would be – –'

‘A more natural explanation, Professor Fen, is not possible.'

‘Perhaps your housekeeper – –'

‘No, no. The thing continues to polter even when she is quite certainly miles away.'

‘A practical joker, then.'

‘A practical joker whose operations continue uninterruptedly for eighteen years,' said the Rector dryly, ‘is very much less credible, to me at any rate, than a supernatural explanation.'

‘
Eighteen years
?'

‘I have been rector here for eighteen years, and the start of the disturbances was coincident with my arrival.'

Fen gazed at him aghast. ‘But have you done nothing about it?'

‘Well, at first I was naturally very distressed, and considered applying to the Bishop for a licence for exorcism – as soon, that is, as I had ascertained that it was not some form of delusion or practical joke. But the plain fact is that in a week or two I got quite used to it.'

‘Remarkable,' said Fen with restraint.

‘The point is, you see, that whatever may be the case with other poltergeists, this particular one has never inspired in me, or for that matter in anyone else, the conventional feelings of terror. It is
materially
a nuisance, since it throws things about and they have to be picked up again and replaced; but the emotional effects normally associated with such – um – phantasms are completely lacking. So although the thing was undeniably tiresome, rather in the way that defective plumbing would be tiresome, I decided eventually that the publicity which would inevitably follow an attempt to get rid of it would be even
more
tiresome. Moreover, my poltergeist has intelligence of a sort, and I feared that if an investigation was set on foot it would refrain from its activities while the investigators were present and thus involve me in the suspicion of insanity. All things considered, it seemed better to leave it alone, and I've never yet regretted doing so.'

Fen contemplated him for a moment, seeking in his face for some evidence that this was. an elaborate leg-pull. But he saw none. The Rector, though he might be deluded, was undeniably sincere. And other cases of poltergeist disturbances extending over a long period of years were, Fen reflected, tolerably well authenticated. Moreover, the Rector's reactions were understandable – except, of course, that he must suffer considerable financial loss from the poltergeist's depredations. . . . This issue Fen ventured to raise.

‘Well, no,' said the Rector. ‘For some reason which I haven't fathomed, things the poltergeist handles never break. That coffee-cup is an instance – and I know that even if it had hit the wall it would have remained intact. There are many recorded instances of the same phenomenon in other hauntings of a like kind. And my poltergeist is also in the best traditions in that although it constantly hurls small objects at Mrs Flitch and myself, it has never yet succeeded in actually hitting either of us. In the first weeks I was naturally apprehensive that it might, but since it invariably failed to do so my anxiety soon wore off, and nowadays I pay no attention to such occurrences at all.'

‘And apart from throwing things,' said Fen rather faintly, ‘what else does it do?'

‘It pulls out drawers and drops them on the floor. That's sheer rowdyism, and really rather trying at times. It also
raps
– on walls apparently, but it's difficult to tell. Oh, and it occasionally makes a stupid howling noise on the stairs, which I imagine is intended to frighten, but which is actually no more alarming than a bicycle bell. That's all, I think – there's no writing, and I've certainly never
seen
an
apparition
of any kind. When I first came here I used to bound about the house trying to catch sight of one, but it was quite useless, and I've long since ceased to trouble about it.'

Fen produced a handkerchief and wiped the perspiration from his brow. ‘But in view of all this,' he observed, ‘you must have found it very difficult to keep the matter secret.'

‘Well, not so difficult as you might suppose. The disturbances do not usually begin until about ten in the evening – daylight manifestations, such as you witnessed, have only occurred twice before, and then, fortunately, without being seen by outsiders.'

‘But your night's rest – it must surely be very disturbed?'

The Rector frowned. ‘At first,' he admitted, ‘it
was
very disturbed – but I soon succeeded in domesticating the thing.'

‘In
domesticating
it?'

‘Well, in training it, if you prefer the word; much as one trains a cat to be clean or a dog to come to heel. The means were simple, though I only discovered them by accident. The creature was rapping away one night at one a.m. when I was trying to get to sleep after a very tiring day, and in exasperation I sat up in bed and rapped back at it, much more loudly. And it was so astonished that it immediately fell silent. Thereafter I always replied in kind whenever it created a pother at an unseemly hour, and it gradually came to realize that it must keep quiet after about twelve midnight. On the whole it's been very faithful to this arrangement. . . . I considered, of course, the possibility of driving it away completely by the method I've spoken of, but, to be quite candid, such a scheme seemed to me needlessly brutal. The thing clearly enjoyed its preposterous goings-on; they did no one any serious harm; and since I might conceivably worsen its condition by scaring it off, I felt it my duty as a Christian priest to let it alone.'

Fen said:

‘Well, yes, I suppose that with a little luck you could hush the whole thing up. And I certainly don't blame you for doing so.'

‘It's meant that I've been unable to have people to stay with me,' said the Rector, ‘and I'm afraid that on many occasions I must consequently have appeared most inhospitable. But on the whole, as I say, I've never regretted taking the course I have taken.'

‘And what about your housekeeper? What does she think of it all?'

For the first time during his recital the Rector looked uneasy; he stared, embarrassed, at his boots.

‘That,' he said, ‘is the one feature of the whole affair which lies heavily on my conscience. Mrs Flitch has her own explanation of the matter, but unluckily it is far from being a true one; and although I did not suggest it to her in the first place and have never specifically concurred with it, I'm bound to say that I've always been too pusillanimous actually to deny it. And this is the more sinful of me in that her explanation reflects a great deal of quite undeserved credit on myself. . . . It seems that in her younger and more impressionable days someone gave Mrs Flitch a – translation of Anatole France's novel
Thais
, and that reading this had a very profound effect on her mind. Early on in the book there are descriptions of the various temptations undergone by the Coenobite hermits in the desert outside Alexandria – and Mrs Flitch, confronted for the first time by the activities of the poltergeist, jumped to the erroneous conclusion that these had a similar – um – nature and purpose in relation to myself. It is her view that what she herself witnesses is only a part of the matter; that unseen by her' – a glint of humour came momentarily to the Rector's eye – ‘and on account of my extreme sanctity, spectral harpies foul me with their droppings as I sit writing at my desk, and alluring courtesans make nightly trial of my continence. . . . In all this, I'm afraid, she greatly overestimates my importance in the eyes of the devil, who no doubt has better uses for his courtesans than to assign them so regularly to me.' He sighed deeply. ‘And I have been most guilty in not once and for all dispelling the illusion. Mrs Flitch, you see, is for some reason quite clear in her own mind that these – um – suppositious temptations must not be revealed to any outsider, and I have shamelessly taken advantage of her self-imposed reticence by failing to remove its cause. I shall not easily be forgiven – and particularly since my ultimate motive is nothing more elevated than a desire to pander to my own comfort by keeping the Psychical Research Society away.'

With as much gravity as he could muster, Fen gave it as his opinion that the sin was venial. ‘And have you,' he asked, ‘your own explanation of the phenomena?'

The Rector, who up to now had been almost uninterruptedly serious, chuckled suddenly.

‘I sometimes suspect,' he said, ‘that my poltergeist must be a demon who has been expelled from Hell for incurable incompetence. . . . But no, I haven't really any explanation. At first I thought a good deal about the business, and read all the available literature on the subject. But I found that no one theory was any more provable or plausible than the next, so I soon gave up worrying about it, and haven't, indeed, done so for years. Custom, Professor Fen, is an unspeakable blessing. I'm so used to my poltergeist now that weeks on end pass without a recollection of it ever entering my head.'

He paused, gazing absently at the upstairs windows of the Rectory, and then turned to Fen with a charming smile.

‘Now be honest,' he said. ‘Have you believed a word I've been saying?'

‘Why not?' said Fen. ‘I think the evidence for the existence of poltergeists is virtually unassailable; I see nothing specially unlikely in there being one here; and I find your own reactions to it quite natural. Moreover, if you should happen to be pulling my leg, it's at least a quite amusing leg-pull, and hence not at all to be regretted.'

The Rector chuckled again. ‘Fair enough, sir,' he said. ‘And whether you think it's a leg-pull, or insanity, or hard fact, I shall still be grateful if you'll keep it to yourself.'

‘I'll certainly do that.'

‘And the finger—'

‘Is much less painful, thank you.' Fen glanced at his watch and stood up. ‘And now I think I ought to be getting back to lunch. Many thanks for the blue-bag, and I'm sorry to have interrupted your gardening.'

‘My dear fellow, I've enjoyed our talk very much indeed, and it's been a great relief to be able to confide to someone my behaviour as regards Mrs Flitch. . . . I'll walk with you to the gate. How is your campaign going?'

‘As well, I think, as can be expected. I'm getting rather tired of it, to tell you the truth.'

‘Ah. Well, you've certainly come down here at an eventful time. The unhappy lunatic, who I gather is still at large. . . . And then, these dreadful murders, and the wicked attempt last night on that poor girl at the hospital. I saw her about once or twice, and, do you know, her face struck me as being in some indefinable way familiar.'

‘Really?' Fen was interested. ‘Did you think you'd come across her somewhere before?'

‘No, not that exactly,' said the Rector thoughtfully, ‘because I have a good memory for faces. My feeling was . . .'

But for the moment Fen was not destined to be apprised of what the Rector's feeling was. They rounded the side of the house as he spoke, and came to an open window on the ground floor. The Rector's glance at first resting incuriously on it, grew suddenly fixed; and he halted.

‘Bless my soul!' he ejaculated.

Fen could see no reason for his surprise. The room into which they were looking was nothing more remarkable than an ordinary, rather gloomy, clerical study, furnished with dark stuffs and mahogany. In view of what he had heard it was not impossible, however, that the Rector was seeing a ghost, and Fen peered attentively at the room's obscurity in the vague hope of being similarly favoured.

‘What is it?' he demanded.

‘The field-glasses,' said the Rector. ‘Those field-glasses on the table beside the window. They've come back.'

‘Come back?'

‘The other afternoon – let's see, it must have been Monday – I took them out with me on a walk, since I'm interested in bird-watching and for that they're naturally indispensable. In Porson's Wood I sat down for a moment to rest, laying them on the ground beside me, and when I proceeded on my way I very stupidly and absent-mindedly left them there. Not more than ten minutes can have – um – elapsed before I realized what had happened and returned to fetch them. But by that time they had been taken, and in view of the almost universal dishonesty which prevails nowadays I never thought to see them again. Well, well, this is very pleasing.'

‘But the way in which they've apparently been returned,' said Fen, ‘is surely odd. If I find something belonging to someone else and I return it, I normally knock at the door and hand it over. . . . And, by the way, how would anyone know they were yours?'