Something kept drawing her to the cellar. Florence descended the stairs and pushed through the swinging metal door that opened on the swimming pool. She remembered the feeling she'd had when she and Fischer had looked into the steam room yesterday: a sense of something perverted, something unwholesome. She could not resign that feeling to what she felt about Belasco's son. Still, she had to be sure.
Her footsteps echoed and re-echoed as she walked along the edge of the pool. She blinked. Her eyes were tired. She felt badly in need of sleep. But she couldn't go to bed the way things were. Before she slept, she had to prove-to herself; at least-that Belasco's son was not imagination.
She pulled open the door to the steam room, looked inside. The pipe valve had been fixed, she saw. The room was filled with steam. She stared into the curling depths of it. There was something in there, without a doubt, something terribly malignant. But Belasco's son was not that way. His fury was defensive. He was desperately in need of help, and desperately desired that help, yet, at the same time, had such scarified malaise of soul that he fought against help in almost suicidal fashion.
She turned from the steam room and walked back along the length of the pool. She'd better warn Dr. Barrett not to use the steam room. She looked around. If Belasco's son was not here, why had she felt a compulsion to come to the cellar? There was only the pool and steam room. No, that wasn't true; she remembered now. There was a wine cellar across the corridor.
The moment she remembered it, it seemed as though a burst of cognizance exploded through her. An excited smile beginning on her lips, she hurried to the swinging door and pushed it open. Running across the corridor, she opened the wine-cellar door and felt around for a light switch. After a moment she found it, pushed it up. The light was dim, the overhead bulb filmed with dust and grime.
Florence walked into the room and looked around. The feeling was intense. Her gaze jumped from wall to wall, across the empty wine racks. Suddenly it froze on the wall across from the door. She stared at it.
Yes
, she thought. She started toward it.
She cried out as unseen hands clutched her by the throat. She reached up and began to grapple with the hands. They were cold and moist. She yanked them away and staggered to the side. Regaining direction, she lunged for the wall. The hands grabbed her arm and slung her sideways. She reeled across the floor and crashed against a wine rack. "Don't!" she cried. She turned and looked around the room. "I'm here to help!"
She pushed away from the wine rack, started for the wall again. Again the hands were on her, clutching at her shoulders. She was turned and hurled away. She almost hit the door before she caught her balance, whirling. "
You will not deter me
." She started forward slowly, praying in a soft, determined voice. The hands grabbed hold of her again. They jerked free as she spoke out loudly: "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost!" Florence rushed to the wall and pressed herself against it. She was flooded with awareness. "Yes!" she cried. A vision leaped across her mind: a lion's den-a young man looking at her pleadingly. She sobbed with joy. "Daniel!" She had found him! "
Daniel!
"
The distant scream cut like a knife into Edith's sleep. She twitched awake, staring upward in confusion. A sound of rustling made her jerk around. Lionel was propped on his left elbow, looking at her.
"What
was
it?" she asked.
Barrett shook his head.
"I mean, was it real?"
Barrett didn't answer.
The second scream made her gasp. Barrett caught his breath. "Miss Tanner." He dropped his legs across the mattress edge and felt for his slippers. Edith started sitting up. She gasped again as Lionel's legs gave way. He fell against his bed, hissing at the pain in his thumb.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
He nodded once and pushed erect again, grabbing for his cane. Edith stood up, pulling on her quilted robe. She followed Lionel quickly to the door. He pulled it open, and they moved into the corridor, Lionel hobbling badly. Edith walked beside him, buttoning her robe. She glanced toward Fischer's room. Surely he had heard.
Barrett stopped at Florence Tanner's door and knocked three times in quick succession. When she failed to answer, he opened the door and went inside. The room was dark. Edith felt herself stiffen with anticipation as Lionel flicked up the wall switch.
Florence Tanner was on her back, arms clutched across her chest. Barrett limped to her bed, Edith close behind him. "What is it?" he asked.
Florence stared at him with narrowed, pain-glazed eyes. He leaned down, wincing at the pull of stiffened muscles. "Miss Tanner?"
She shuddered, digging teeth into her lower lip to keep from crying. Slowly she withdrew her arms, and Edith started as she saw him begin to unbutton the medium's gown. There were two damp patches on it, one above each breast. Florence closed her eyes as Barrett drew aside the edges of the gown. Edith shrank back.
There were deep teeth marks ringing the nipples on Florence's breasts.
Abruptly Florence pulled the blankets to her chin. Despite her will, a sob convulsed her throat; she tried in vain to check it. "Don't fight it," Barrett told her. Florence sobbed again, tears spilling down her cheeks.
Edith stared at Florence as she cried. For the first time since they'd met, the medium seemed vulnerable, and Edith felt a rush of sympathy. "Is there anything I can do?" she asked.
Florence shook her head. "I'll be all right."
Edith glanced aside as Fischer entered the room and joined them by the bed. "What happened?" he asked.
Florence hesitated before drawing down the covers briefly. Edith tried not to look, but couldn't help herself. Her breath shook as she saw the bites on Florence Tanner's breasts again.
"He's punishing me," Florence said.
Edith's face went blank. She glanced at Lionel, who was looking at the medium without expression.
"I found him last night," Florence told him. "Daniel Belasco."
There was heavy silence. Barrett looked embarrassed. Florence managed a smile. "No, I'm not imagining it." She laid a hand on her breasts. "Did I imagine these?"
Barrett gestured inconclusively.
"His body is in the wine cellar."
Edith could see how awkward Lionel felt. She knew that he wanted to be sympathetic but didn't know what to say that wouldn't hurt her further.
"Will you help exhume the body?" Florence asked.
"I would, but after last night, I'm afraid I'm in no condition for heavy labor."
Florence stared at him in disbelief. "But, Doctor, he's
there
. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
"Miss Tanner-"
Florence turned to Fischer. "Will you help me, then?"
Fischer looked at her in silence. He
had
heard her scream, Edith realized abruptly; heard but been afraid to come until Lionel had arrived. Now he was afraid to offer help. It was not surprising. Whenever something violent occurred, Miss Tanner was always there.
When he didn't answer, Florence clenched her teeth, forcing back a sob. "All right, I'll do it myself." The pain of the bites seemed to overwhelm her, and she closed her eyes.
"I'll help you," Fischer said.
Florence opened her eyes and tried to smile. "Thank you."
Barrett put his hand on Edith's arm and started turning.
"Are you so afraid I might be right, Doctor?" Florence asked him.
Barrett looked at her appraisingly. At last he nodded. "Very well. We'll go downstairs with you. I can't dig, however, if that's what you intend to do."
"Ben and I will do that," Florence told him.
Edith glanced at Fischer. He was standing at the foot of the bed, looking at Florence without expression. Suddenly she felt a shiver plaiting up her back.
Was there really something down there?
Fischer drove the crowbar edge into the cleft, and, straining, levered out another chunk of brick and mortar. It had taken him more than twenty minutes to gouge away an opening no larger than his fist. His pants and tennis shoes were streaked with mortar stains; there was a film of powder on his hands. He sneezed as mortar dust got up his nostrils. Turning, he withdrew his handkerchief and blew his nose. He looked at Florence, who was watching him with anxious eyes. She forced a smile. "I know it's hard."
Fischer nodded, drawing in a ragged breath. He almost sneezed again, controlled it, then, raising the crowbar, jammed its edge into the breach. It slipped as he began to pry away another clump of brick, and, losing balance, he pitched against the wall. "Damn!" he muttered. He straightened up, teeth set on edge, and once more drove the crowbar edge into the wall gap.
He jimmied out another piece of brick, which bounced across the floor, then looked at Florence. "This could take all day," he said.
"I know it's hard," she said again. Fischer stretched his back. "Let me do it for a while," she offered. Fischer shook his head and raised the crowbar.
"Before you continue-" Barrett said.
Fischer turned.
"Since this is clearly going to take a long time," Barrett said to Florence. "you won't mind if I go upstairs and get off this leg. It's rather painful."
"Yes, of course," she said. "We'll call you when we've found him."
"Quite." Barrett took hold of Edith's arm and turned for the door. Florence exchanged a look with Fischer as he turned back to the gap in the wall.
He was about to thrust the crowbar when he saw it. "
Wait
." Barrett and Edith looked around as he picked up his flashlight and shone the beam of light into the opening.
"What is it?" Florence was unable to contain her eagerness.
Fischer squinted through the haze of dust. He blew into the gap, then pointed the flashlight beam again. "Looks like a rope," he answered.
Florence came over, and Fischer handed her the flashlight. "Keep pointing it in there." She nodded quickly. Fischer reached into the opening and clamped his fingers on the dusty rope. He pulled down, but there was no give. He pulled up, felt the rope grow slack, then tauten as he let go. "I think there's a weight on the end of it," he said.
Florence caught her breath. "A
counterbalance
."
Fischer grabbed the crowbar and started jabbing its beveled edge at the sides of the hole, widening it as quickly as he could. After a minute of forceful digging he dropped the crowbar, and before the clanging resonance had faded, had both hands through the opening. Clutching at the rope, he started pulling upward. The resistance was too strong. He braced himself and pulled with all his might, forehead pressed against the wall, eyes closed, teeth gritted. Move, you bastard,
move
, he thought.
Suddenly the rope lurched upward, slamming the edge of his right wrist against the jagged brick edge. Fischer jerked his hands back. He was examining his wrist when a rumbling noise began inside the wall. He looked up, startled.
A section of wall was hitching slowly to the right. Fischer braced himself for what they'd see-or wouldn't see. He was conscious of Florence standing beside him tensely as the wall section creaked and shuddered to the side.
Edith made a gagging noise and turned away. Fischer's lips pulled back in a grimace. Florence's sigh of relief fell strangely on his ears.
Shackled to the wall inside the narrow passage were the mummified remains of a man.
Barrett murmured, "Shades of Poe."
"I told you he was here," Florence said.
Fischer stared at the grayish, parchmentlike features of the corpse. Its eyes were like dark, hardened berries, its lips drawn back and frozen in a soundless scream. Obviously, he'd been tied behind the wall while still alive.
"Well, Doctor?" Florence asked.
Barrett drew in a faltering breath. "Well, what?" he asked. "I see the mummy of a man. How do you know it's Daniel Belasco?"
"I
know
," she said.
"Beyond a doubt? Beyond the slightest doubt?"
"
Yes
." She looked incredulous.
Barrett smiled. "I think more proof than that is called for."
Florence stared at him. "You're right," she said abruptly.
Turning to the opening, she reached out for the left hand of the shackled figure. Fischer watched her remove a ring. "Here." She held it out to Barrett.
Barrett hesitated before taking it. Fischer glanced at Edith. She was staring at her husband with a look of apprehension. He looked at Barrett. The physicist was handing back the ring, a forced smile on his lips. "Very good," he said.
"Do you believe me now?"
"I'll think it over."
"
Think it over?
" Florence gaped at him. "Are you telling me-?"
"I'm telling you nothing," Barrett cut her off. "I'm saying that I need more time to digest this information and work out my interpretation of it. I must advise you, however, not to presume that one cadaver with a ring can reverse the scientific convictions of a lifetime."
"Doctor, I'm not
trying
to reverse your convictions. All I'm asking is that we work together. Can't you see that both of us can be right?"
Barrett shook his head. "I'm sorry, no. That I cannot see; and never will." He turned abruptly, limping toward the corridor. "My dear?" he said.
Edith looked at Florence for a moment, then turned to follow her husband across the room. Fischer took the ring from Florence. It was made of gold, with an oval crest.
Across the crest, in scroll-like letters, were the initials "D. B."