Mid-afternoon, armed with a cordless Bosch drill driver, the bits, his tool bag and protective eyewear, Kingston went to the house to meet Jamie. While waiting for her to get ready, he called Ferguson to tell him about their find but couldn’t reach him. He left a message saying he had some very important news about the chapel and would call back later. He signed off saying, ‘You won’t believe it, Roger. It’s awesome.’
Shortly after four, they took off for the catacombs.
Kingston lined up the drill bit as he’d been instructed all those years ago. On his first attempt, the bit skidded off the hard surface, chattering against the steel door. Next time he applied more pressure and the bit started to eat its way through the escutcheon, sprinkling fine shavings to the floor. Jamie stood by watching, saying nothing.
Kingston took a brief rest to cool the drill and bit and started drilling again. In less than a minute he felt the drill bit clear the lock and spin freely. He took a hesitant glance at Jamie then pushed open the door. With Jamie holding the lamp, they entered. The room was much larger than Kingston had anticipated, twice the size of either of the other two rooms. Built-in furniture covered the surrounding walls. Facing them was a desk with drawers and lower cupboards on either side. Deep worktables ran the length of the walls on the left and right. Below the tables were horizontal rows of shallow map drawers. Above the work surface, the walls were covered with a grid of vertical wooden racks like those used in framing and art shops. All of them were empty. It was obvious what the shelves were designed to contain—almost certainly, paintings.
Jamie had started to open cupboards and pull out drawers. From where he was standing, Kingston could see that they, too, were empty. Ryder or somebody had obviously done a good job cleaning the place out. There was hardly a speck of dirt to be seen anywhere. As he stood there, looking around the empty room, the hollow feeling that had seized him earlier came back. This time it didn’t go away. He knew this last room was where their search must end. It was as if Ryder was taunting him from the grave. He had to face it, either the paintings were here or there were none. It was as easy as that.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Jamie, softly.
Kingston snapped out of his thoughts. ‘I know,’he said. ‘I was so certain that this was it.’
‘I know you don’t want to give up, Lawrence, but it looks like we have no other choice. Do we?’
He summoned a disheartened smile. ‘You’re right. I don’t think we do.’
Jamie had put the lamp on the floor while she took off her wool cap and tousled her hair. ‘To be honest, Lawrence, I’ll be glad to get out of here. I’m beginning to feel a little claustrophobic. God knows how those monks could stay down here for long.’
Around them, a wide circle of light illuminated the flagstone floor. As Kingston bent down to pick up the lamp, he couldn’t miss seeing the horizontal crevice between the stones at his feet. He moved the lamp to his left and followed the crevice where it took a right angle away from him, continued for another five feet or so then took another right angle turn. Holding the lamp slightly higher, he could now see that the crevice formed a uniform rectangle.
Jamie had seen it, too, and bent down next to him. ‘What do you think?’ she said.
Kingston was already prising between the stones with one of the tools of the Swiss army knife from his tool bag.
‘There’s something underneath here—a trapdoor most likely,’ he grunted, trying loosen the stone. ‘These stones are meant to be raised,’he said.
Once the first flagstone was removed, the others came out easily. When the last stone came out, they were looking at a rectangular wooden trapdoor. It was locked in place on two sides by swivel iron brackets. Recessed in its centre was a circular black iron handle. Kingston rotated the brackets, put three fingers in the handle and, straining audibly, lifted the heavy trapdoor. Jamie helped him move it aside on to the floor.
Kingston held the lamp over the opening revealing a wooden ladder that disappeared into the hole. ‘Hand me the flashlight, Jamie,’ he said, leaning over the opening. He took it from her and shone it down in a circular motion. ‘Looks like a storage area. Not very big.’ He handed her back the flashlight. ‘I’ll go down and take a look. Hand me the lamp when I get on the ladder.’
Gripping the lamp carefully, he reached the bottom rung and looked around. The room was no more than twelve feet in either direction, the ceiling barely an inch above Kingston’s head. The walls were stone and he saw at a glance that the only way out was through the trapdoor.