Sir Richard shaded with his hand the little light that he carried as he walked solemnly across the nave towards the chancel, where the vestry room was situated. He was followed closely by the whole party, and the audible breathing of the Lord Mayor sufficiently proclaimed the uneasy state of his lordship's nerves. "How strange it is," said the secretary, "that men will pile up stones and timber until they make something to enter, which then terrifies their weak natures, and they become the slaves of the very materials that they have made to enclose and roof in a certain space upon which otherwise they would stand unmoved."
"It is so," said Donkin.
"Why the fact is, I suppose," said Sir Richard Blunt, "that it is what is called original sin that sticks to us, and so—
'Conscience doth make cowards of us all!'
whether we are personally or not obnoxious to the pangs of the still small voice."
"Upon my word, Sir Richard," said the secretary, "you are quite a free-thinker—indeed you are."
Suddenly the whole party paused, for something resembling a moan was heard from among the pews in the centre of the church, and every one was anxious to listen for a repetition of the sound.
"Did you hear it?" whispered the secretary.
"In faith, I did," said Mr. Donkin.
"And I," said Sir Richard Blunt.
"And we," said the Lord Mayor, in defiance of grammar. "I—I—feel rather unwell, gentlemen, do you know."
"Hush! let us listen," said the secretary.
They all stood profoundly still for a few minutes, and then, just as they were one and all beginning to think that after all it must be a mere thing of fancy, the same mournful moan came once more upon their ears.
"There can be no mistake," said Sir Richard. "We all hear that; is it not so, gentlemen?"
"Yes—yes!" said everybody.
"I'm getting worser," said the Lord Mayor.
"This mystery must be cleared up," said the secretary. "Is it a trick upon us, do you think, Sir Richard?"
"No, my lord, certainly not."
"Then we cannot go on until this is cleared up. You are armed, of course, Sir Richard?"
"Yes, my lord."
Sir Richard Blunt took from his pocket a double-barrelled pistol. There was now a sort of pause, as though each of those present expected the others to say or to do something which should have the effect of discovering what the singular noise portended. Of course, Sir Richard Blunt felt that in such an emergency he would be the man naturally looked to.
"It is absolutely necessary," he said, "that we should find out what this means before proceeding farther."
"Yes, yes," said the Lord Mayor, "no doubt of it; and in the meantime I'll run to the Mansion House and get some assistance, gentlemen."
"Oh, no, my lord—oh, no," said the secretary to the chief magistrate of the city. "We cannot think of sparing you."
"But—but—"
"Certainly not," said Sir Richard Blunt, who was keenly alive to the tone of irony in which the secretary spoke. "Certainly not; and as I fancy the sound which has excited our curiosity comes from about the centre of the pews, you and I, my lord, will go and find out who it is. Come, if you please, at once."
"I—I—" stammered the Lord Mayor, "I really—humph! If I felt quite well, do you know, Sir Richard, I should not hesitate a moment."
"Pho! pho!" said Sir Richard, taking his arm, and leading him unwillingly forward. "Remember that the eyes of those are upon you whose opinions are to you of importance."
With a groan the unfortunate Lord Mayor, who from the first had shrunk from the enterprise altogether, being fearful that it might possibly involve dangerous consequences, allowed himself to be dragged by Sir Richard Blunt in the direction of the pews.
"If you have a pistol," said the magistrate, "you had better keep it in your hand ready for service."
"Lord bless you," said the Lord Mayor, in a nervous whisper, "I never fired off a pistol in all my life."
"Is that possible?"
"I don't know about being possible, but it's true."
"Well, you do surprise me."
"So—so you see, Sir Richard," added his temporary lordship, suddenly popping into the churchwarden's pew, which they had just reached—"so I'll stay here and keep an eye upon you."
Sir Richard Blunt was not at all sorry to get rid of such a companion as the Lord Mayor, so with a cough, he left him in the pew, and went forward alone, determined to find out what it was that made the extraordinary noise. As he went forward, towards the spot from whence it had come, he heard it once again, and in such close proximity to him, that albeit, unaccustomed to allow anything to affect his nerves, he started back a pace. Shading, then, the little bit of wax candle that he had in his hand, he looked steadily in the direction of the low moaning sound. In an instant he found a solution of the mystery. A couple of pigeons stood upon the hand rail of one of the pews, and it was the peculiar sound made by these birds, that, by the aid of echo in the silent empty church, had seemed to be of a very different character from its ordinary one.
"And from such simple causes," said Sir Richard, "arise all the well-authenticated stories of superstition which fancy and cowardice give credence to."
He looked up, and saw that in the wish to ventilate the chu............