Tales of Terror and Mystery Story 5 - The Terror of Blue John Gap

**Arthur Conan Doyle** (0:01)
TALES OF TERROR AND MYSTERY by Arthur Conan Doyle THE TERROR OF BLUE JOHN GAP The following narrative was found among the papers of Dr. James Hardcastle, who wrote the book, and the author of the book, and the author of the book, and the author of the book, and the author of the book, and the author of the book, and the author of the book, and the author of the book, and the author of the book, and the author of the book, and the author of the book, and the author of the book, and the author of the book, I found among the papers of Dr. James Hardcastle, who died of dizziness on February 4th, 1908, at 36, Upper Coventry Flats, South Kensington. Those who knew him best, while refusing to express an opinion upon this particular statement, are unanimous in asserting that he was a man of a sober, unscientific turn of mind, absolutely devoid of imagination, and most unlikely to invent any abnormal series of events. The paper was contained in an envelope, which was docketed, a short account of the circumstances which occurred near Miss Allerton's farm in North West Derbyshire in the spring of last year. The envelope was sealed, and on the other side was written in pencil. Dear Seaton, it may interest and perhaps pain you to know that the incredulity with which you met my story has prevented me from ever opening my mouth upon the subject again. I leave this record after my death, and perhaps strangers may be found to have more confidence in me than my friend.
Inquiry has failed to elicit who this Seaton may have been. I may add that the visit of the deceased to Allerton's farm, and the general nature of the alarm there apart from his particular explanation, have been absolutely established. With this hoard, I append his account exactly as he left it. It is in the form of a diary, some entries in which have been expanded, while a few have been erased.
April 17th. Already I feel the benefit of this wonderful upland air. The farm of the Allerton size 1420 feet above sea level, so it may well be a bracing climate. Beyond the usual morning cough, I have very little discomfort. And what, with the fresh milk and the homegrown mutton, I have every chance of putting on weight. I think Saundersen will be pleased. The two Miss Allertons are charmingly quaint and kind. Two dear little hard-working old maids, who are ready to lavish all the heart which might have gone out to husband and to children upon an invalid stranger. Truly, the old maid is a most useful person, one of the reserve forces of the community. They talk of the superfluous woman. But what would the poor superfluous men do without her kindly presence? By the way, in their simplicity, they very quickly let out the reason why Saunderson recommended their farm. The professor rose from the ranks himself, and I believe that in his youth he was not above scaring crows in these very fields.
It is a most lonely spot, and the walks are picturesque in the extreme. The farm consists of grazing land lying at the bottom of an irregular valley. On each side are fantastic limestone hills, formed of rock so soft that you can break it away with your hands. All this country is hollow. Could you strike it with some gigantic hammer, it would boom like a drum, or possibly cave in altogether and expose some huge subterranean sea? A great sea there surely must be, for on all sides the stream run into the mountain itself, never to reappear.
There are gaps everywhere amid the rocks, and when you pass through them, you find yourself in great caverns, which wind down into the bowels of the earth. I have a small bicycle lamp, and it is a perpetual joy to me to carry it into these weird solitudes and to see the wonderful silver and black effect when I throw its light upon the stalactites which drape the lofty roofs. Shut off the lamp, and you are in the blackest darkness. Turn it on, and it is a scene from the Arabian Nights.
But there is one of these strange openings in the earth which has a special interest, for it is the handiwork, not of nature, but of man.
I had never heard of Blue John when I came to these parts. It is the name given to peculiar mineral, of a beautiful purple shade, which is only found at one or two places in the world. It is so rare that an ordinary vase of Blue John would be valued at a great price. The Romans, with that extraordinary instinct of theirs, discovered that it was to be found in this valley and sank a horizontal shaft deep into the mountainside. The opening of their mine has been called Blue John Gap, a clean cut arch in the rock, the mouth all overgrown with bushes. It is a goodly passage which the Roman miners have cut, and it intersects some of the great water worn caves, so that if you enter Blue John Gap, you would do well to mark your steps and to have a good store of candles, or you may never make your way back to the daylight again.