All Chapters of Beatrice Beecham's Cryptic Crypt: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

CHAPTER TENClutterbuck and Postlethwaite InvestigateGeorge Beecham made his way into the parlour whilst working his way through the post. A wad of large envelopes was held securely under one arm as he rifled through several smaller ones in his hands. With the shop being busy during the week, he tended to leave Saturday’s post until Sunday morning, giving him ample time to address any pressing matters.‘If bills were paycheques we’d be millionaires,’ he said to Maureen as he sat down at the kitchen table.‘We’re not doing too badly,’ she smiled, placing a mug of tea in front of him and kissing the top of his balding head. ‘Things have been worse.’‘Indeed they have,’ Mr Beecham said softly and sipped his tea. He smacked his lips. ‘Nice brew, love. Almost as good as the one Thomas brought us in bed earlier. Well, what I managed to salvage after I dropped it in shock.’‘It’s going to take a few washes to get the tea stain out of the duvet.’‘Look on the bright side,’ George Beech

CHAPTER TWELVEThe Cryptic CryptSt. Norman’s Church occupied a space in a small, sedate part of town, not too far away from the library. It was hidden amongst large oak trees and weeping willows, and several dense thickets peppered with bright yellow flowers. The building was made up of a high bell-tower with squared walls and a flat, featureless roof which butted up to a long narrow structure, housing the main hall, giving it the appearance of a clumsy letter “L” that had fallen over on its back.To the left of the horizontal structure was a small cemetery with many headstones, each covered with green moss and lichen, and leaning on the undulating landscape like the misshapen molars of some giant stone ogre. And it was through these tombstones that Patience Userkaf and Elmo hastily made their way, eager to get to the church before the sun shut up shop for the day.‘Why us?’ Patience muttered. ‘That’s all I have to say.’‘If only that was true,’ Elmo said.‘Sorry?’ Patience said

CHAPTER FOURTEENWolf at the DoorIf Miller’s garden was a tangled hotchpotch of junk, inside the shack was three times worse. There were spindly chairs blocking the narrow hallway, the boys having to navigate around them before finding themselves in a large living space littered with newspapers and magazines. Here and there buckets had been strategically placed to catch rainwater from the creaking, buckled roof. A table in the middle of the room appeared as though it would collapse if so much as a glass of milk were placed on it, and a small camping bed was under the large window, piled high with coarse, crumpled sheets and blankets.To Lucas it felt as though he was in the belly of a pirate’s galleon; one that had been peppered with Royal Navy cannon balls and was a hairsbreadth away from sinking below the waves. The wooden walls were warped and split, deep grooves in the grain giving the unsavoury impression of bloated veins.Over in a corner, lying on a coarse, grey blanket, Wo

CHAPTER SIXTEENTime nor TideMaud struggled against her seatbelt.‘Trussed up like a kipper,’ she groaned. ‘Never saw that comin’ when I woke up this mornin’.’‘Don’t worry, Maud,’ Albert said unclipping his belt. ‘I’ll have you out of there in a jiffy.’‘Me hero.’ Maud grinned. ‘Who said men are good fer nowt most of the time?’‘I think that was you, wasn’t it?’‘Ye know somethin’, ye might be spot on.’‘Yes,’ Albert said positioning himself so he could assist Maud’s escape from her confined and indignant position. ‘Good job I ignore such rubbish.’‘Aye, ye’re a good un, no doubt about it,’ Maud conceded, patting him on the arm.‘Don't you be going soft on me now, Maud,’ Albert said working on the seatbelt mechanism which appeared stuck.‘Me? Nah,’ Maud said. ‘It’s this blood rushin’ to me noggin.’‘Well, I’m working on it,’ Albert grimaced as he yanked on the seatbelt clip.‘Hold up, Albert,’ Maud said, her nose wrinkling suddenly. ‘Ye smellin’ that?’Albert sniffed th

CHAPTER EIGHTEENMarch of the CadetsDennis Hodges woke with a start, his head pounding fiercely.‘Dear Lord, stop yer drummin’ in me noggin',’ he said to the ceiling. A cool breeze whipped across his face, and he relished the moment. Then he heard the rumble of thunder.‘Couldn’t ’ave shut me bedroom window,’ he said, opening an eye. Then he saw the black, nebulous clouds overhead. ‘Couldn’t ’ave made it home, either.’After helping Albert and Maud load the transmitters into the back of the Metro, Dennis had decided to treat himself to a Cinder’s Cider or two. Problem was, when Hodges talked about two, he usually meant jugs. In a way, he felt it was a minor celebration given that the immediate danger had passed with the transmitters now safely in their possession.He risked sitting up, his hands grasping the surface supporting his large frame. He felt wooden slats against his palms; recognising where he was immediately since he often found his way to this place when out on a nig