By the time I awoke the next morning some order had been restored, and a table, upon which Rowley was serving breakfast, had been set in the harness-room. My head was sore and tender, but did not ache, and, though I would have liked to go out and breathe some fresh air⁠—for neither by door nor window did the harness-room give upon the outside of the castle⁠—I felt very little the worse for anything that had happened the night before.

Then Mansel and Hanbury appeared from the kitchen hall, and I learned that Carson and Bell were guarding the kitchen-quarters from the first floor of the house. To command the courtyard was simple, for this could be done from any window that looked upon it: and, as luck would have it, the southwest corner of the castle ran into a staircase-turret, from which anyone approaching the kitchen from the meadow side could be easily shot down.

There was, of course, a very great deal to be settled, but we had but to raise one issue to perceive that its consideration was depending upon our determination of another, and, by the time we had breakfasted, we had done little but agree upon two or three matters of fact.

The innkeeper knew of the treasure and where it lay. How he had learned the secret, it was idle to speculate: as like as not, he had held it for years, but, because he would not share it except with his two confederates, he had perforce been content to let the treasure lie. How nearly we had played into his hands was a disturbing thought.

The thieves as good as knew where the treasure lay: and, in view of what had to be done to reach the chamber, it seemed probable that they would press the innkeeper into their service: knowing what manner of men they were, the fellow would go reluctantly.

Our party, alone of the three, knew of the iron bars. This knowledge was of great value, for it showed that any dash for the treasure was doomed to failure, and that, even if we still had the well, unless we could work undisturbed, our chances of lifting the bags by way of the shaft would be almost negligible. Mansel had watched the water, whilst he was down in the well, and at the mouth of the shaft it rose at the pace of at least thirty inches an hour: and, since to cut through one bar would take the best part of three hours, such a load of labour, coming at the end of an exhausting day, would be more than five men could carry, unless they had each one the strength and endurance of a giant. And that would mean posting but one sentry, which was unthinkable.

Even reinforced by the landlord, the thieves would not labour as had we. For one thing, they had neither the physique nor the condition of body which we enjoyed: for another, they were out of their element. For all that, we hoped very much that they would make an attempt to re-empty the well, for that would keep them occupied and leave us more or less free to go about our business of finding another way. For that, if we were not to abandon the enterprise, we must clearly do.

And here we stepped into a very slough of difficulty: for, without the enemy’s knowledge, to drive a new shaft to the chamber was demanding the cunning of an Odysseus, and how, in the face of such aggression as we had met the night before, we were at once to prosecute such travail, hold the stables and maintain our supplies was a question which not one of us could pretend to answer. And yet, as luck would have it, thanks to George Hanbury’s most intelligent observation, this Gordian knot was unloosed within the hour.

When we had breakfasted, Mansel desired Hanbury to relieve Carson, and me to take Bell’s place, so that the two could come down and get some food, and it was half an hour later, when Bell had returned to the post which commanded the courtyard, that Hanbury asked Mansel and me to come to the staircase-turret, where Carson was keeping watch.

Admission to the turret was gained from a secondary hall, which cut the servants’ quarters from the rest of the house: like the kitchen and the servants’ hall, the turret had plainly survived, when the rest of the castle was burned, for it was manifestly aged and most solidly built: I imagine that of late years it had served as a back staircase to the mansion, for there was no other, and modern oil lamps were still hanging upon its walls; but it was a dark, breakneck place, and the servants that had to use it must have complained bitterly. The stair was winding and two feet six inches in width: the rises of the steps were high, and their treads at their broadest point were none too broad: the latter were, of course, wedge-shaped and tapered to nothing. There was, however, good handhold in the shape of a fine, deep groove cut in the outer wall and running up with the stairs. Walls, steps and all were smooth and had once shown a high polish, seldom found upon stone.

All this Hanbury showed us by the light of a torch.

“And now,” said he, “here is a curious thing.”

With that, he began to descend⁠—for we had gone slowly up⁠—and, when we were all but down, showed us a little landing, which we had scarcely observed, in the midst of the stair.

There were but two steps below it, between it and the hall: and the landing curved, as did the steps it served.

“But for this landing,” said George, “the stairs would not be so steep. It’s hardly a landing: it’s really the third stair up⁠—with a very broad tread: about four feet in breadth. And the height it has cost the staircase has been regained by making inconveniently high the rises of the following stairs.”

When he had pointed this out, it was quite evident.

“And now,” he continued, “look at the handrail.”

Then he showed us that the handrail ceased where the landing began, and began again at once where the landing ceased.

“Finally,” said Hanbury, “look at this rise.”

With that, he stepped into the hall and lowered the torch.

At the top of the third rise, that is to say, two inches below the landing, were two little slots in the stone.

“By Jove,” cried Mansel. “An oubliette.”

“An oubliette,” said Hanbury. “The innkeeper said there were no cellars, and I’ve no doubt he’s right. But, if this isn’t Axel the Red’s superfluous-guest-chamber, the next time I see him I’ll walk right up to Rose Noble and ask him the way to go home.”

Then he showed us that the broad tread or landing was composed of four stones, three of which were slabs and could probably be withdrawn, as the lid of a pencil-box: but the fourth was fixed. Each was wedge-shaped, that is to say, it had the shape of a step.

“And now imagine,” he concluded, “those three slabs withdrawn. The guest is descending in the dark. Suddenly he steps into space, and, when he clutches at the handrail, the handrail is gone. What sort of a fall he has remains to be seen.”

Without a word, Mansel turned and left us, to seek some implements, while I went down on my knees and put my two forefingers into the slots. These led into two holes, cut in the broad tread, and, so soon as I felt them, I had no longer any doubt that Hanbury’s conclusion was no fancy, but a substantial truth.

And so it proved.

Mansel returned with a sponge, and was quickly followed by Rowley, bearing some tools and cord.

So soon as the landing was cleansed, it was easy to discern the joints and even the scratches, made upon the wall of the turret when the slabs had been withdrawn.

These marks were slightly higher than we should have expected to see them: but Mansel said that that showed that, before we could draw it out, we must somehow raise the edge of the first slab, for no doubt there was a fillet below, which held it locked into place.

In this he was right, and, but for his wit, we might have sought to withdraw the slab for forty days in vain: but, when we had raised it no more than an eighth of an inch, by means of a wedge, it yielded at once to our efforts and came directly away without any fuss.

Here let me say that the workmanship expended upon this devilish contrivance deserved a worthier theme, for the trap was most beautifully made. Each slab was recessed upon one of its edges, flanged on the other and mitred on either side, and each lay so snug against its fellow, the turret wall and the spindle round which the staircase curled, that, as Mansel said at the time, “only a brilliant observation would have seen anything at all in the landing but clumsiness of construction.”

We had now before us a hole, admitting to some dark place, so Mansel went off to recover and mend the searchlight, while Hanbury, Rowley and I withdrew the remaining slabs. When these had been displaced, the hole revealed was some three and a half feet long: and of all the unfortunates who ever stepped into that space I cannot think one was saved; for, as I have said already, there was there no handrail, the stonework around was polished, and the sides of the trap were mitred, so that even the chances of an ape that had once lost its balance there would have been small indeed.

The air that came from below smelt fairly fresh and was not dank. But the darkness was impenetrable.

Presently Mansel returned, with the searchlight in working order, and, when we had made this fast, we lowered it into the hole.

The first thing its beam revealed was the “bed” upon which any victim of the trap must fall.

This was nothing less than a Cornish stile, that is to say, six low, thin fences of stone, built parallel and eighteen inches apart. As these were full forty feet below the trap, that anyone, falling upon them from the staircase, could fail to be broken in pieces was unthinkable. The very look of them shocked us, for it was terrible to regard preparation so nice, deliberate and permanent to send a fellow creature to meet his God.

Presently Hanbury spoke.

“Let me go down,” he said. “I’m not afraid of ghosts.”

“I’ll come with you,” said I. “It’s a two-men job.”

When Mansel had brought the searchlight, he had brought a rope also, as well as the measuring-line. But he had not brought the seat which we had used in the well; so Rowley was sent for this and for a loose cushion, which we could use as a pad between the rope and the stone.

While he was gone, Mansel kept snuffing the air and, after a little, announced that the oubliette had some opening we could not see.

“I can feel no draught,” he said, “but I’ll swear that this air is fresh. And that’s as it should be. It was sometimes advisable to empty an oubliette, but to use the trap for that purpose would have been inconvenient. There was, therefore, a second entrance.” He stopped there to clap Hanbury on the back. “If I am right,” he continued, “and such an entrance exists on the northern or river side⁠—well, if George Hanbury likes to demand two thirds of the treasure as his share, I don’t believe we can fairly dispute his claim.”

Though I had not Mansel’s foresight, I heartily agreed, for, if we had air to breathe the dungeon was plainly the place from which to drive our shaft, and, though a vent-hole would conduct the sound of our labour, provided it gave upon the river, there would be no one to hear.

Then Rowley returned with the seat and the loose cushion, and, without more ado, Hanbury was lowered into the oubliette. When he was down, I followed, full of instructions from Mansel to walk delicately and, above all things, not to give tongue, “for,” said he, “there is never any mistaking a voice which comes from underground, and, if, as I think, we have found the clue to our labyrinth, it would be a thousand pities to put the enemy wise.”

The dungeon was some thirty feet square and roughly walled with stones, laid in cement. The weight of the turret was taken by three tremendous piers, between two of which lay the stile: this hideous thing was built of clean-cut stone, with a low wall at either end to hold the fences in place. The piers and the stile stood in a corner of the dungeon and took up much of its room. The place did not seem very damp, but was chill and smelt of the earth. So far as we could see, the walls were everywhere sound.

All this I observed with difficulty, for Hanbury had found a doorway, before I was down, and would scarcely permit me to look around for impatience to see whither the postern led.

The doorway was barred by an old, iron gate, with a great clumsy lock, whose tongues, when shot, protruded into the stone jamb: but, though the gate was closed, it was not locked⁠—an old negligence, I suppose, of some varlet which the Count himself might have pardoned, since the dead cannot open gates whether they be fastened or no.

The doorway admitted to a passage some five feet wide. This began at once to descend: there were no steps, but a very steep, smooth incline, upon which, such was its angle, it would have been easy to fall: but some old, iron dogs, cemented at regular intervals into the walls, afforded handhold.

We descended gingerly: Hanbury went first, and I came behind him, with the lamp in my hand.

We had gone, it seemed, a long way, when the passage ran suddenly into another chamber, not so big as the first and, though lofty, not nearly so high. Its longer wall⁠—for it was rectangular⁠—was before us and contained three deep embrasures, the slits of which were rudely blocked with timbers, which were barred, like shutters, into place. That these windows looked out upon the world was evident, for, so soon as we masked the searchlight, little streaks of daylight were appearing from all three. And from them, of course, came the air which had kept the great dungeon fresh.

At first it seemed that this was as far as we could go, but, after a little, we found a loose slab in a corner, close to the window wall. This was round, like a cellar-plate, and might have sealed the mouth of a cistern, for a bar had been sunk in its middle, by which a strong man could lift it out of its place.

We were by now quite sure that we were in a gallery which had been cut out of the cliff and that, when the shutters were down, we should see the river below us and the road on its farther side: but, though to my mind it did not matter⁠—for, by the embrasures, we could have plenty of air⁠—the slab did not look to me as though it was concealing an entrance, because, for one thing, it was round and, for another, too small to be hiding a flight of steps. And here I was at once right and wrong, for, when I had lifted it aside, the daylight showed us no entrance, but an exit as clean and simple as ever I saw. This was plainly a shoot, big enough to let a man’s body, and leading at a very steep angle directly to the river below. It was round and smooth, like a drain, and about a third of its mouth was under water.

We discovered later that the shoot in fact discharged into a deep pool: and I think there is little doubt that the bodies of those who had died upon the stile in the oubliette were afterwards disposed of in this way: for a corpse had but to be loaded, head and foot, and then shot into the pool, to sink into well-nigh impregnable oblivion.

That the passage by which we had come was little more than a ramp, down which to drag a body was child’s play, I think supports this view: but we never could make up our minds upon the purpose which the gallery or second chamber had been constructed to serve. It may have been a dungeon: it may have been merely the dreadful “robing-room” in which the dead were “attired” for their last journey: it may have been a retreat to which the Count could withdraw, if the castle fell, where he could rest for a while before he made his escape. Be that as it may, so far as we were concerned, it was a perfect withdrawing-room, airy, secluded, safe, and actually adjoining the dungeon from which we must drive our shaft.

And that was as far as I could see.

Then we returned to the dungeon, and Hanbury ascended, and Mansel came down in his stead. I showed him all we had found. When we came to the shoot, he laughed.

“We’re doomed to get wet,” he said.

I did not understand, and said so.

Mansel fingered his chin.

“William,” he said, “that bomb put the wind up us properly. So much so that this very night we leave Wagensburg⁠—bag, baggage and cars⁠—never to return. At least, that, I trust, is what Rose Noble will think. Of course, he’s no fool, Rose Noble. But, if we leave the stable doors open, he’ll have something to go on, won’t he? And I think we might call at the inn, to say ‘Goodbye’ to the landlord. That would be almost artistic.”

I could only stare.

Mansel laughed. Then he waved a hand at the chamber.

“Dormitory and parlour,” he said, “until the treasure is won. The cars stabled at Villach: supplies delivered by night, by means of the shoot. And, when we’re through, what an exit! Simple, unobtrusive and swift. All we need is a boat. Of course, George Hanbury should receive the D.S.O. And I think perhaps Axel the Red deserves a mention.”

By noon we had lowered into the oubliette everything loose that we had, except, of course, some arms and the furniture of the cars. Then Mansel and Carson descended, to arrange the electric light and install a muffled bell which should ring from the mouth of the shoot.

By lunchtime all was in order, and we had but to lay our plans.

These were easy to make.

We soon decided to leave Rowley and Bell behind in the oubliette, while the rest of us took the cars and left for Villach. To procure a good base should be easy; but we might have to go to Salzburg to find a collapsible boat. It seemed likely that we should be back by the following night. But, before we left the castle, there remained to be done two things of some importance. The first was to see, if we could, what action the enemy was taking: and the second, to determine, once for all, the direction in which to dig our shaft.

Now, when I perceived the gravity of this decision, the extreme difficulty of taking it and the impossibility of verifying its accuracy, I must honestly confess that my heart failed me. Had we had the estate to ourselves, to drive a tunnel near two hundred yards in length and twenty-five feet below ground, so as to hit a chamber some six feet square, would to my mind, have been a very difficult feat: but to accomplish this without being able so much as to survey, with this idea, the surface beneath which we were to burrow, without one definite measurement upon which to found our endeavour, would be, I felt, to perform a miracle.

Indeed, I said as much; to find, to my relief, that we were not so ill-equipped as I had imagined: for it appeared that, the evening before, whilst I was in the well, Mansel had pulled out a compass and taken a bearing by which he had determined the angle at which the shaft left the well. “And that,” said he, “is the kernel of the knowledge we need. The rest I will get, if not today, tomorrow: and, if not tomorrow, the next day. There’s, therefore, no cause for concern. Finally, we have yet to reconnoitre: and if we can wring a survey out of a reconnaissance, so much the better.”

Such comfortable words, coming from Mansel, went far to rout my misgivings, but I could not help hoping very hard that some sort of survey would be made possible by the enemy’s absence from the well, and at once proposed that I should go up to the roof, and, taking care to keep out of sight, see if I could perceive any sign of activity. To this suggestion Mansel agreed, and within five minutes I was upon the slates, looking towards the great well.

I could not see the meadow for the bushes and trees, but work of some sort was proceeding about the well, for, though there was no sound of the windlass, I heard repeatedly the smack of stone upon stone, and once the loose clatter of stones being shot on to the ground. These sounds I could not interpret, and, since I could hear nothing else and could see nowhere any movement, I presently descended to the hall and made my report.

That the thieves were drawing no water delighted us all, for nothing could have shown us more plainly how much they were underrating the activity of the springs. Moreover, by their failure to bail, they were throwing away the precious fruit of our labour, and, of their ignorance, letting slip an invaluable advantage. When we had first taken possession, some fifty-five feet of water had covered the mouth of the shaft: at daybreak this morning it was hidden by, at the most, nineteen: but, if they did not begin bailing before dawn on the following day, the water would by then have regained almost the whole of the ground we had been at such pains to capture.

“Which shows,” said Hanbury, “that the innkeeper isn’t with them. If he were, he’d have put them wise.”

“Don’t be too sure,” said Mansel. “It’s a hundred to one they wouldn’t take his advice: but what is still more likely, is that he’ll hold his tongue. He doesn’t want to help Rose Noble to the treasure. What would be his reward? Why, as like as not, they’d leave him down in the well. He knows that perfectly. And that’s why I very much hope they have impressed him. It will keep him out of mischief, and the quality of help he’ll give them will do as much harm as good.”

It was then arranged that he and I and Carson should go out on patrol, while Rowley watched the courtyard, and Hanbury and Bell covered our advance from the other side of the house.

Carson was to start from the courtyard, pass through the great gateway and move towards the meadow, with the path on his left: Mansel and I were to start from the west of the mansion: and we were to meet, if we could, in a dip which lay between the meadow and the trees which sheltered the house.

Before we set out, we closed the mouth of the dungeon. Then we took a pistol apiece: and Mansel put in his pocket a compass and a measuring-tape.

“And please remember,” he said, “we’re not out to fight: we’re going to see what’s afoot and to mark the lie of the land: a fuss, therefore, means failure: if there’s anyone in our way we must wait till he moves: he’s sure to do that before sundown, and it’s only just two. And there’s the slogan for today: ‘Take your time.’ ”

Mansel and I could only emerge from a window upon the first floor, for all those below were barred: but we had a short rope-ladder, which we had not yet tried. This certainly served our purpose, but it was the most awkward appliance I ever have used, for its rungs were of rope and gave way beneath my weight in a most disconcerting manner.

When we were down, Hanbury drew up the ladder, leaving only a little grey cord to hang against the wall, some seven feet above ground. We had but to twitch this to bring down the ladder at once; so, though it was very improbable that an unfriendly eye would perceive anything suspicious, our means of ascent was continually assured.

The first thing we did was to gain the shelter of the trees and lie down in the long grass. There we lay for ten minutes as still as death. During all that time we heard not the faintest sound, except, very indistinctly, the stony chink and clatter which I had heard from the roof.

At length Mansel gave the signal, and we began to move.

Using the greatest caution, we crawled south, keeping as close to the castle as the covert allowed. So we came to the corner where the staircase-turret stood. Here, again, we lay still for ten minutes or more. Then Mansel rose to his knees, and from his knees to his feet. For a moment he stood like a statue: then he looked slowly around. The next instant he was at the base of the turret, measuring-tape in hand.

I do not think that anything I ever saw Mansel do impressed me so much as the little survey he made at the foot of the castle wall. He was full in the open, and against the white, sunlit stone he offered a perfect mark: the work he was doing, if seen, would as good as betray our plans: his nearest cover was twenty-five paces away. Yet, though he worked for six minutes, he never once looked about him or even raised his head. Swiftly and silently he used the compass and tape, going about his business with the deliberate precision of one to whom time is no object, and entering figures in a notebook, as though he had the world to himself.

When he had quite finished, he took a long nail from his pocket and, placing its point where he had made a slight mark, pressed it well into the ground: then he hooked the end of the tape upon the head of the nail, and stepped across to where I lay in the grass.

“Kneel for a minute,” he said. I knelt. “You see that fir to our left, with the broken bough like a spout? I’m going to measure exactly how far it stands from the nail. Follow me, with the tape in your hand. Hold it continually taut, so that whatever happens it doesn’t slip off the nail.”

With that, he lay down in the grass and began to steal forward, paying out the tape as he went.

We had crawled and lain still and crawled again for nearly half-an-hour, and, so much were my fingers aching, I was beginning to wish the treasure at the bottom of the sea, when Mansel turned his head and signed to me to come alongside.

I did so gingerly.

“I can smell tobacco,” he breathed.

We were still ten paces from the fir, to which, except for the bushes, we had had a clear run: in threading the tape through these, Mansel had shown infinite patience, for, as may be readily understood, it was a trying exercise, and to perform it noiselessly had entailed a lot of finical labour.

At first I could smell no smoke, but after a moment or two a whiff came to my nose, and I was immediately sure that it came from the south. I told Mansel this, whereupon he at once went forward, bidding me stay where I was. Half a length clear of me he stopped, and, after a long wait, signed to me to come on. When I had done so and was lying alongside, he told me very gently to part the grass.

The first thing I saw was that we were at the end of the covert through which we had crawled and that the fir stood clear, on the edge of the little dip where we were to join Carson. Beyond lay the meadow. In this, twenty paces away, stood a little, curved breastwork composed of flat, loose stones such as go to the making of piled walls, and built to shelter a sentry from every side but the south. This little sconce was occupied, for the smoke we had smelt was floating over its parapet, and the crown of a soft, felt hat was just to be seen. Whoever was there was plainly taking his ease and was sitting down on the ground, with his back to the wall.

In the distance, about the well, Rose Noble was directing the building of a kind of redoubt, in the shape of a wall of flat stones piled one upon the other and packed together with earth. These were brought up from the combe, from some wall or cabin, I suppose, which we had not observed, and were borne on a sort of hurdle by a bearer at either end. The sun was hot, and I did not envy them their labour; and, indeed, it was very clear that they did not like it themselves, for they staggered under their loads, like drunken men, and finally discharged them with the slovenly recklessness of one who is past caring.

Some sort of system was observed, for the two that had brought up the stones packed those they had brought into place, while the others reluctantly descended in search of more: but, partly for want of stones and partly because of the laziness of its builders, which was quite laughable to watch, the wall rose very slowly, and I was not surprised to see Rose Noble fiercely impatient of such half-heartedness. What he said I could not hear, but the contempt and indignation of his gestures were unmistakable.

Perhaps, for us, the most engaging sight was that of the landlord of the inn, his wrist fastened by a cord to that of Punter, taking his turn with the latter of bringing up stones on the hurdle and packing them into place. A more dejected-looking workman I never have seen, and I imagine he was cursing the treasure and the well and Wagensburg from the bottom of his heart.

No one of them was suitably attired for manual labour, but Job was wearing a pair of white flannel trousers, which might have afforded him comfort, had he not been so anxious to keep them clean. In this the labour was against him, and his manifest concern for their condition was constantly provoking Rose Noble’s wrath.

Ellis was not to be seen, which satisfied us that he was behind the breastwork, performing the duties of a sentinel according to his lights.

Now, all this encouraged me greatly, and, I fancy, Mansel as well; for it was plain as a pikestaff that, though the thieves “meant business,” when they felt the pinch of labour there was only one man among them worth his salt, and that, if they could not draw water any better than they could build walls, their chances of reaching the shaft were slight indeed, to say nothing of Ellis’ exhibition, for which he deserved to be shot. All the same, there were still six paces between us and the fir, which was our immediate goal, and these lay in view of the meadow and all its occupants.

Now this, though I did not then know it, did not matter at all, for what Mansel had wanted to do was to reach some point from which he could see the well. And this we had done. So, after a little, he brought out a second nail and pressed it into the ground. The distance between the two nails was eighty-one yards. He then took the bearing of the well from the second nail. When he had done this, for an hour he lay very still, like a dog, with his eyes fixed upon the meadow and his chin on his hands. He told me later that during that time he endured the torment of a thief who, holding already some earring of very great value, regards its fellow from without some jeweller’s shop; for that, having got so far, not to be able to measure the distance from where we lay to the well was exasperating indeed.

At last he whispered to me to move a few paces back towards the house and to wait for him in a place where the cover was thick.

I had hardly done so before I saw Carson’s head a little way to our left, and, so soon as he saw that I saw him, he nodded and disappeared.

As soon as Mansel was back, he spoke in my ear.

“I think we must make a bid for the distance from the covert to the well. We may not need it; but, if we don’t take it now, I don’t think we shall be able to take it at all. Unless I’m mistaken, they’re not only building a shelter: they’re building their future home: and the idea of surveying even the curtilage of Rose Noble’s bower, when occupied, makes no appeal to me. Now to drive them out of the meadow would be of no use: they’d certainly run for shelter, but, as soon as they’d won it, they’d stand; and then, though they might not hurt us, they’d see us at work. And that would be fatal. The only thing to be done is to draw them into the combe. Please, therefore, go back and get Hanbury. Leave the house together and see that Bell or Rowley pulls up the ladder out of sight. Then make your way to the combe, bearing west, well away from the meadow, beyond the sentinel peak. Locate their depot of stones and try to pick up their car. Then decide two things⁠—first, what feint is most likely to draw them into the combe, and, secondly, how you and Hanbury are going to retire on the house. When you’ve taken these two decisions, await a convenient moment, and then demonstrate. Fire, start the engine of the car, shout⁠—according as you think best. If you can do it, I should think the car is a sure draw. And the moment you’ve got them going, fade right away. For heaven’s sake take no risks: it isn’t worth it. And a minute and a half is enough for Carson and me. Now, is all that clear?”

I nodded.

“Good,” breathed Mansel. “As you go, please release the tape and pocket the nail: and remember, take your time.”

“I will,” I said.

Then I turned and left him, and started to crawl back towards the house.

It was, I suppose, some thirty minutes later that Hanbury and I rounded the southwestern shoulder of the sentinel peak to see the closed car below us on a grass-grown track, close to a ruinous byre. Of this the walls were standing, and had been rudely loop-holed: but the roof was gone. Still, the place made a good blockhouse, and the ground about it was clear, affording a field of fire. The track was wet and muddy, because of all the water which we had drawn from the well: and, further east, the ground to the north of the track had the look of a bog. Two or three blankets were lying spread out in the sun, and bottles and papers and tins made a disorderly litter about the spot. A door of the car was open, and on this hung somebody’s coat: a couple of empty glasses stood on the running-board.

We had just observed all this when Punter and the innkeeper came plodding into view, the latter dragging the hurdle, as though he were tired of life. Arrived at the byre, Punter lay down on the ground, while the other began to pluck some stones from what was left of a pen by the side of the byre. He worked slowly enough in all conscience, yet too fast, I suppose, for Punter, for, when the hurdle was laden, the latter stared upon its burden and then, as though the sight shocked him, covered his eyes and lay back upon the ground. Indeed, so ludicrous was his demeanour that Hanbury and I began to shake with laughter, and, when his unfortunate companion began to gesticulate in manifest apprehension of the trouncing this delay would provoke, we could have roared with mirth. Punter, however, took no notice at all, and at last the other sat down and put his head in his hands.

Before they moved again, our plans were laid.

From what we remembered of the combe, there would come a moment when Punter, mounting the slope, could see Rose Noble, yet have the car in his eye. At that moment we were to sally upon the car. I was to start her engine and, as though by accident, sound the electric horn, while Hanbury was to attack her petrol-tank. Directly we heard the cries sure to be raised, we were to fire at random, and I was to run up the track and Hanbury down. Once out of sight we were to take to the woods and make our way back to the castle, I by way of the shrine and Hanbury, who was fleeter of foot, by the line we had come.

The plan was simple enough, and, I think, sound: in fact, as I shall presently show, it served its purpose: but this it did at a price which we did not expect to pay, for I had just started the engine, after sounding the horn, and was watching Punter’s frenzy upon the brow of the rise, when two hands closed upon my windpipe with a grip so savage that I was unable to breathe, much less utter a sound. Be sure I fought like a madman, but the man behind me was strong and had the advantage. His thumbs were braced against the back of my neck, which might have been in a vice, and, having once got such a hold, for him to prevent me from leaving the driver’s seat was very easy. It seemed a long time before I heard cries raised, and then the noise of a shot. This sounded faint, and blurred, for the blood was pounding in my head, and I knew I was losing consciousness. Then I heard more cries, which seemed confused and distant, and I was still trying to determine what they might mean, when my senses left me.

“What do you know?” said Rose Noble.

I was sitting up on the ground, with my back to the near fore wheel of the closed car. The hubcap was hurting abominably, but about this I could do nothing, because I was lashed to the spokes and could not move. Rose Noble was sitting on a box a few feet away, and, immediately opposite me, Ellis was leaning against the jamb of a doorway, framed by a high stone wall, with a cigar in his mouth. For a moment or two I could not make out where I was: then I saw that the car had been moved to the farther side of the byre, which now stood between it and the combe, and wholly concealed it from anyone north of the track.

I must have lain unconscious a long time, for the sun had just gone down.

“What do you know?” said Rose Noble.

“I refuse to talk,” said I, “until you loosen this cord. I expect to be tied up, but this hubcap is breaking my back.”

Ellis laughed and spat, but Rose Noble only regarded me, rubbing his nose. Then, to my surprise, he rose and, coming behind me, began to loosen my bonds. Ellis’ surprise was plainly greater than mine, for, when he saw Rose Noble’s purpose, he started forward with an oath, and dropped his cigar.

“What the devil are you doing?” he cried.

The other told him not to be a fool.

When the strain was gone, I thanked him, and he made fast the cords.

“And now,” he said, resuming his seat on the box, “what do you know?”

“I believe,” said I, “there’s a chamber at the bottom of that well.”

“How far down?” said Rose Noble.

“Most of the way,” said I. “I can’t tell you for certain, because there was still too much water when last I went down: but I think it lies pretty low.”

“Were you the last to go down?”

“I was.”

“Can you speak German?” said Rose Noble.

“Not a word.”

I knew what was in his mind, and was glad to make a true answer, for to lie when your statement cannot be checked is one thing, but to give a reply which another captive may instantly show to be false is another matter.

“When you say ‘a chamber,’ ” said Rose Noble, “what do you mean?”

I told him of the well-digger’s statement, only omitting to speak any word of the shaft.

“Then the treasure’s under water?” he said.

“It must be,” said I. “In some recess in the wall.”

“How far down did you get?”

“About forty feet below high-water mark.”

“That tells me nothing,” said Rose Noble. “How close did you get to the bottom of the well?”

“Within twenty-five feet.”

The man’s bearing was curiously soft: he was certainly examining me, but his manner was not unpleasant, though something abrupt: all the time he kept his eyes on my face, tilting his chin a little and blinking musingly.

“And now,” he said, looking away, “what are your plans?”

“At the present moment,” said I, “we have no plans.”

For a moment Rose Noble did not move. Then he looked round and upon me, with his eyes wide.

I have tried before to describe the horror these lent his countenance, but I do not think I can ever begin to convey the appalling malevolence of his terrible gaze. It was not human: and, as I met it, I felt my hair rise upon my head.

“Guess again,” he purred.

I made him no answer, partly because I dared not trust my voice.

“Mansel,” continued Rose Noble, “sent you two guys down here, to draw us away from the well. Why?”

I was so much confounded by the man’s discernment that, instead of directly traversing what can only have been a conjecture, dressed up as a fact, I said nothing at all, but only stared upon him like a man in a dream.

“Why?”

I swallowed with difficulty.

“Mansel doesn’t talk,” I said hoarsely, “even to me. I know he wanted to have a look at the well, but he didn’t say why.”

The eyes seemed to scorch my brain.

“Why, d’you think?”

I could only shake my head.

“He’s lying,” said Ellis. “He knows.”

“Yes,” said Rose Noble. “He knows.” He raised his voice. “Bunch!” The driver of the car appeared. “Take off the fan-strap.”

I suppose I might have known what was coming, but not until the belt had been taken from the cooling-fan it controlled and I had been spreadeagled, with my back flat against the radiator of the car, did I realise that pressure in the shape of heat, was to be put upon me to open my mouth. I had but a shirt to my back, and I could feel that the radiator was just warm.

“Start her up,” said Rose Noble.

Bunch started the engine: then he played with the throttle, until she was idling in a leisurely way.

Rose Noble got to his feet.

“I am not in the habit,” he said, “of wasting my time. I shall, therefore, require your answer before you are taken down. Bear that in mind. Before. So don’t wait too long before announcing your readiness to reply. Leave, so to speak, a margin of endurance.”

The cold, imperious tone stung me to speech.

“That’s not the way,” said I, “to address your betters.”

Ellis, who was moving away, stopped in his stride and turned: Bunch, who was fastening a bootlace, looked up at me, open-mouthed: Rose Noble stood very still.

At length:

“That was a mistake,” he said slowly, “which Mansel would never have made.”

“Very likely,” said I, for I saw I had drawn blood, and this exhilarated me. “But then, he’s enough brain for five. And isn’t he quick with his hands?”

Rose Noble lifted his head and looked at the sky. This was dark with clouds, coming up from the west.

“After all,” he said, as though in soliloquy, “swans sing, don’t they? So why not a cygnet?”

Then he turned and walked firmly away, passing out of sight round the byre: Ellis followed him: and presently Rose Noble’s voice called Bunch, and I was left alone.

It was more than half dark now, and already the radiator was growing unpleasantly warm. I attempted to hollow my back, but I was lashed so tight that I could only spare one region at the expense of another. I, therefore, began an endeavour to stretch the cords: unless I could do this quickly, I should not be able, I knew, to do it at all, for to brace myself against the radiator would soon be out of the question. I, therefore, like Samson, put forth all my strength, taking the strain for a quarter of a minute at a time, with the happy result that, after three or four efforts, though the cords held, I must have added full half an inch to their length, for I was able to stand quite clear of the now fiery metal. This was a great relief, but I knew that, unless I was soon to be saved, I had but postponed my torment.

I have often wondered why I did not lose heart, for my plight was really desperate, and my rescue could only follow the very capture of the byre: but, I suppose, a merciful Providence heartens those who else would have no hope at all, so that they may not be called upon to bear too great a burden. So I stood there hopefully, with my eyes on the corner of the byre, listening for any sound.

Suddenly a shot rang out.

Ellis was the first to appear, whipping into safety, like the dastard he was: Rose Noble and Bunch followed hastily enough. They all passed into the byre without a word.

After a moment or two:

“That was Job’s side,” said Ellis. “Why doesn’t the ⸻ come in?”

“Because he’s asleep,” sneered Rose Noble. “That’s the only thing that would keep Job at his post.”

Then I heard two more shots, and almost at once Bunch cried:

“There he is by the rotten stump. I can see his pants.”

Here came another shot, and those in the byre cried out that Job was down.

“Serve him right,” said Rose Noble, “for showing them where to shoot. This isn’t Wimbledon.”

“He’s up,” cried Bunch. “He’s up. Punched, though. Lame as a ⸻ tree.”

“What did I say?” said Rose Noble. And then, with a dirty oath, “He’d be something more than lame if I’d been behind him.”

Here came the scuttle of feet, and Punter rounded the byre and flashed within.

“Job’s stopped one,” he cried, panting.

“You must teach him to run,” said Rose Noble, acidly. “Take the right wall.”

“Curse this dark,” said Ellis. “I can’t see a ⸻ thing.”

“There’s nothing to see,” said Rose Noble. “We’ve only got to sit tight an’⁠—”

“He’s down again,” cried Bunch. “Crawlin’ in.”

“Oh, ⸻ Job,” said Rose Noble. “Crawling or lying, what the hell do we care? Time to⁠—”

A little burst of fire drowned what else he was saying, and I heard a bullet strike upon stone, and another sing over my head.

“Three flashes in front,” said Rose Noble. “Now for the other two.”

As though in reply came two shots, not far away.

“Five,” said Rose Noble. “Thank you, you clumsy fools. Ellis, they’re under that hump, trying to move around. Keep your eye on the track: they can’t cross that unseen. Bunch, take the left with Ellis and watch that road.”

“Job coming up, Punter,” said Bunch. “Don’⁠—”

The profane unanimity with which his companions consigned poor Job and all his works to the devil argued that they had slight use for a wounded man. Had it been Ellis or Rose Noble, I do not think the others would have been any more concerned; for they were confederates of necessity, and not at all of choice.

There was another spurt of shots.

“Three from the hump,” said Ellis. “An’ they don’t fancy that road.”

“Show you can see it,” said Rose Noble, “just to encourage the swine.”

As Ellis fired, Job crawled round the edge of the byre into my view, trailing his left leg. When he was round, he stopped short of the doorway, as though he had done enough. After a little, he propped himself on an elbow and looked about him.

The firing was hotter now, and, once and again, Ellis fired down the road. He or Rose Noble always counted the flashes in a loud voice.

Job had seen me and was plainly puzzled by my attitude, for he craned his neck and peered, like a dim-sighted man. But even this inspection did not apparently satisfy his curiosity, for, after a little, he fell again upon his face and started to drag himself painfully almost up to my feet. There he lay for a moment, as though the effort had been too much for him. Then his arm stole out, and I felt him cutting my bonds.

“One flash from the right,” said Rose Noble. “Punter, watch your road.”

“Three from the hump,” said Ellis, and fired again.

“Can you walk?” breathed Mansel.

“Yes,” said I, free and trembling.

“Follow me.”

He stepped out of sight of the doorway behind the car, with me in his wake. Then he put his hand under my arm, and we began to run. A hundred yards later he stopped, to rip Job’s trousers from his legs. Then we crossed the track and headed straight for the combe. Halfway up this, Mansel drew his pistol and, standing with his back to the byre, fired four shots in succession into the air.

“That’s the rally,” he explained. “And now you get back to the house. The courtyard door is open. And you might give Tester some water and tell him that I shall be back in a quarter of an hour.”

Mansel was as good as his word, and twenty-five minutes later we were all six within doors.

If I had then expected to hear his tale, I was disappointed, for Carson was sent forthwith to prepare the cars, and Rowley and Bell made ready to enter the oubliette.

Bell was the older of the two, and Mansel put him in charge.

“Move very carefully,” he said, “and make no unnecessary noise. During the day you may take down one of the shutters and open the shoot. You may do the same by night, provided you show no light. If I don’t come tomorrow night, I shall come the next night without fail: but not, of course, during the day. The bell from the shoot is muffled, so sleep with it to your ear; and test it at dusk.”

Then we lowered them into the dungeon, and, when they had found the searchlight, we slid the slabs back into place. Mansel oversaw this action, himself wiping every edge with great particularity: and, when it was done, he took a handful of dust, which he had got from some chamber, and sprinkled it over the landing from side to side. Then he took a cloth and smeared the dust to and fro, finally wiping it off into an empty tin. When he had done this, not a joint was visible.

Much of the ceiling of the hall which led to the turret had been brought down by the bomb, and the powder had floated up the staircase and settled on every tread. That we had been busy hereabouts was, therefore, most evident, for the stairs were covered with footprints, especially about the mouth of the oubliette. We, therefore, swept the staircase as far as the windows we had used, after which Mansel took off his shoes and powdered it over again by dashing a bag full of plaster against the wall. We then pulled down most of the remains of the ceiling, to cover our use of the hall, and, when all the powder had settled, Hanbury and I walked once up and down the stairs.

So soon as this was done, we repaired to the stables, and, whilst Hanbury kept watch in the gateway, Mansel and Carson and I manhandled the cars through the courtyard on to the road of approach. When we felt them moving under their own weight, we put on the brakes. The Rolls was in rear.

Then Mansel closed the stables and left by the kitchen hall door, locking it behind him: and, a moment later, we were moving down the drive in silence, except for the creak of leather and the brush of the tyres.

Hanbury and Carson rode in the first car, and Mansel, Tester and I went in the Rolls. When we came to the first bend, Mansel switched on our lights.

Lest someone of the village should notice that we were but four, Hanbury and Carson were to thread it as fast as they could, while Mansel and I were to stop and call at the inn.

This we did, to find the innkeeper’s wife in an uneasy temper, for, said she, her husband had gone out at dusk the day before, but had not said whither he was going, and had not returned. She rather feared, she added, that he was gone after some gypsies who always passed through Carinthia at this time of the year, and sometimes had with them horses which they were too ready to sell below their market worth. Mansel shrugged his shoulders and paid our account. When the woman asked if we were going, he said we should be back in ten days.

With that, we left her standing in the mouth of the inn, and, presently overtaking the others, reached Villach within the hour.

And there, whilst we ate our supper, Mansel told me his tale.

“I measured the distance,” he said, “from the second nail to the well. I made sure we should rouse friend Ellis behind the breastwork, but Carson had him covered, so I counted him out. The distance was one hundred and eleven yards. I sank the three buckets and I cut the two pulleys adrift and let them fall. Then, for the first time, I glanced at the sconce. It was empty, except for a hat on the top of a stick. By the side of the stick was a brazier, made out of a tin, and a handful of tobacco on some charcoal was smouldering gently. Not a very elaborate device, but, as no doubt Rose Noble surmised, quite good enough to fool me.

“I confess that I felt humiliated, but I was much more alarmed. I had sent you down to play with an empty car⁠—not to take tea with Ellis, who, you were sure, was asleep a quarter of a mile away.

“I reached the edge of the wood, to the right of the combe, in time to see the car being backed out of sight behind the byre. You were lying on the ground⁠—to my great relief evidently no worse than senseless, for Ellis was lashing your wrists behind your back. Then he and Bunch picked you up and lugged you behind the byre. I observed that this had been loop-holed.

“It was clear that nothing could be usefully done towards your rescue until the sun was down and you had regained consciousness: so I left Carson to watch and returned for reinforcements. Hanbury, of course, believed you halfway to the shrine. While I was gone, Job and Punter were posted on either side of the combe. The landlord was tied to a tree⁠—I suppose, for the night. Job went to sleep, of course: and, for the second time, Carson laid him out. It was then that I had the idea of assuming his personality. I pretended a wound, of course, to cover my limp: to tire and crawl in was the corollary of the wound. But I never hoped to find you without the byre.”

When I tried to say I was grateful, he would have none of my thanks.

“Had I been in your case,” he said shortly, “you would have done the same.”

For all that, to go down alone to that byre was a brave thing to do: and I think the knowledge that discovery would almost inevitably entail a fate far more dreadful than any sudden death would have daunted most men I know.