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Ward believed the house had been struck. They rushed upstairs to see what damage
had been done, but Charles met them at the door to the attic; pale, resolute,
and portentous, with an almost fearsome combination of triumph and seriousness
on his face. He assured them that the house had not really been struck, and that
the storm would soon be over. They paused, and looking through a window saw that
he was indeed right; for the lightning flashed farther and farther off, whilst
the trees ceased to bend in the strange frigid gust from the water. The thunder
sank to a sort of dull mumbling chuckle and finally died away. Stars came out,
and the stamp of triumph on Charles Ward's face crystallised into a very
singular expression.
For two months or more after this incident Ward was less confined than usual to
his laboratory. He exhibited a curious interest in the weather, and made odd
inquires about the date of the spring thawing of the ground. One night late in
March he left the house after midnight, and did not return till almost morning;
when his mother, being wakeful, heard a rumbling motor draw up to the carriage
entrance. Muffled oaths could be distinguished, and Mrs. Ward, rising and going
to the window, saw four dark figures removing a long, heavy box from a truck at
Charles's direction and carrying it within by the side door. She heard laboured
breathing and ponderous footfalls on the stairs, and finally a dull thumping in
the attic; after which the footfalls descended again, and the four reappeared
outside and drove off in their truck.
The next day Charles resumed his strict attic seclusion, drawing down the dark
shades of his laboratory windows and appearing to be working on some metal
substance. He would open the door to no one, and steadfastly refused all
proffered food. About noon a wrenching sound followed by a terrible cry and a
fall were heard, but when Mrs. Ward rapped at the door her son at length
answered faintly, and told her that nothing had gone amiss. The hideous and
indescribable stench now welling out was absolutely harmless and unfortunately
necessary. Solitude was the one prime essential, and he would appear later for
dinner. That afternoon, after the conclusion of some odd hissing sounds which
came from behind the locked portal, he did finally appear; wearing an extremely
haggard aspect and forbidding anyone to enter the laboratory upon any pretext.
This, indeed, proved the beginning of a new policy of secrecy; for never
afterward was any other person permitted to visit either the mysterious garret
workroom or the adjacent storeroom which he cleaned out, furnished roughly, and
added to his inviolable private domain as a sleeping apartment. Here he lived,
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with books brought up from his library beneath, till the time he purchased the
Pawtuxet bungalow and moved to it all his scientific effects.
In the evening Charles secured the paper before the rest of the family and
damaged part of it through an apparent accident. Later on Dr. Willett, having
fixed the date from statements by various members of the household, looked up an
intact copy at the Journal office and found that in the destroyed section the
following small item had occurred:
Nocturnal Diggers Surprised in North Burial Ground
Robert Hart, night watchman at the North Burial Ground, this morning
discovered a party of several men with a motor truck in the oldest part of the
cemetery, but apparently frightened them off before they had accomplished
whatever their object may have been.
The discovery took place at about four o'clock, when Hart's attention was
attracted by the sound of a motor outside his shelter. Investigating, he saw a
large truck on the main drive several rods away; but could not reach it before
the noise of his feet on the gravel had revealed his approach. The men hastily
placed a large box in the truck and drove away toward the street before they
could be overtaken; and since no known grave was disturbed, Hart believes that
this box was an object which they wished to bury.
The diggers must have been at work for a long while before detection, for Hart
found an enormous hold dug at a considerable distance back from the roadway in
the lot of Amasa Field, where most of the old stones have long ago
disappeared. The hole, a place as large and deep as a grave, was empty; and
did not coincide with any interment mentioned in the cemetery records.
Sergt. Riley of the Second Station viewed the spot and gave the opinion that
the hole was dug by bootleggers rather gruesomely and ingeniously seeking a
safe cache for liquor in a place not likely to be disturbed. In reply to
questions Hart said he though the escaping truck had headed up Rochambeau
Avenue, though he could not be sure.
During the next few days Charles Ward was seldom seen by his family. Having
added sleeping quarters to his attic realm, he kept closely to himself there,
ordering food brought to the door and not taking it in until after the servant
had gone away. The droning of monotonous formulae and the chanting of bizarre
rhythms recurred at intervals, while at other times occasional listeners could
detect the sound of tinkling glass, hissing chemicals, running water, or roaring
gas flames. Odours of the most unplaceable quality, wholly unlike any before
noted, hung at times around the door; and the air of tension observable in the
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