For the past five minutes Fischer had been inching the Cadillac along the narrow, fog-bound road. Now he braked and stopped the engine. "We're here." he said. He wrenched up the door handle and ducked outside, b.u.t.toning his Navy pea coat.

Edith turned as Lionel opened the door beside him. She waited as he struggled out, then edged across the seat after him. She shivered as she got out. "Cold," she said, "and that smell smell."

"Probably a swamp around here somewhere."

Florence joined them, and the four stood silent for a few moments, looking around.

"That way," Fischer said then. He was gazing across the hood of the car.

"Let's take a look," said Barrett. "We can get our luggage afterward." He turned to Fischer. "Would you lead?"

Fischer moved off.

They had gone only a few yards when they reached a narrow concrete bridge. As they walked across it, Edith looked over the edge. If there was water below, the mist obscured it from sight. She glanced back. Already the limousine was swallowed by fog.

"Don't fall in the tarn." Fischer's voice drifted back. Edith turned and saw a body of water ahead, a gravel path curving to its left. The surface of the water looked like clouded gelatin sprinkled with a thin debris of leaves and gra.s.s. A miasma of decay hovered above it, and the stones which lined its sh.o.r.e were green with slime.

"Now we know where the odor comes from," Barrett said. He shook his head. "Belasco would would have a tarn." have a tarn."

"b.a.s.t.a.r.d Bog," said Fischer.

"Why do you call it that?"

Fischer didn't answer. Finally he said, "I'll tell you later."

They walked in silence now, the only sound the crunching of gravel underneath their shoes. The cold was numbing, a clammy chill that seemed to dew itself around their bones. Edith drew up the collar of her coat and stayed close to Lionel, holding on to his arm and looking at the ground. Just behind them walked Florence Tanner.

When Lionel stopped at last, Edith looked up quickly.

It stood before them in the fog, a ma.s.sive, looming specter of a house.

"Hideous," said Florence, sounding almost angry. Edith looked at her. "We haven't even gone inside, Miss Tanner," Barrett said.

"I don't have to go inside." Florence turned to Fischer, who was staring at the house. As she looked at him, he shuddered. Reaching out, she put her hand in his. He gripped it so hard it made her wince.

Barrett and Edith gazed up at the shrouded edifice. In the mist, it resembled some ghostly escarpment blocking their path. Edith leaned forward suddenly. "It has no windows," she said.

"He had them bricked up," Barrett said.

"Why?"

"I don't know. Perhaps-"

"We're wasting time," Fischer cut him off. He let go of Florence's hand and lurched forward.

They walked the final yards along the gravel path, then started up the wide porch steps. Edith saw that all the steps were cracked, fungus and frosted yellow gra.s.s sprouting from the fissures.

They stopped before the ma.s.sive double doors.

"If they open by themselves, I'm going home," Edith said, trying to sound amused. Barrett gripped the handle on the door and depressed its thumb plate. The door held fast. He glanced at Fischer. "This happen to you?"

"More than once."

"Good we have the key, then." Barrett removed it from his overcoat pocket and slid it into the lock. It wouldn't turn. He wiggled the key back and forth, attempting to loosen the bolt.

Abruptly the key turned over, and the heavy door began to swing in. Edith twitched as Florence caught her breath. "What is it?" she asked. Florence shook her head. "No cause for alarm," Barrett said. Edith glanced at him in surprise.

"It's just reaction, Mrs. Barrett," Florence explained. "Your husband is quite right. It's nothing to be alarmed about."

Fischer had been reaching in to locate the light switch. Now he found it, and they heard him flick it up and down without result. "So much for restored electrical service," he said.

"Obviously the generator is too old," Barrett said.

"Generator?" Edith looked surprised again. "There's no electrical service here?"

"There aren't enough houses in the valley to make it worth the effort," Barrett answered.

"How could they put in a telephone, then?"

"It's a field telephone," Barrett said. He looked into the house. "Well, Mr. Deutsch will have to provide us with a new generator, that's all."

"You think that's the answer, do you?" Fischer sounded dubious.

"Of course," said Barrett. "The breakdown of an antique generator can scarcely be cla.s.sified as a psychic phenomenon."

"What are we going to do?" asked Edith. "Stay in Caribou Falls until the new generator is installed?"

"That might take days," said Barrett. "We'll use candles until it arrives."

"Candles," Edith said.

Barrett smiled at her expression. "Just for a day or so."

She nodded, her returned smile wan. Barrett looked inside the house. "The question now," he said, "is how do we find some candles? I a.s.sume there must be some inside-" He broke off, looking at the flashlight Fischer had taken out of his coat pocket."Ah," he said.

Fischer switched on the flashlight, pointed the beam inside, then, bracing himself, stepped across the threshold.

Barrett went in next. He stepped through the doorway, seemed to listen briefly. Turning then, he extended his hand to Edith. She entered the house, clutching at his hand. "That smell smell," she said. "It's even worse than outside."

"It's a very old house with no aeration," Barrett said. "It could also be the furnace, which hasn't been used in more than twenty-nine years." He turned to Florence. "Coming, Miss Tanner?" he asked.

She nodded, smiling faintly. "Yes." She took a deep breath, held herself erect, and stepped inside. She looked around. "The atmosphere atmosphere in here-" She sounded queasy. in here-" She sounded queasy.

"An atmosphere of this world, not the next," said Barrett dryly.

Fischer played the flashlight beam around the dark immensity of the entry hall. The narrow cone of light jumped fitfully from place to place, freezing momentarily on hulking groups of furniture; huge, leaden-colored paintings; giant tapestries filmed with dust; a staircase, broad and curving, leading upward into blackness; a second-story corridor overlooking the entry hall; and far above, engulfed by shadows, a vast expanse of paneled ceiling.

"Be it ever so humble," Barrett said.

"It isn't humble at all," said Florence. "It reeks of arrogance."

Barrett sighed. "It reeks, at any rate." He looked to his right. "According to the floor plan, the kitchen should be that way."

Edith walked beside him as they started across the entry hall, the sound of their footsteps loud on the hardwood floor.

Florence looked around. "It knows we're here," she said.

"Miss Tanner-" Barrett frowned. "Please don't think I'm trying to restrict you-"

"Sorry." Florence said. "I'll try to keep my observations to myself."

They reached a corridor and walked along it, Fischer in the lead, Barrett and Edith behind him, Florence last. At the end of the corridor stood a pair of metal-faced swinging doors. Fischer pushed one of them open and stepped into the kitchen, holding the door ajar for the others. When all of them had gone inside, he let the door swing back and turned.

"Good Lord." Edith's eyes moved with the flashlight beam as Fischer shifted it around the room.

The kitchen was twenty-five by fifty feet, its perimeter rimmed by steel counters and dark-paneled cupboards, a long, double-basin sink, a gigantic stove with three ovens, and a ma.s.sive walk-in refrigerator. In the center of the room, like a giant's steel-topped casket, stood a huge steam table.

"He must have entertained a good deal," Edith said.

Fischer pointed the flashlight at the large electric wall clock above the stove. Its hands were stopped at 7:31. A.M. or P.M., and on what day? Barrett wondered as he limped along the wall to his right, pulling open drawers. Edith and Florence stood together, watching him. Barrett pulled open one of the cupboard doors and grunted as Fischer shone the light over. "Genuine spirits," he said, looking at the shelves of dust-filmed bottles. "Perhaps we'll raise some after supper."

Fischer pulled a sheet of yellow-edged cardboard from one of the drawers and pointed the flashlight at it.

"What's that?" Barrett asked.

"One of their menus, dated March 27, 1928. Shrimp bisque. Sweetbreads in gravy. Stewed capon. Bread sauce in gravy. Creamed cauliflower. For dessert, amandes en creme amandes en creme: crushed almonds in whipped egg whites and heavy cream."

Barrett chuckled. "His guests must have all had heartburn."

"The food wasn't aimed at their hearts," said Fischer, taking a box of candles from the drawer.

12/21 12:19 P.M.

They started back across the entry hall, each carrying a candle in a holder. As they moved, the flickering illumination made their shadows billow on the walls and ceiling.

"This must be the great hall over here," said Barrett.

They moved beneath an archway six feet deep and stopped, Edith and Florence gasping almost simultaneously. Barrett whistled softly as he raised his candle for a maximum of light.

The great hall measured ninety-five by forty-seven feet, its walls two stories high, paneled in walnut to a height of eight feet, rough-hewn blocks of stone above. Across from where they stood was a mammoth fireplace, its mantel constructed of antique carved stone.

The furnishings were all antique except for scattered chairs and sofas upholstered in the fashion of the twenties. Marble statues stood on pedestals in various locations. In the northwest corner was an ebony concert grand piano, and in the center of the hall stood a circular table, more than twenty feet across, with sixteen high-backed chairs around it and a large chandelier suspended over it. Good place to set up my equipment, Barrett thought; the hall had obviously been cleaned. He lowered his candle. "Let's push on," he said.

They left the great hall, moved across the entry hall, beneath the overhanging staircase, and turned right into another corridor. Several yards along its length, they reached a pair of swinging walnut doors set to their left. Barrett pushed one in and peered inside. "The theater," he said.

They went inside, reacting to the musty smell. The theater was designed to seat a hundred people, its walls covered with an antique red brocade, its sloping, three-aisled floor with thick red carpeting. On the stage, gilded Renaissance columns flanked the screen, and s.p.a.ced along the walls were silver candelabra wired for electricity. The seats were custom-made, upholstered with wine-red velvet.

"Just how wealthy was was Belasco?" Edith asked. Belasco?" Edith asked.

"I believe he left in excess of seven million dollars when he died," Barrett answered.

"Died?" said Fischer. He held open one of the doors.

"If there's anything you care to tell us..." Barrett said as he stepped into the corridor.

"What's to tell? The house tried to kill me; it almost succeeded."

Barrett looked as though he meant to speak. Then he changed his mind and peered down the corridor. "I think that staircase leads down to the pool and steam room," he said. "No point in going there until the electricity's on." He limped across the corridor and opened a heavy wooden door.

"What is it?" Edith asked.

"Looks like a chapel."

"A chapel? chapel?" Florence looked appalled. As she neared the door, she started making sounds of apprehension in her throat. Edith glanced at her uneasily.

"Miss Tanner?" Barrett said.

She didn't answer. Almost to the door, she held back.

"Better not," said Fischer.

Florence shook her head. "I must." She began to enter.

With a faint, involuntary cry, she shrank back. Edith started. "What is is it?" Florence was unable to reply. She sucked in breath and shook her head with tiny movements. Barrett put his hand on Edith's arm. She looked at him and saw his lips frame the words, "It's all right." it?" Florence was unable to reply. She sucked in breath and shook her head with tiny movements. Barrett put his hand on Edith's arm. She looked at him and saw his lips frame the words, "It's all right."

"I can't go in," Florence said, as though apologizing. "Not now, anyway." She swallowed. "The atmosphere is more than I can bear."

"We'll only be a moment," Barrett told her.

Florence nodded, turning away.

As she went inside the chapel, Edith braced herself, expecting a shock of some kind. Feeling nothing, she turned to Lionel in confusion, started to speak, then waited until they were apart from Fischer. "Why couldn't she come in?" she whispered then.

"Her system is attuned to psychic energy," Barrett explained. "Obviously it's very strong in here."

"Why here?"

"Contrast, perhaps. A church in h.e.l.l; that sort of thing."

Edith nodded, glancing back at Fischer. "Why doesn't it bother him?" she asked.

"Perhaps he knows how to protect himself better than she does."

Edith nodded again, stopping as Lionel did to look around the low-ceilinged chapel. There were wooden pews for fifty people. In front was an altar; above it, glinting in the candlelight, a life-size, flesh-colored figure of Jesus on the cross.

"It looks looks like a chapel," she started to say, breaking off in shock as she saw that the figure of Jesus was naked, an enormous phallus jutting upward from between the legs. She made a sound of revulsion, staring at the obscene crucifix. The air seemed suddenly thick, coagulating in her throat. like a chapel," she started to say, breaking off in shock as she saw that the figure of Jesus was naked, an enormous phallus jutting upward from between the legs. She made a sound of revulsion, staring at the obscene crucifix. The air seemed suddenly thick, coagulating in her throat.