It was nearly dark by the time they reached the old mausoleum, the wind had risen, and was getting cold qnd clouds began to sweep in from the sea, the caretaker had long since closed the heavy iron gate and gone home, they swung it open and approached the heavy wooden door to the chapel, as they stepped inside the last rays of the setting shown through the stained glass, a great statue St. Michael the Archangel seemed to loomed over them, and then . . . suddenly down a dark corridor came a blood curdling voice. . . .