The Empty Coffins by John Russell Fearn

Timperley—remained undisturbed throughout the time I was here. I stood in the chapel porch over there, where I could see both graves—”
    â€œIn the dark?” Peter interrupted.
    â€œIt is never entirely dark in an open space, my friend. The departure or entry of the occupant of either grave would have been visible because of the white shroud each would be wearing. There was no such manifestation.”
    â€œWe’ve only your word for it,” Meadows said. “Personally I’m not at all satisfied with your be­haviour, Singh. That you came here by yourself is at least—suspicious.”
    â€œIs it?” Singh gave his slow smile. “Do you believe that that I perhaps arranged for Elsie Malden to leave her resting place?”
    â€œJust what are we to think?” Peter demanded. “The fact remains that Elsie would not leave her grave by daylight. The only time she could have departed was in the interval when you say nothing happened. And those two dead men in the lane are proof that she must have become a vampire.”
    â€œYou are sure it was not George Timperley?” Singh enquired.
    â€œCertain. He’s back in his coffin.”
    â€œStrange,” the mystic mused. “Very strange.”
    â€œNo more strange than your remarks and behav­iour,” Meadows said. “Where have you been during the interval? We lost track of you after those two men were found in the lane.”
    There was a queer light in Singh’s eyes as he looked down into the grave.
    â€œI busied myself doing something which all of you gentlemen neglected to do. I looked for ev­idences of the attacker.”
    â€œEvidences?” Peter repeated. “What need was there for that? Weren’t those two blood-drained corpses sufficient evidence in themselves?”
    â€œNot altogether. I had the wish to discover some sign of the creature, or object, which had so ruthlessly slain them. I was successful. For­tunately the night is wet and footprints are clearly visible. In the clayey soil at the side of the lane, not far from your car, doctor, I found signs of heavy boots. Two sets—one belong­ing to a smallish man, and the other to a much bigger person.”
    This sudden material discovery in the midst of the supernatural gave Peter a decided mental jolt.
    He looked up at Singh fixedly.
    â€œDo you mean,” Meadows asked deliberately, “that you think ordinary human beings attacked those two poor devils?”
    â€œI consider there is that possibility,” Singh replied. “I expected to find the naked footprints of a woman—but there were none. Only these foot­prints of two men, going up the bank into the field beyond.”
    â€œAnd then where?” Peter asked quickly.
    â€œI lost them in the grass,” Singh answered, impassive again.
    Dr. Meadows became thoughtful. “This may throw a new light on things.” he said. “It makes me think of something poor Mrs. Burrows once said— ­You remember, Peter, when she asked me did I think that perhaps a maniac was at work, making every­thing look as though a vampire were the cause?”
    â€œI remember,” Peter assented. “But no human agency could account for Elsie leaving her coffin. And what about George Timperley? He didn’t only leave his coffin: he returned to it! I just can’t see any criminal being responsible for things like that.”
    â€œOn the other hand, spirits do not wear size seven and nine boots,” Singh commented.
    â€œI’d like to see those prints,” Meadows decided. “We had better return this coffin and grave to nor­mal and then perhaps you won’t mind showing me what you’ve discovered?”
    â€œWith pleasure,” Singh murmured, and from there on he did not pass any comment. He assisted in the task of re-closing the grave and when it was done, to the point of the wreaths being back in