ON occasion I have been invited to help the police with their inquiries. This has not been because of any wrongdoing on my part, but rather as the result of the insight, which God saw fit to bestow upon me, into the workings of the powers of evil.

I never considered myself unique in investigating what is now known as the paranormal. Many others have shed light on matters which baffled even the most experienced investigators. There was, for example, an acquaintance of mine, a lady who lived poorly at 1 Alice Street, Sunderland. The police frequently sought her advice, although no officer would ever admit to it. After her death, no-one ever lived in the house. If you go there now, you will find it has been knocked down and replaced by a bed of wretched, spindly shrubs, awash with paper litter and surrounded by those coloured bricks which they use everywhere today. The rest of the street remains, as far as I know, intact.

Even the people we help regard us investigators of the unusual with some suspicion. I can understand why, and perhaps you can understand a little of why we keep ourselves to ourselves most of the time.

One case occurred in the summer of 1953. The date sticks in my mind because it was Coronation year. Rationing was almost finished and we were all looking forward to a new Elizabethan Age. The whole country seemed to be decorated with flags and bunting and I had just moved to a new parish in a village in Northwest Durham, where I ministered to farm workers, "pitmen", to use the local term then in common use, and steelworkers.

I had decided to take a few days off to visit an old doctor friend who lived in a beautiful village in the Yorkshire Dales. I had a competent curate who was very popular, not least with some of the young ladies of the village, though I rather think they were more attracted by his good looks and the fact that he was single, than by his abilities as a clergyman.

One Tuesday morning in early August, I packed the luggage boot of my latest acquisition, a 1951 Ford Consul Mark 1, and set off for the Great North Road which would take me south into Yorkshire.

I enjoyed driving that car. It was a world away from my old Ford 8. Three-speed column change, independent suspension which gave the impression you were floating on air, and so quiet, as well as fast!

It was a glorious, sunny day, one of the few, I seem to recall, in that wet summer, and it was good to be alive. At Leeming Bar I turned right and through those little communities blessed with names which are pure poetry: Bedale, Great and Little Crakehall, Patrick Brompton, Constable Burton and finally into Leyburn where I took a small side road to my friend's village.

Just over three miles from the centre of Leyburn, I entered Fiskerby, a farming hamlet of fewer than seventy souls. Away from the centre of the village, set back from the main road, lay Fiskerby Hall. I turned the Consul into the gravel drive, lined with mature laurel and beech hedging, and drove through about a hundred yards of woodland up to the front door of the big, though somewhat shabby, Victorian mansion.

A small springer spaniel dashed from out of nowhere and ran up to the car, forcing me to brake sharply. Dr. William Ponton came striding behind the dog.

"James, my dear fellow!" he beamed. "Welcome! Welcome!"

"Good morning, Bill, and er - ?" I replied, looking down at the dog who was busily snuffling around my feet in the way that spaniels do.

"Jack!" replied my friend.

"Good morning to you, Jack," I continued, and the dog scuttled back towards the house, barking madly.

"Wants his bickies, don't you, boy?" laughed Bill, "but I'm forgetting my manners! Come in, come in! Maudie's been baking all weekend. Come in and have a cup of tea and some home-made biscuits."

We went inside and Bill's wife, Maud, had a small side table set with a willow - patterned china tea service. She took a muslin cloth away, revealing a huge plate of scones and biscuits.

"Bill, haven't you even taken James's coat?" she said despairingly.

"Sorry, old chap," replied Bill. " I'm forgetting my manners again!"

My coat was duly taken and my luggage, such as it was, deposited in the hallway.

"Help yourself to whatever you like," smiled Maud.

Jack came tumbling in and sat begging.

"Never feed a dog from the table!" I admonished.

"I know you shouldn't, but who can resist those eyes?" smiled Maud, as she threw the spaniel a huge, chocolate-covered biscuit.

They both laughed.

"Now that the children are at university, it's nice to have some life about the place," said Bill.

The house was cool and dark in contrast to the hot, sunny day outside.

"Fancy a walk around the place before lunch?" he continued.

"Yes. It's a glorious day and we don't seem to have had many of those this summer," I replied.

"Coronation Day was an absolute washout," said Maud, "such a shame after all the preparations, but didn't the Queen do well, and Queen Salote too?"

"We were there, weren't we, dear?" said Bill. "Did you manage to get to London, James?"

"No. I watched it on television."

"Really?" said Maud with some surprise. "Have you a television set?"

"No," I smiled, "I bought my car this year. It's only two years old. I can't afford a set at the moment. No, my curate borrowed one from a friend who was going to London. He rigged up an aerial and we had some parishioners round. Most of them hadn't seen a television before and I must say I think it's a marvellous thing to be able to watch pictures of events in London as they're happening."

"We had thought about getting a set," said Bill, "but I still think they're a bit expensive, and we do like the wireless."

"If you're both finished," said Maud, "you can take Jack for a walk, and James can see the village."

Bill and I needed no further bidding. The sun was burning and there was hardly a cloud in the bright blue sky.

We strode out of the gate, turned left, and along the grass verge of the narrow road which led into the centre of the village. Jack was having a whale of a time following the scents of the hedgerow, the leaves of which were by now a dark green and eaten in places by the various forms of life which buzzed or crawled around the place.

"You're a lucky man, Bill, living in a place as lovely as this," I said.

"Aren't I just! I bought the hall for a snip seven years ago. It was in a devil of a state. The army had used it during the war. Officers' quarters apparently. We've done a lot of work to it since then, but there's still a lot more to do."

"How's business?" I asked.

"Good," he answered, "I've a widespread practice, but it's a rewarding one. Very self-reliant, the farming community and very generous with butter, eggs, milk, chickens and so on."

"Do you still play chess?" I asked, for not only was my friend a fanatic of the game, but could probably have become a master of some sort if he had had less to do as a doctor.

"As a matter of fact, one of my patients is a real grand master, James," he enthused. "Czechoslovakian. Came over in 1939 when he saw what old Hitler was up to. Parachuted back in to help the Czech resistance. God knows what he was involved with. Speaks almost perfect English; you'd hardly know he was a foreigner."

"Sounds an interesting man," I offered.

"I'm glad you think so, James," smiled my companion, "he's invited us both to dinner tonight."

"What about Maud?"

"Oh, she's got a meeting of the W. I. in the church hall. It's the height of the jam-making season, you know. I think we'll be better off with Stanislaus Macek and his chess sets."

"Sets?"

"He collects them," answered my friend. "Has some pretty rare ones from all over the world. Probably worth a packet."

Suddenly we were startled by a loud yelping and whining from Jack.

"What's the matter boy?" asked Bill with some concern.

He went into the hedge to have a closer look.

"It's a hedgehog," he laughed, grabbing Jack's collar and dragging him out onto the grass verge. "That'll teach you to be so inquisitive," he continued, rubbing the dog's head in his hands.

We walked on, watching a couple of curlews putting on a display of aerobatics and filling the air with their plaintive, liquid-sounding cries. Jack was soon back to his old nosy and excitable self. I spoke aloud the thought I'd had earlier in the day.

"It's good to be alive on a day like this," I said.

"It certainly is," said Bill.

After tea, Bill saw some people in the surgery he held in one of the big rooms off the main entrance hall. At about seven o'clock, the surgery finished. We left Maud, who was preparing for her meeting, and again walked through the centre of the village in the direction of Bellerby. After about three hundred yards, I noticed a big detached house standing in its own grounds on the right hand side of the road.

"That's Stanislaus's place," announced Bill. "It's an old farmhouse, dating from the 1700's, jolly interesting place too."

We turned into the gateway which had nothing left of its original iron gates.

"Taken away for the war effort," observed Bill.

We walked up the short, rather overgrown drive, up three stone steps, and rang the doorbell. The door was opened by a middle-aged woman. Her black hair was held back in a tight bun. Over her plain black dress was a perfectly white starched pinafore.

"Good evening, Edith," said Bill.

The woman smiled a warm greeting.

"Evening, Doctor. Come in, both of you."

"This is Mr. Newton-Hall, Edith, an old friend of mine. He's staying with us for a few days. And this," he said to me, "is Edith Bramley, the wife of Enoch Bramley, one of our most prominent villagers. Their farm's the one you passed just a hundred yards before you turned into my place. Edith cooks for Stanislaus and does a bit of cleaning."

"And believe me, he sometimes takes some looking after," sighed Edith.

"D'yer know, I do believe he wouldn't eat or sleep for days on end sometimes, especially when he's engrossed in one of his blessed chess games. I wouldn't care, but he plays himself most of the time."

"That's because he's so good, Edith," observed Bill.

"So he can make sure he always wins more like," said Edith, drily.

Just then a door opened on one side of the hallway and out stepped a man who didn't look a day over forty, and yet his abundant, curly hair was a white as snow. He was of medium height and slim, though wiry, and I remembered his wartime job. He looked as though he had seen much of life.

"Greetings," he smiled as he advanced to shake my hand with a firm grip. "Now this must be James Newton-Hall."

"It is indeed," I replied. "Pleased to meet you."

"Stanislaus," smiled our host. "Welcome! Welcome both of you. Dinner's ready. I think you'll find Edith's done us proud, as usual."

"Flattery'll get you everywhere, Mr. Macek," smiled Edith. "I've set everything out in the dining-room and you can have coffee in the study if you like. Don't bother about the washing up. I'll do it in the morning. Now, I'd better get home to that husband of mine. He needs feeding as well, you know."

Stanislaus was right. Edith had done us proud. There was vegetable soup, followed by a selection of pies with perfectly - cooked vegetables, not too soggy, as I recall, and a wonderful fresh fruit salad.

"Red wine all right for everyone?" enquired our host.

We both agreed that it was, though I'd never been much of a wine drinker, through lack of opportunity mainly, having spent my early years in a virtually teetotal family.

I ate and drank more than was usual for me and was feeling very content with life when Stanislaus suggested we retire to the study, where the coffee pot kept warm on a small electric hotplate.

"Do you play chess, James?" asked Stanislaus.

"I played at school a little, but not since."

He seemed slightly disappointed.

"You've failed your first test, I'm afraid, James," laughed Bill. "Stanislaus here was hoping for a bit more opposition than I can give him."

"Take no notice of him, James. He's quite a player himself and I really don't take offence if someone doesn't play," laughed Stanislaus.

" I'll bet you wouldn't mind having a look at some of the sets Stanislaus has though, James. If you appreciate fine workmanship, and I know you do, you'll not be disappointed," said Bill.

"Yes, I'd like to have a look," I agreed, "and you're right, I do like to see well-made things, whether they're pieces of furniture, machinery."

But I got no further, for Bill let out a cackle of mirth.

"James is as fanatical on cars and machines as you are on chess, Stanislaus," he went on. "You're two of a kind. You ought to get on famously together."

" I'm sure we shall," I said.

Stanislaus brought out four of his chess sets while we had coffee, and beautiful examples they were.

"You were right about the workmanship, Bill," I said. "These are works of art."

There was one made of whalebone by French prisoners of war from the time of Napoleon, another from India which was of minutely-carved ivory, and two of expertly-worked hardwood from China.

"They must be worth a fortune," I observed.

"Priceless," smiled Stanislaus, "every one of them, and a tribute to their makers' skill. But there is another, which I show only to very special friends, and seeing as I'm with special friends tonight, I'll go and collect it from its special home."

He rose and walked over to one of the two walls of the study which were lined with bookshelves, made of what looked like oak. Standing on a footstool, he carefully took out five or six volumes from one of the higher shelves and laid them carefully to one side.

"Now you know where the safe is," he smiled.

"Handy if we're ever short of a bob or two," quipped Bill.

Stanislaus opened the safe and, with great care, removed a chessboard. He stepped down and folded it out onto the green-leather inlaid mahogany writing-desk. It was a huge, folding board, cleverly and with the most intricate workmanship, made in four pieces, each held together with concealed hinges.

"Three feet, seven and a half inches square," he said in a low tone which reflected his reverence for the thing.

"Turkish?" I said. "Or Arab?"

"It is said that it was made somewhere in the Middle East about the time of the Third Crusade, the one in which your Richard the Lionheart was engaged."

The board was truly a work of art. Sky-blue and sand-coloured squares replaced the usual black and white. I tapped one of each.

"Surely these are made of very thin slices of stone?" I said.

"That's right," beamed Stanislaus, "the blue represents the sky over the desert and the yellow, the sand of the desert itself. And the dividing lines between the squares, as you can probably see, are mother-of-pearl."

"Magnificent," whispered Bill.

"Wait until you see the pieces," smiled Stanislaus, returning to the footstool. He removed first one ivory box and then another from the safe. Opening one, he began to lay out the chessmen, each of which was modelled on a Crusader. The castles were fairly conventional, though made of grey stone, but every other piece was so lifelike, that when they were all in their places, I felt that inward shudder which has only ever assailed me when in the presence of something unpleasant.

Each pawn was an individual footsoldier, so realistic that you might have sworn he was a living being in miniature. The bishops, the king, queen and knights were carved in similar detail.

"They're incredible!" breathed Bill. "If I didn't know better, I'd say they were real people, only in miniature!"

Stanislaus was obviously pleased.

"Now look at the Saracens," he smiled.

The Turkish army was just as finely made, though there were some differences between them and the European figures. Castles were replaced by minarets and knights by men wielding scimitars. The king was a Saladin-like figure and the queen had her face covered in the Muslim fashion.

"Just as realistic!" enthused Bill. "How the devil can anyone, no matter how skilled he is, carve anything so lifelike? Each one looks just like a real person who's been…"

He didn't seem to be able to find the words.

"Shrunk?" asked Stanislaus.

"Yes," Bill seemed rather at a loss. "As a doctor, I've never seen anything like it, unless it's been a real person!"

I felt a growing sense of unease, for I couldn't take my eyes from the chessmen.

"And you, James?" enquired our host.

"Perfect," I replied, and I almost added "too perfect".

"Where did you get them?"

"Prague, just after the war," he replied. "Took them from a German officer who'd looted them from a Jewish family before murdering them. We shot him, of course," he added, matter-of-factly. " I love them, but one day I'd really like to trace any surviving members of the family of the original owners. I've been in contact with the Israeli Embassy, but so far they've drawn a blank."

"Do you know anything about the set, who made it, where, when, anything at all?" I asked. I had ceased to enjoy the evening.

"I'll let you read about it for yourself," he replied.

Again he went to the bookshelves and took down a weighty tome.

"Have a look at this!" he exclaimed triumphantly. "An Encyclopaedia of Chess, published in 1925."

He put the great book on the table and opened it.

"Read this, Bill?" he invited my friend.

Bill read aloud.

"The Saladin Trio," he began. "A set of three chess sets, carved in the most lifelike manner during the time of the Third Crusade, on the orders, it is said, of Saladin himself. Legend has it that the three sets were blessed by the holiest Muslims of the day and sent as presents to their Christian enemies. It was assumed that the arrogance of the Christians meant that they would always want the Crusaders to win the game. A curse was put on each set which said that, whenever white, that is the Crusaders, won, the person playing white would die, thus ensuring the death of as many Christians as possible."

"Ingenious!" exclaimed Stanislaus. "Don't you agree, James?"

" It certainly is," I agreed, and I remember forcing a smile, which I really didn't feel inside.

"There's more," continued Bill. "Listen to this! According to an ancient legend, Saladin asked for volunteers from his own army, some of his best men, to die in a Jihad, or Holy War against the Christian invaders, the war to last as long as it took Islam to triumph. They took an equal number of Christian prisoners. Good God!"

"What is it?" I asked, somewhat involuntarily, for the feeling of oppression was growing even as he read.

"Well, it goes on to say that the volunteers and prisoners alike were put to the sword, the knights' horses as well..."

"And the women?" I interrupted.

"Presumably," continued Bill. "Anyway, they were, according to this, put to the sword. The bodies were taken away by magicians and shrunk to make three chess sets! Fascinating!"

"What about the castles?" I asked.

"Doesn't say anything about them," he replied. "Can't have built castles and minarets just to shrink them, though. Must have actually carved them from stone."

Stanislaus laughed.

"Don't get too carried away, Bill," he chortled. "It's only a legend."

"Good story, though," continued my friend, "and there's more. Later on, each set found its way into the Christian world. One was owned by the kings of France: it was known to have been used by Louis the Sixteenth on occasions after being locked away by his predecessors. After his death, the Revolutionaries ordered it destroyed. Even those atheists were superstitious enough to want rid of it."

"Can't say I blame them," I said.

"Read on, Bill," laughed Stanislaus. "I can tell you're enjoying yourself."

"Well, it says here that they decided to send it out to sea on a ship called the Terrible. She sailed from La Rochelle on a calm day in June of 1793. There was only a slight breeze, so she moved quite slowly. When she was still only about five miles out, and being watched by many on the shore, she began to roll and shudder as though in a violent storm, even though the sea was flat calm. Then she rolled over and sank without a trace, apart from some small pieces of wreckage."

"And with her went the first of the Saladin Trio," added Stanislaus.

"Shall I read on, or would someone else like a go?" asked Bill.

"Carry on, Bill, you're doing well," smiled our host.

I felt rather conscious of saying very little and hoped Stanislaus wouldn't think me uninterested, but I felt a cloying atmosphere in the room which I was sure wasn't only the result of good food and wine. The oppression was now an almost physical presence and yet neither of my companions seemed to sense it. Bill read on.

"Another of the sets was known to be in St. Petersburg in the nineteenth century. Bought by the Romanov family, it eventually found its way into the treasured possessions of the last Tsar, Nicholas II, that's the one who was butchered, along with his family after the Revolution. The end of another Christian dynasty, eh?"

"What happened to that one?" I found myself saying.

"No mention of it since, according to this," continued Bill. "No-one has ever admitted finding it and when asked about it in casual conversation by an American Congressman during the war, Stalin denied all knowledge, even though all the Tsar's possessions were thoroughly catalogued."

"And the third set?" I asked.

"Last recorded in, of all places, Afghanistan in the 1830's by Muslim travellers working from British India. Christians took their lives in their hands going to Afghanistan in those days, of course, liable to end up with your head on a pole."

"Or having it used as the ball in a game of polo," I observed.

"Exactly," continued Bill. "Well, as you probably remember from your Indian History at school, James, though not you, Stanislaus, the British sent an army into Afghanistan in 1838 to protect their candidate for king against assassination by the Russian candidate. Three years later, the Afghans rose and 16,000 British, including 4,000 soldiers had to get out of there and back to India through the Khyber Pass. All the women and children were made prisoners by the Afghans, and of the others only one man, a Doctor Brydon, reached India. All the others had been wiped out on the way."

"Another defeat for the Christians," observed Stanislaus.

"What happened to the chess set?" I asked.

"It was given shortly afterwards to the Sultan of Turkey, who in turn gave it to the Austrian Ambassador, in the hope that he would try to persuade his government to help against the Russians in the Crimean War. Unfortunately for him, Austria stayed out of the war, so he wasted his time," ended Bill.

"And modern Czechoslovakia used to be part of the old Austro - Hungarian Empire, so that's how it ended up with me," said Stanislaus.

"Are you absolutely sure that this set is one of the Saladin Trio?" I asked, and immediately regretted such a question in the face of what appeared to be overwhelming evidence.

"It gets my vote," replied Bill.

"I'm convinced," concurred Stanislaus.

And I felt rather stupid, though no easier in my mind. Looking back, I think I was hoping that this wasn't one of those sets, because of that claustrophobic atmosphere which I sensed was in danger of overwhelming me completely. Yet how could I leave such a hospitable gathering without seeming churlish?

"Pick up one or two of the pieces," offered Stanislaus.

Bill took him at his word and admired some of the figures, both Muslim and Christian.

"It's amazing. They even feel lifelike. They're real! What the devil can they be made of?" My friend was incredulous. "Here, James, have a closer look."

He handed me a Turkish pawn. It was a Saracen soldier, about three inches high. I dropped it immediately on the writing desk and pulled my hand away.

"Sorry, so sorry," I apologised profusely, "so clumsy of me."

Yet my heart pounded and I had that familiar hollow feeling in the pit of the stomach which I always get when I'm frightened. I had imagined that the chessman had wriggled in my hand.

"Butterfingers! I think you cricketing types say," laughed Stanislaus. "Don't worry, they've all been dropped many times over the past eight hundred years or so and look at the condition they're in," he continued.

It was true. I hadn't thought of it in those terms, but these figures and their board were in the same condition you would have expected if they'd been made yesterday. Not a chip, flake of paint, not a blemish of any description. It was so wonderful, it was uncanny.

"Here, try one of the Christians," said Bill, handing me one of the white knights. This time I was ready. I could feel myself, tense, flushing and sweating. I took the knight and grasped it firmly. There could be no mistake. It wriggled. This time I managed to deposit it onto the board, though unfortunately, it fell onto its side. Again I apologised.

"Look, I'm most dreadfully sorry, Stanislaus. I don't know what's got into me tonight."

"Too much of that excellent red wine I should think, old friend. Not used to it, eh?" smiled Bill.

"It must be," I replied, and I freely admit that the effects of the wine were making me rather sleepy.

"Well, it's after ten o'clock," yawned Bill, stretching, "and I've got to have a clear head for morning surgery. I suppose we'd better be on our way, Stanislaus."

"Very well, my friends," smiled our host. "I must say that the evening has flown by thanks to such stimulating company."

We rose from our seats and Stanislaus went out into the hall to collect our sports jackets, which he'd hung on the brass pegs. It was too hot for wearing anything heavier. He was away only a minute or two. I couldn't resist another look at the chess set. Had my unease been imagination or mere tiredness?

The pieces looked just as though they had been real people who had been shrunk by magicians all those years ago. They were magnificent, a real work of craftsmanship. I shuddered. Bill noticed.

"You all right, old man?" he enquired.

"Just a little tired, I think," I answered, rather weakly.

Stanislaus returned with our jackets.

"Here we are, gentlemen, and thank you for coming. It's been a most interesting evening," he said.

"Thank you for inviting us," I replied. "I can't remember when I enjoyed dinner more. You really must thank the cook. The food was splendid."

"It certainly was," added Bill, "but it's just what you'd expect from Edith. One of the stalwarts of the church and the Women's Institute."

"Of the whole village," said Stanislaus, "as well as a marvellous cook."

"And thanks also for letting me look at your chess sets. They really are very special, as well as precious," I said.

"It's nice to be able to show them to people who are so appreciative," smiled Stanislaus. "I hope you'll visit again when you're in the vicinity."

He opened the front door and we took our leave. It was a clear, moonless night, but the heavens seemed to have been dusted with millions of points of light. I've read since that August is one of the best months for the casual observer to see the stars and that night I could well have believed it. But it was the cool, fresh air which hit us in what to me seemed a great liberating wave. I felt free from something oppressing. I was obviously too quiet for my companion as we walked back through the village.

"Penny for your thoughts," said Bill after a few minutes of silence.

"I'm just enjoying the fresh air," I replied. "Sorry to be so dull."

"Come on, what's up?" he persisted.

"I don't know, Bill," I answered. "I honestly don't know if I'm just tired or if Stanislaus's house was a little too warm."

"Well, it is a warm evening and the meal was good, the wine strong and the conversation interesting. See what you feel like in the morning, though, for all that. I wouldn't like to think you didn't enjoy a few days off," he said.

"No chance of that," I replied, "I've only got until lunchtime on Friday and I intend to make full use of this beautiful countryside, especially if this fine weather holds."

"That's it," said my friend, "we'll get out as much as we can. Get a bit of walking in, eh? According to the chap on the wireless, it's going to be fine until at least the weekend."

We reached Fiskerby Hall just as Maud was making a huge pot of tea.

"You couldn't have timed things better, my dear," beamed Bill as we sank into a huge, enveloping armchair each. "Just what we need to send us into a deep, refreshing sleep. Although of course I'm perfectly aware that the stuff is full of caffeine which should keep us awake."

"Well, I don't know about James, but I've never known you need anything to help you sleep. Just the opposite in fact, James, most of the time it takes him all his time to stay awake, caffeine or no caffeine" replied Maud.

I don't know whether the tea had anything to do with it, but that night I quickly fell into a deep, dreamless slumber. Next morning dawned fine and warm and we put into practice our plans to get out and enjoy those glorious Dales. Thursday was exactly the same and, what with the weather, food, company and countryside, I cannot remember a holiday I enjoyed more.

Then, on Thursday night, it happened. Bill and I had been invited to supper by Stanislaus. Everything was fine until he insisted on taking out that wretched chess set. As soon as he'd put out all the pieces, the oppression of Tuesday evening came over me. This time it was accompanied by nausea as our host insisted on showing Bill a sequence of moves he'd worked out to help him overcome another player with whom he corresponded.

Bill stood, fascinated, as the plan unfolded. So engrossed were the two of them, that they failed to see my horror as I gazed at those horrible figures actually moving on the board! The horses stamped and whinnied, the footsoldiers shouted their battle cries, and I was unable either to look away, or speak, yet I seemed to be the only one who could see what was happening!

Bill decided to play the white crusaders and Stanislaus the Saracens. "I say, this is exciting," beamed Bill, "to think that Saladin himself had these figures made."

"Or shrunk, eh, James?" smiled Stanislaus in my direction.

They both had what struck me as an unkind joke at my expense, but I was unable to respond. Indeed, I found myself unable to speak or move from the chair. Unseen hands of iron seemed to push me down as I struggled to get out of that nauseating atmosphere. All I wanted to do was to run out into the fresh air and as far away from those hideous, evil little figures as I could go, but my eyes were drawn inevitably, to the action on the board.

The noise grew as Bill began to push Stanislaus towards defeat. The squares on the board seemed to disappear and be replaced by a shimmering golden light like a sunset in the desert.

I looked at the faces of the players. Stanislaus was sweating now and looking terrified. It was obvious that he was going to lose and he shook with fear, but it was the expression on Bill's face which shocked me. He looked like a demon! His eyes burned like hot coals and he grinned in mounting, triumphant glee as his opponent's misery deepened.

"Now I'll have my revenge for all those humiliations, Mr. Grand Master," he seemed to roar.

The noise from the chessboard was tremendous. This was no game, but a preparation for war!

"Prepare to charge!" thundered Bill. "It's almost checkmate!"

The horsemen seemed to grow in stature even as I looked on. The old superstition hammered away in my brain, "he who plays and loses will die!"

The clamour of battle filled the room. Suddenly, I found my voice.

"Bill!" I heard myself screaming. "Don't make that move!"

Suddenly, a great, invisible pair of hands seemed to be shaking my shoulders, and I heard Bill's voice.

"James!" he was shouting. "Wake up!"

I awoke in a sweat of terror. Thank God! It had been a nightmare.

The bright sunlight was streaming in through the windows and a sparrow chirped its monotonous song on the guttering above.

"A nightmare, old man," soothed Bill. "Come on, get yourself ready for breakfast. It's a glorious day and we'll be able to get in a bit of a walk before you leave."

I have never felt more relieved to wake up in the morning.

As Bill said, it was a glorious day. We walked one of his favourite routes which took in part of the old packhorse trails over the top of one of the valleys. For all the rain we seemed to have had that year, the usually fast-flowing rivers were reduced to little more than trickles and the exposed stones in their beds were bleached white by the sun.

"Bit of a nightmare last night?" enquired Bill, as we rested at the head of a small beck.

"Yes," I replied, and I did feel rather foolish in the light of such a beautiful day.

"We've had a lot of that sort of thing in recent years, chaps remembering the war and so on," he went on.

"It was nothing to do with that," I said.

"I see."

It was obvious that he wanted to know more and I felt as though I was being deliberately uncooperative. I decided that I owed him an explanation.

"All right," I said, "the nightmare was about that wretched chess set."

"I knew it," he exclaimed triumphantly. "I knew the other night that you didn't care for it. Your mood changed as soon as Stanislaus set the men out."

"Do you think he noticed?" I asked, anxiously. "I wouldn't like him to get the impression I was rude or disinterested."

"I don't know. Perhaps he thought you were just a bit tired," replied Bill.

"So you dreamt about it last night?"

"Yes, I dreamt we'd been invited so that he could show you his latest strategy for beating one of the people he corresponds with. You took white and were beating him."

"Ha!" snorted my friend, "it must have been a dream if I was beating him. He's a grand master, you know."

"That may very well be, but in the dream, you'd almost got him to the stage where he'd lost."

"I should have let you dream a bit longer," he laughed. "Then I could always say I'd beaten him once."

"The point was, though," I continued, "that the men on the board came alive and were about to act out the curse by attacking the loser."

"Well, you certainly have more exciting nightmares than I do," declared Bill, "mine are usually about sheep breaking into the garden or rain coming into the conservatory."

"Think yourself lucky," I replied.

"I say, James, do you really believe there's anything in that cock and bull story about shrunken soldiers coming alive?" he asked incredulously.

"I don't know, Bill. All I can say is that I know, and it's not because I'm a priest, I know when I'm in the presence of evil, and when Stanislaus was showing us that chess set, I had a very strong feeling that I was in the presence of something evil."

"Good heavens!" exclaimed Bill. "Are you a psychic, or something?"

"Let's just say I have a certain insight which most people don't have. I was born with it and I can't get rid of it even if I wanted to," I replied.

"Well, I'll be blowed!" said Bill. "You know a fellow for twenty years and you know nothing about him at all! Can you predict the future?"

I laughed.

"No, Bill, I can't, and I've never seen a ghost, no matter how hard I've tried. No, I'm not an astrologer."

"Pity," he said ruefully. "It would have been handy if you could have predicted the result of the three o' clock at Sandown or Saturday's football results. We could have made a packet, old son."

We both laughed.

"We'd better be getting back, I suppose," I sighed. "I've a wedding tomorrow and a sermon to prepare for Sunday. Just one thing, though," I added. "Next time you see Stanislaus, please tell him not to play with the set alone."

Bill laughed.

"Are you serious, old man?"

"Perfectly," I answered.

"Well, I don't know," he said. "This really takes the biscuit. I just can't believe it. I don't know what he'll say when I tell him."

"Try your bedside manner," I smiled. "Tell him his health might depend on it."

Bill snorted in disbelief.

We returned to Fiskerby and I put my meagre luggage into the car. I thanked my hosts profusely and drove home, back to the duties of a Parish Priest.

Soon the holiday month of August ended, people returned from holiday, and we were into harvest time again. Harvest festival saw the church decorated with the produce of allotments and gardens, sheaves from the farmers and coal from the miners. It was always a spectacle in such a parish in those days.

Before long, the ground was covered with a carpet of fallen leaves, and summer seemed a distant memory.

One morning in October I received a telephone call. It was the Bishop.

"James?"

"Yes, John?"

"I've had a call from the Archbishop," he announced. "He says the police in the Yorkshire Dales wish to have a word with you concerning a murder case, would you believe?"

"Good Lord!" I replied. "Do you know what it's about?"

"No, but apparently they're rather anxious to keep things out of the papers for a day or two. The Archbishop's keen that you get down there as quickly as possible."

"Get down where?" I asked.

"Yorkshire."

"Yes, but which part of Yorkshire?"

John was a treasure of a man, but not very worldly wise sometimes.

"Oh, didn't I tell you?"

"No."

"It's near Leyburn," he replied. "Do you know where that is?"

"Yes, I know the area very well. I spent a few days with friends down there in August at a place called Fiskerby."

"Good Lord, James!" he exclaimed, and I could feel his astonishment through the receiver. "But that's the very place that the murder was committed. How on earth did you guess?"

"I didn't," I said. "You just told me. It's obviously a coincidence."

"Well, it may be a coincidence, but it's jolly strange," he replied.

"Look, John, I can't just leave things here. It's not fair on my curate. It's a big parish and it really is a two - man job. If I go, you'll have to send a relief vicar for a few days to help out."

"Say no more, old fellow," said John. "It's already in hand. He'll be with you in the morning. Just tell your curate to get the accommodation ready and off you go."

"Where to, John? Who do I see, where do I stay?"

"Well, you just put your receiver down and I'll ring the Archbishop and tell him you'll do the job. Stay by your telephone for a few minutes and someone'll ring you back with the details. The wonders of modern science, eh?"

I could picture his red face beaming like a latterday Friar Tuck.

Sure enough, in no more than fifteen minutes I had another surprise. On the other end of the line was my friend Bill Ponton, calling from Fiskerby Hall. He sounded troubled.

"Look, James," he said, "I won't beat about the bush, but whatever I tell you , please keep under your hat. I promised I wouldn't say anything over the phone, but I really can't keep something as big as this to myself for very much longer."

"Just tell me as little as possible, old fellow, and fill in the rest of the details when I see you," I replied.

"James, it's Stanislaus. He's been murdered."

The news hit me like a steam hammer. I hadn't had an inkling, even when the Bishop told me. My heart began the old familiar pounding and the unwelcome hollow feeling returned to the pit of my stomach. All I could think of was the chess set!

"When?" I managed to blurt out.

"Sometime last night, we think, but don't say anything before I see you, James. The police don't want it to get out just yet."

"The Bishop said as much, but why do the police want to speak to me?" I continued.

"It's my fault, I'm afraid, old man. I had to examine the body before it was taken away for the post - mortem. The police were a bit baffled by the circumstances and I told the inspector about your suspicions that Stanislaus was in some kind of danger. He said he'd like to speak to you. He contacted your Archbishop who seemed to know all about you. I must say you're a dark horse, James. Anyway, I'll give you more information when I see you. We've taken the liberty of getting your room ready. Can you come this afternoon?"

"Very well, Bill," I replied. "I'll have an early lunch and set off straightaway. See you soon."

And so it was arranged. Unlike the glorious drive down in August, this was a wet, blustery journey, not in the least pleasant. The high wind drove late-falling leaves across the road with some force, the clouds were low and grey and heavy with rain.

The driving rain made it difficult to see at times, especially with those old suction-powered windscreen wipers which Ford insisted on fitting to even their most expensive cars. Every now and then, I had to ease my foot off the accelerator, so that the blades would race from side to side and clean the screen. When I accelerated, the things slowed down and sometimes stopped completely.

Nor could I concentrate fully on my driving, for I could not get Stanislaus, his wretched chess set and my suddenly-revived nightmare, out of my head. Was there a connection, why were the police so interested in speaking to me, what had Bill told them and did they take it seriously?

I pulled into a rain-soaked Fiskerby Hall at just after three o'clock. This time there was no spaniel to greet me. I rang the bell and Maud answered.

"Come in, James," she smiled. "What a wretched day."

It was then that my ankles were hit by a whirlwind of fur.

"Hello, Jack," I said. "Hey, steady on, old man, you'll knock me over at this rate."

"Come along, Jack, back into the kitchen," said Maud, grabbing the young dog by his collar. "I'm afraid he doesn't like all this upset, James. We've had to keep him in since the police came around. Superintendent Baxter's in the study with Bill. If you'd just like to go in while I put Jack under lock and key -"

At that moment the study door opened and out came my friend. It was obvious that the man I'd last seen in August was now more careworn than carefree.

"James, James, thank goodness," he said, though he didn't smile, which was unusual for him. We shook hands.

"Come into the study and I'll introduce you to Superintendent Baxter. Maud," he continued, speaking to his wife, who was busy trying to install a reluctant Jack in the kitchen, "could we have some tea for James?"

I was ushered into the study and a very tall, well-built man with greying hair, a ruddy face and huge hands was already on his feet.

"James, this is Superintendent Joe Baxter, an old school friend of mine, Joe, this is James Newton-Hall."

The big man advanced and shook me warmly by the hand.

"Detective Superintendent, actually, but call me Joe," he smiled, adding, "as we're all almost old friends."

"We have a very dear mutual friend, at any rate," I answered.

"Let's sit down, shall we?" said Bill. "We might as well get straight down to business, if that's all right with you, James. Oh, my dear chap, I haven't taken your bags or shown you to your room yet."

It was unusual for Bill to have forgotten the niceties, but he was clearly on edge and there was no hurry for the luggage. I put it down to the fact that he was more upset than I'd ever seen him. He was obviously in a state of some agitation.

"It's all right, Bill," I smiled, trying to put him at his ease. "Let's just sit down and you can tell me all about this wretched business."

"I'd like to ask you some questions, if you don't mind," said the Superintendent.

"Of course, sorry," apologised Bill.

"Any help I can give," I said. "Fire away."

The study door opened and Maud entered, carrying a tea tray, laden as usual with home-made produce.

"Help yourselves," she smiled. "I'll just take the last one away," and she removed the empty cups which were evidence that Bill and the Superintendent had been there for some time. Within a minute or two, we three were left alone.

"D'you mind if I smoke?" asked the Superintendent.

Neither of us minded. He took out his briar and tobacco pouch, broke the pipe against the top of the fender, refilled the bowl, and lit the new tobacco. The immediate area was filled with a wreath of blue, sweet-smelling smoke.

"I'll pour the tea," announced Bill whilst this operation was being performed. He did so quickly and then proceeded to pick up a copper and brass coal scuttle. As the new coal was thrown onto the glowing embers, a plume of greenish-yellow smoke rushed up the chimney as the sulphur was burned off.

We took tea and relaxed in the large, comfortable green-leather armchairs. It was the Superintendent who spoke.

"Bill tells me that you weren't happy about certain things last time you were here, James."

"Which things would these be?" I asked.

"You said that he had to warn Mr. Macek, that you felt he was in some sort of danger."

"That's right, Superintendent."

"Joe," he smiled, but I couldn't get away from the feeling that although he was a friend of Bill's, he wasn't sure whether I was trustworthy.

"I felt he was in some danger if he played with a certain chess set," and I was acutely aware that he had little faith in my opinions.

"A chess set," he said, flatly. "What exactly did you think was wrong with this chess set?"

"I thought, and still do think, that, used in a certain way, it may be dangerous to one of the players," I said, and could almost feel his contempt.

"How do you mean?"

"I'm not sure," I replied. "I just had a feeling, a very strong feeling, that he may be in some danger."

"What did you think might happen to him?" he asked, drawing on the huge briar and watching a ring of smoke rise and disappear as it reached the high ceiling.

"I don't know," I answered.

"I see," and he made little attempt to suppress a sigh.

I looked at Bill.

"Yes, James," he said, rather sheepishly, I thought. "It was the Saladin set."

"What set?" asked the Superintendent. The narrowing of his eyes as he looked at my friend may have been due to the fact that he had just had to re-light his pipe, but I remember not thinking so at the time.

"Is there something you haven't told me, Bill., something that slipped your mind, maybe?" he continued.

"I think I can answer that," I offered. "It is a very rare chess set, one of three made in the Middle East during the late 12th Century."

"Is it valuable?" enquired the policeman.

"Priceless," I replied.

"Yes, but can you put any sort of price on it?" he persisted.

"You could ask one of the big auctioneers in London, I suppose, but I don't think one of these sets has been sold in this country during the last seven hundred years," I answered.

"You said there were three made," he continued. "Where are the others?"

"Stanislaus, that is, er, Mr. Macek," said Bill, rather self-consciously, I thought, "had a reference book which told the story of the three sets."

"Where is this reference book ?" asked the Superintendent.

"In his library. He showed it to us when James and I had dinner with him during the summer," replied my friend.

"So you've read it?" said the Superintendent.

"We read the book and handled some of the pieces of the set," I said.

Just then there was a knock at the door and Maud came in, carrying a small brown envelope.

"One of your constables asked me to give you this," she announced.

The Superintendent took the envelope. She picked up the tray with the crockery and left quietly as he tore open the envelope and read the sheet of writing paper inside.

"The only fingerprints on the chess pieces were Mr. Macek's," he mused, half to himself, "but there's a piece missing, apparently."

"Which one?" asked Bill.

"Doesn't say," he replied, and I knew that he was lying. Suddenly, our detective friend rose abruptly to his feet. He knocked out his pipe against the fender and put it into his jacket pocket.

"Well, I have to get back to the station to check something," he smiled. "Thanks for your hospitality, Bill. And James," he said, turning towards me, "I'd like to have another chat with both of you tomorrow, if that's all right."

He left as abruptly as he'd risen to his feet.

"Well," sighed Bill, "I'm glad I'm not a suspect. Friend or not, I wouldn't like to get on the wrong side of him. I haven't seen that side of him before."

"He was only doing his job, I suppose, but you're right," I agreed. "I shouldn't want him interrogating me."

Bill looked at me strangely.

"I don't suppose we are suspects, do you?" he enquired.

"Stranger things have happened, but no, I don't think he suspects either of us," I assured him.

That night we had a pleasant dinner with some excellent conversation, retiring to bed at around ten o'clock. I had trouble getting to sleep. No matter how I tried, I could not seem to relax enough. I even tried silly things in my desperation such as counting sheep. I resolved to follow the advice of my curate, an avid listener to Radio Luxembourg's serial of Dan Dare, presented by Horlicks.

I got up and made a cup of the milky drink. I went over the advert in my mind: "Horlicks reaches right down to your subconscious mind, giving you a perfect night's sleep so that you wake refreshed next morning." I fervently hoped so.

Whatever happened, I found myself in Stanislaus's study. My old nightmare had returned. He was playing chess with the Saladin set. I couldn't make out his opponent this time, since whoever it was had his face shrouded in a black cowl.

Stanislaus's face was white and his forehead beaded with sweat. He was playing with the Crusaders, and he seemed to be winning!

"Think well, my friend," came a booming, yet quietly menacing voice from the hooded figure. "We both have plenty of time."

"I want to stop now," croaked Stanislaus. "I wish to resign."

He toppled his king in the accepted manner, but the figure reached out and replaced it.

"But my friend," said the voice, "I cannot accept your resignation. You are not playing, you are fighting a battle, you are fighting for your life! Besides, if this were an ordinary game, you would be winning."

I swallowed hard. The fingers that picked up the king were white and thin, bone-thin.

"Please," begged Stanislaus, "please let me stop. I'm so tired."

"Then play. You know it is your only chance," said his opponent.

For the first time I noticed the chessmen. They were alive! I watched in horror as they paraded before one another as they had done before, ready and eager to begin their eternal battle. The horses pranced and snorted, the infantry shouted, the kings and queens looked on impassively. Stanislaus's face was the epitome of terror.

"Play," rasped the harsh voice of his opponent. "PLAY!"

It was a repeat of my previous nightmare. Part of me knew that I was dreaming these dreadful events. I willed myself to wake up. Yet another part of me knew that what I was seeing was real.

Stanislaus wilted visibly.

"PLAY!" repeated the harsh voice and that terrifying figure rose and leaned over the board. "PLAY!"

"No," pleaded Stanislaus. "No!"

"You have me in check and there is only one move you can make, Grand Master. You must move your knight."

"No! No! If I move that, I have you in -"

"CHECKMATE!" roared the hooded figure in triumph. "CHECKMATE, WHITE KNIGHT!"

Before my eyes the figure of the White Knight reared up on his horse as if in triumph. It grew to life size. Stanislaus screamed in terror, leaped from his chair and ran in terror towards the French Windows. The White Knight, on his stamping, snorting charger, galloped after him. Our friend dived into the heavy curtain, flung open the glass door and fled in his terror into the big garden.

My eyes followed the great, pitiless horseman as he galloped after his victim. Stanislaus had almost reached the end of the garden when he was caught. Without breaking the momentum of his charge, the knight ran him through with his lance, jumped the dry stone wall and disappeared along the road.

Suddenly I was being shaken and I woke to find myself yelling some incoherent nonsense while Bill held me down.

"Steady on, old man, steady on!" he was shouting.

My struggles ceased. I was aware that, even in the darkness of that freezing early morning, I was sweating enough to soak my pyjamas and bedsheets. I could smell terror.

"Another one of your nightmares?" asked Bill.

"Yes," I replied, weakly. " I'm sorry, Bill."

"All part of the service, old friend," he smiled. "Limbs repaired, babies delivered, dreams interpreted. Call your friendly local quack and don't forget to buy a few pounds' worth of his cure-all pills. As a matter of fact, I've just come back from delivering a baby at the Davisons' farm. I heard you shouting fit to wake the dead. I guessed you must be having one of your do's."

"I can only say I'm sorry. Every time I come here, I seem to disgrace myself."

"Nonsense," he laughed. "It's all part of life's rich tapestry, eh? Listen, I'm starving, fancy a spot of breakfast, I could murder a plateful of bacon and eggs."

I reflected that this was not, perhaps, the best time to use the word "murder" flippantly.

We had what nowadays is referred to as a "full English breakfast", but for those days it was unremarkable. Bacon, fried eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms, black pudding and fried bread were all washed down with gallons of tea. As we ate, my nightmare seemed to become more and more fanciful, not to say ridiculous, especially as the day dawned bright and sunny, and the birds began to sing.

After breakfast, as the sun began to climb into the autumn sky and the birds seemed to sing for joy that the dismal weather was over, at least for the time being, Bill suggested we take Jack for an early morning walk.

"It'll do us both a power of good," he enthused and I must say I was looking forward to some fresh country air.

Just then the doorbell rang and Maud admitted the Chief Superintendent to the breakfast room.

"Morning, Joe," was Bill's greeting. "James and I were just about to take the dog for a walk. Care to join us?"

"As a matter of fact, I thought we might go to Mr. Macek's house," replied the policeman. "I'd like you to show me that book you were on about, the one about the chess sets."

"All right," agreed Bill, then a thought seemed to strike him. "Is that all right by you as well, James? I know you weren't happy about it last time."

"It was the chess set I wasn't happy about," I replied, "not the house."

The policeman seized on the answer.

"What was wrong with the set James?" he asked.

"If we're going to Stanilaus's house, I'd prefer to wait until you've read the reference in the book, for it will save an awful amount of explaining," I replied.

"Very well," he sighed, and I could sense that he was exasperated by what he must have considered my awkwardness.

We said very little on the short walk to our dead friend's house. Bill had decided against bringing Jack, but Maud said she would walk him later.

The front garden was covered in a carpet of yellow, reds and browns which bore witness to the time of year, but it was a rather soggy carpet thanks to the rain of the last few days and not particularly pleasant to walk on. We reached the front door which I had last approached in happier circumstances. This time, it was guarded by a young constable who saluted and wished us good morning as we mounted the steps and walked into the entrance hall. The house was empty, apart from us three, although some forensic experts were expected later in the morning.

We entered the study and the Superintendent put on the light, for although the sun was shining outside, the window of the room did not admit enough of it at this time of year. Bill showed him where the great reference book lay and the policeman removed it from its shelf and lowered it gently onto the desk.

"Could you find it for me, please?" he asked and my friend obliged.

The Superintendent read the reference carefully, then read it carefully again. He deliberately left the book open and turned towards me.

"Is this supposed to mean something to me?" he asked, with the air of the long suffering parent of a particularly obtuse schoolboy.

"I'm not sure," I answered.

"I thought you were here to help with this case," he continued, without any air of friendliness.

"I have no idea how to help, if that's what you want, Chief Superintendent," I replied, "because, apart from the fact that a friend of ours has been killed, you've told me nothing about the case. Bill has been, I understand, forbidden to give me any details and I have respected your instructions by not asking for any."

"What do you know about this chess set?" he asked.

"No more than you've read for yourself," I answered.

"But I thought you said you didn't like the thing!" he said, with some hint of frustration.

"I don't. It has an aura of menace which I find extremely

disturbing." "How does it disturb you?" he persisted.

I have to admit to seeing things from his point of view. Looking back, I suppose I must have seemed a little odd in my demeanour.

"Before I left in the summer, I asked Bill to warn Stanislaus against playing with the set," I replied.

"Why?"

"Because he didn't think it was safe," interjected Bill.

"What was wrong with it?" continued the policeman.

"Have you handled any of the pieces, Superintendent?" I asked.

"Yes," he answered, "as soon as the fingerprint lads had finished with them."

"Did you notice anything odd about any of them?" I continued.

"Not really. It's obvious that they're works of art and worth a great deal of money, but nothing apart from that. What was I supposed to find?"

"I'm not sure," I replied. "I know that neither Stanislaus nor Bill found anything unusual, but I couldn't hold them."

"Why not?" asked the detective.

And now I was beginning to feel rather foolish myself.

"Because," and I did now feel very foolish, "because they seemed to wriggle."

The Superintendent looked hard at me and I knew he thought me either a fool or a charlatan.

"They wriggled," he said, flatly.

I made no reply.

"Did you notice anything odd about them?" he asked Bill.

I could sense that Bill was trying to be loyal, but somewhat incredulous at the same time.

"Not that I can remember, but I haven't any sort of intuition in the same way as James has," he almost blurted out.

There was a sharp intake of breath by the policeman.

"I see," was all he said, and there was an awkward silence.

"You'd had dinner that night, hadn't you?" asked the Superintendent, to neither of us in particular.

"That's right," answered Bill.

"Did you have much wine?" went on our inquisitor.

Bill was about to explode.

"Now look here, Joe, I think that's a bit much!"

"No, no," I said, "it's a perfectly reasonable assumption that alcohol had something to do with it and yes, I did drink more than usual and I can't say it didn't have an effect."

"But we weren't drunk, James," said Bill, loyally.

"Perhaps not, but all possibilities have to be taken into consideration," I went on. "I picked up chess pieces on two separate occasions and couldn't hold them."

"That's right!" declared Bill triumphantly. "I remember you dropping them on the floor and apologising to Stanislaus. You see, Joe, he didn't want to hurt the host's feelings!"

"Be that as it may," sighed the Superintendent, "I don't see what that has to do with the death of Mr. Macek."

"Well, don't you see?" said Bill, warming to his theme. "It's obviously something to do with the curse. James told me to warn him not to play with the set."

"And did you?" asked the policeman.

"Yes."

"And what did he say?"

Bill was suddenly crestfallen.

"He laughed and said he'd never heard such nonsense. Sorry James," he ended self-consciously.

"I have to say," said the Superintendent, "I think I would have been of the same opinion. You have to admit that such a story would leave a jury either nonplussed or in gales of laughter."

Bill was silent.

"You're right, of course," I said, "and I make no claims to being able to give you the facts, but you did ask me."

"I'm sorry, James," sighed the detective and this time I felt as though he really meant it, "but it's facts I need. Never mind," he added, "it shouldn't be long before we get the report following the post-mortem."

Bill seemed determined that I shouldn't be made to look a fool.

"Have you any idea how Stanislaus may have died, James?" he almost pleaded.

"I know how it might have happened, but the police need evidence, not dreams or visions," I replied.

The Superintendent looked on in agreement at my argument, but Bill now seemed to take over the leading role in the questioning.

"Have you had one of your dreams, James, is that it?" he persisted.

I could sense the policeman smirking.

"I had a nightmare last night, Bill, about the death of our friend. It was a most unpleasant experience," I answered.

"Tell us about it, James," asked my loyal friend. He was beginning to resemble Jack, the spaniel, in his quest for hedgehogs.

"I don't think the police want to know about my nightmares, Bill," I smiled.

"Well, it'll do no harm, will it?" he went on. " Shall he tell us, Joe?"

The policeman lit his pipe.

"If you like," was all he said, and I knew he was thinking us a pair of fools.

"Very well," I agreed. "The nightmare was similar to one I had in the summer when I stayed here, the night we visited Stanislaus for dinner."

"That's right, I remember it well. It took all my strength to hold you down. Threshing about like a fish in a net," said my friend.

"Well, to cut a long story short, because I can see that the Superintendent must think it a load of old poppycock," I began, "I dreamt that Stanislaus was playing chess with the Saladin Set. His opponent was a hooded figure."

The detective had by now turned his back on us. He was standing at the empty fire grate, leaning on the mantelpiece and enjoying his pipe. This was going to be a good story to tell when he got back to the station. I could almost here his colleagues roaring with laughter at my expense.

"As the game progressed, it was obvious that the hooded figure was in charge of the proceedings. Stanislaus was in great distress, for he knew that he was playing for his life."

I looked across at the policeman who appeared to be enthralled by a pair of fine brass Indian candlesticks which stood on the mantelpiece. I could feel an air of amused disdain.

Just then, a police car crunched into the gravelled drive and stopped in front of the house. Within minutes, a young constable had placed the post-mortem report in the hands of the Superintendent, who sank into a great winged armchair, engrossed in the paper and apparently unaware of our presence.

Bill seemed annoyed at the interruption.

"And what happened to Stanislaus, James?" he asked.

"Well," I went on, "when it was obvious that the game was reaching its climax, the chessmen seemed to come alive, as if they sensed blood, just as you would expect Saracens and Crusaders behave before a battle."

"Then what happened?" probed Bill.

"The hooded figure forced Stanislaus to make the move which would lead to checkmate and lead to the death of a Christian, and then - then the white knight grew to full size."

"Good Lord," said my friend who seemed genuinely absorbed by the story.

"Stanislaus got up, ran towards the garden, burst open the French windows, and out into the darkness. The knight galloped after him, though both he and the horse were forced to lower their heads as they went through the gap."

"Then what?" asked Bill.

"Then the knight ran poor Stanislaus through with his lance. The lance broke, but the knight kept hold of the handle, or whatever it's called. He then jumped over the wall and disappeared down the road. Then I woke up."

"Good God, James, what did you say?"

But it wasn't Bill, it was the Superintendent. Suddenly, it seemed, he was taking an interest in what I was saying. Then a thought seemed to strike him.

"Bill," he said, "how much did you tell James about this case?"

I thought it was time to come to the rescue.

"Bill told me nothing, Superintendent, because you asked him not to, and to be perfectly honest, I resent the implications you are making."

"I'm not making any implications, James. Simply trying to find out why you know things you shouldn't. Now, kindly tell me what you know!"

The policeman had at last lost his composure, and, unchristian though it was, I rather enjoyed his plight.

"I know nothing apart from what Bill and you have told me, Superintendent."

"Which piece do you think is missing?"

"I don't know for certain, but at a guess I'd say one of the white knights."

"Very well," he sighed. "Let's go out into the garden and you can show me exactly what happened in this dream of yours."

As we passed through the French windows onto the leaf-strewn lawn a joyous bark sounded not far away, and suddenly a whirl of fur flashed over the grass towards us.

"What the devil?" exclaimed the Superintendent as Jack, for it was he, tumbled madly about Bill's feet, his tongue lolling and his brown eyes gazing up at his master.

"Hallo, old man," said Bill, caressing his dog. "Can't keep away, eh?"

"Oh no!" said a voice, and Maud came in at the garden gate. "He knew you were here, you see, darling, and got away from me. I'm awfully sorry, Joe. He's probably rubbed out footprints or something."

"Not to worry, Maud," answered the detective. "James is merely taking us over old ground. As you can see," he continued, while Maud fitted the lead to Jack's collar, "there are hoof prints leading to the stone wall. Forensics say they were made by a galloping horse. They also tell me it would be impossible over such a short distance for a horse to attain a gallop."

"But where would it start from?" asked Maud. "Not inside the room, surely?"

We stopped at a spot covered by a waterproof sheet.

"That's where Mr Macek was found," said the Superintendent, "in a huge pool of blood." He lifted the sheet. "We hardly need this now. Oh, keep the dog away, will you, Maud?"

Maud pulled the sniffing Jack away from the spot and we all walked on. The hoof prints deepened at the place where I had seen the horse take off and clear the wall in my nightmare. I shuddered.

"You all right, James?" asked Bill.

"No. I feel cold and desperately unhappy, but it's something I've had to get used to."

We walked to the gate and paused. A lone constable saluted the detective.

"And here the trail goes cold," confessed the Superintendent. "We've combed every inch of this lane and the fields on either side, but we haven't found another hoof print."

"Nor will you," I said. "But you might find the white knight and I think the end of the lance will be broken."

The Superintendent smiled indulgently as Jack sniffed about round his feet.

"I hardly expect to find a chess piece out here, James. Come on, Jack, be a good lad."

Maud hauled the dog back, and took something from his mouth.

"I've told you so many times not to pick things up. What is it this time? An old piece of bone, I suppose. Oh my God!"

In her gloved hand she was holding the missing white knight. Jack had picked it out of the ditch at the very feet of the Superintendent. In silence the detective took it from Maud and examined it. The lance was broken and caked with dried blood.

"I - I suppose I'd better get this examined by forensic," said the Superintendent after a long pause.

Bill told me next morning about the forensic report on the lance. The blood on it was the rare Rhesus Negative, the same as that of our late friend.

"I'm sorry if I gave you a hard time, James," said the Superintendent, when we saw him that afternoon.

"Think nothing of it," I said. I felt rather sorry for him. It is perfectly natural for a practical person, used to dealing in facts, to disbelieve "mumbo-jumbo."

"I think I should tell you both," he continued, looking at Bill and myself, "the post-mortem showed that Mr. Macek died of a massive loss of blood. The thing which completely astonished everyone was that the inside of his body had been ripped out, as though he had in fact been run through by a full-size lance or similar weapon. Needless to say, we're still searching for the weapon."

I shook my head. "Joe, you've found it. Surely forensic found the tip in the wound."

The Superintendent shuffled uneasily.

"Well, James, the truth is that a small splinter of wood, exactly matching the rest of the white knight's lance, was found embedded in the wound. But - it doesn't make sense."

I said nothing more.

The coroner's court came to the conclusion that "Mr. Stanislaus Macek was murdered by a person or persons unknown." As far as I know, the file has never been closed.

The Superintendent retired, a very confused man, in 1954. He died the following year of a stroke. It was said that he never recovered from the unsatisfactory conclusion of the Macek case.

As for the Saladin chess set, I have never found out what happened to it. All my enquiries came up against brick walls. And in any case, it would be better if, like the others, it disappeared for ever.