My companion, taper in hand, started off down the tunnel, and I followed
at his heels, stepping over the great stones which had fallen from the
roof or the walls, and now obstructed the path.
'Well,' said he, grinning at me over his shoulder, 'have you ever seen
anything like this in England?'
'Never,' I answered.
'These are the precautions and devices which men adopted in rough days
long ago. Now that rough days have come again, they are very useful to
those who know of such places.'
'Whither does it lead, then?' I asked.
'To this,' said he, stopping before an old wooden door, powerfully
clamped with iron. He fumbled with the metal-work, keeping himself
between me and it, so that I could not see what he was doing. There was
a sharp snick, and the door revolved slowly upon its hinges. Within
there was a steep flight of time-worn steps leading upwards. He
motioned me on, and closed the door behind us. At the head of the stair
there was a second wooden gate, which he opened in a similar manner.
I had been dazed before ever I came into the chalk pit, but now, at this
succession of incidents, I began to rub my eyes and ask myself whether
this was young Louis de Laval, late of Ashford, in Kent, or whether it
was some dream of the adventures of a hero of Pigault Lebrun.
Pages:
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96