It might be midnight and he
burrowing like a mole about the roots of the old house, or like an
evil thing in the heart of a man! No matter! he would follow up his
search--after what, he did not know.
He crept up, and out of the castle by his own stair, so to the
tool-house. It was locked. But lying near was a half-worn shovel:
that might do! he would have a try with it! Like one in a dream of
ancient ruins, creeping through mouldy and low-browed places, he
went down once more into the entrails of the house.
Inserting the sharp edge of the worn shovel in the gap between the
stone and that next it, he raised it more readily than he had hoped,
and saw below it a small window, whose sill sloped steeply inward.
How deep the place might be, and whether it would be possible to get
out of it again, he must discover before entering. He took a letter
from his pocket, lighted it, and threw it in. It revealed a descent
of about seven feet, into what looked like a cellar. He blew his
candle out, put it in his pocket, got into the window, slid down the
slope, and reached his new level with ease. He then lighted his
candle, and looked about him.
His eye first fell on a large flat stone in the floor, like a
gravestone, but without any ornament or inscription. It was a
roughly vaulted place, unpaved, its floor of damp hard-beaten earth.
In the wall to the right of that through which he had entered, was
another opening, low down, like the crown of an arch the rest of
which was beneath the floor.
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