The String of Pearls (1850), p. 303

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 church, the windows had been liberally opened, which had afforded the means of ingress to the
pigeons, who, no doubt, would have slumbered soundly enough until morning, if not disturbed by the arrival of the party at the church. As Sir Richard Blunt
retraced his steps, he passed the pew where the Lord Mayor was; and willing to punish that functionary for his cowardice, he said, in a well-affected voice of
alarm—
"Gracious Heaven! what will become of us?"
With a groan, the Lord Mayor flopped down to the floor of the pew, and there he lay, crouching under one of the seats in such an agony of terror, that
Sir Richard felt certain he and the others would be able to transact all the business they came about, before he would venture to move from that place of
concealment. The magistrate speedily informed the reat of the party what was the cause of the alarm, and likewise hinted the position of the Lord Mayor,
upon which the secretary said—
"Let him be. Of course, as a matter of courtesy, I was obliged to write to him upon the subject; but we are as well, and perhaps better without him."
"I am of the same opinion," said Sir Richard.
They now went at once to the vestry, and ttt o good lanterns were then procured, and lit. The magistrate at once led the way to the stone that had been
raised by the workmen, in the floor of the church, and which had never been effectually fastened down again. In a corner, where no one was likely to look,
Sir Richard placed his hand for a crow-bar which he knew to be there, and, having found it, he quickly raised the stone on one side. The other gentlemen
lent their assistance, and it was turned fairly over, having exposed the steps that led down to the vaults of old St Dunstan's church.
"Let us descend at once," said the secretary, who, to tell the truth, in the whole affair, showed no lack of personal courage.
"Allow me to precede you, gentlemen," said Sir Richard Blunt; "and you, Mr. Villimay, will, perhaps, bring up the rear."
"Yes, oh, yes," said the churchwarden, with some degree of nervousness, but he was quite a hero compared to the Lord Mayor.
Sir Richard handed one of the lanterns, then, to Mr. Villimay, and took the other himself. Without another moment's delay, then, he began the descent.
They could all, as they went, feel conscious that there was certainly a most unearthly smell in the vaults—a smell which, considering the number of years
that had elapsed since any interments had taken place in them, was perfectly unaccountable. As they proceeded, this stench became more and more sickening, and the secretary said, as he held a handekerchief to his mouth and nose—
"The Bishop of London spoke to me of this, but I really thought he was exaggerating.''
"It would be difficult to do that," said Sir Richard. "It is as bad almost