the steward’s belongings – including the cloaked grave robber.
I reached the Hall in time to see Tony disappearing through the door which led to the cellars. When I got to the bottom of the stairs, I was relieved to see that Tony had had sense enough to bring a flashlight. By its glow I found the two men in the kitchen. Tony had apparently decided to keep his suspicions of the doctor to himself. The conference sounded reasonably amicable.
‘I lost him when he descended here,’ said Blankenhagen. ‘Where do these doors go? I do not know this place.’
‘That’s a dead end.’ Tony indicated the passage leading to the dungeons. ‘I assume our quarry knows that;. he knows this place too damned well. He must have gone the other way.’
The trail was easy to follow – too easy, though this didn’t occur to us till it was too late. One of the storeroom doors swung invitingly open. The room was empty. The only break in the walls was a ventilation slit too narrow to permit egress of a lizard, much less a man.
Tony swept the floor with his flashlight. One of the paving stones was out of line by a full inch.
Tony handed me the flashlight. Dropping to his knees, he tried to get the fingers of his right hand into the crack between the stones. Meanwhile, Blankenhagen picked up the crowbar which was lying conveniently in a corner and inserted its edge into the crack. He grunted as he put his weight behind the tool; and the stone flew up with a jaunty swing that threw Blankenhagen over on his back and almost decapitated Tony.
‘Balanced,’ said Tony, feeling his chin as if surprised to find it still there.
‘Wait,’ said Blankenhagen, getting to his feet as Tony prepared to lower himself into the hole. ‘Should we not go for help?’
‘And let this guy get away?’ Tony was getting suspicious again. ‘You go first, Doc.’
Blankenhagen shrugged, but complied. There was a streak of romanticism under that stolid exterior of his; by now he was as reluctant to abandon the chase as Tony was.
Tony lay flat, shining his light down into the hole.
‘
Tony turned around and prepared to follow. He glanced up at me. I could see his face; it wore a broad grin.
‘Go call the cops, Vicky,’ he said, and started down.
From where I stand now – and even from where I was to be standing an hour later – I can see that this might have been the smartest thing to do. But at the time I had a number of objections to the idea. I was pretty sure of Blankenhagen, but I wasn’t ready to risk Tony’s neck on anything less than a hundred-per cent certainty. If I left the two of them alone down there . . .
Also, Tony had the light. I was still thinking in percentages, and there was a fifty-fifty chance that the clearly defined trail was a decoy. I had no desire to meet the knifethrower in the dark cellar as I groped my way towards my room. I squatted by the opening, trying to make up my mind what to do.
I didn’t have to make the choice. Matters were taken out of my hands.
Blankenhagen had reached the bottom of the shaft. I could hear him cautioning Tony, who was partway down. Tony had the light directed downwards so he could pick his footing on the rickety stairs. It was very dark up there where I was. It got even darker. Somebody dropped a sack over my head, picked me up and – while I was still stiff with surprise – dropped me down the shaft feet first like a clothes-pin into a bottle.
I fell on Tony and swept him neatly off the staircase, which promptly collapsed. Blankenhagen, down below, had no chance to move. We both landed on him, as did the splintered pieces of the staircase. Oddly enough, I remember the noise as being the most hellish thing of all. In that narrow space the echoes of crashes and screams and yells and thuds were magnified into a roaring chaos.
Being on top, I came out best. I didn’t even lose consciousness. I had my lumps; a strategic section of my anatomy had bounced off the wall as I fell, and my whole lower surface was full of splinters. But compared to the two men I was in good shape.
They were both out cold. I discovered that by feel; for all practical purposes I was blind. Tony’s flashlight had gone with him. There was no light from up above. Nor was there any flow of air.
That realization stopped my humanitarian activities for a second or two. I should have suspeced it; if someone had put me down the shaft it was because he wanted me there, and naturally he would make sure I stayed there.
The stone up above had been closed and, no doubt, secured in some fashion.
I went back to my fumbling. There were arms and legs all over the place, and at first I couldn’t figure out which belonged to whom. Then I found Tony’s face, which my hands know as well as my eyes. He mumbled something when I touched his cheek. I was so relieved I might have cried, if I’d had the time. Instead I located his pockets and found what I was hoping to find – two packets of matches.
I lit one of the matches. While it burned I made a quick examination.
Tony was semi-conscious and cursing. That was good. Blankenhagen, on whose chest Tony’s head was pillowed, had a broken arm. It wasn’t hard to diagnose, since I could see the bone sticking out. Both men were dirty and torn and bloody.
The match burned my fingers. I blew it out and went on examining in the dark. Blankenhagen’s face was a bloody mess, but after running my fingers over his head I decided his skull had not been fractured.
At that point Tony woke up completely, and we had a rather emotional session for a minute or two. I lit another match, then, while Tony confirmed my diagnosis of the doctor’s injuries.
‘I don’t dare move him,’ he said, as the match flickered out. ‘Something else could be broken.’
‘See if we can wake him up. Maybe he can diagnose himself.’
We worked over the unconscious man until I started to get scared. Finally he stirred.
‘Don’t move yet, Blankenhagen,’ Tony ordered. ‘You’ve got a broken arm and God knows what else. Can you hear me?’
‘Yes . . . What has happened?’
‘The stairs gave way,’ I said. ‘And the trapdoor above is closed.’
The silence that followed this cheering summary was so prolonged that I began to think I had overestimated Blankenhagen’s stamina and shocked him back into unconsciousness. Finally he said, in a gloomy voice, ‘You are here too? I wish you were not.’
‘So do I.’
‘I will see what is wrong with me,’ said Blankenhagen.
‘I’m glad somebody around here is a doctor,’ said Tony.
I offered to light a match, but Blankenhagen refused. Maybe he didn’t want to see the damage. I didn’t enjoy the following minutes; I could tell by Blankenhagen’s grunts and gasps whenever he found a new bruise.
‘Nothing has been broken,’ he announced, ‘except the arm. You cannot go for help?’
‘I don’t know,’ Tony said. ‘We haven’t explored yet. But I have a feeling the guy who tricked us in here isn’t going to leave an exit open.’
‘Perhaps you would care to look?’ Blankenhagen suggested. I didn’t blame him for sounding sarcastic.
‘Okay,’ said Tony meekly. He stood up; and then sat down again, clutching his head.
‘I am sorry,’ said Blankenhagen, feeling his weight descend. ‘I did not think . . . You are injured. If you will come here, I will try – ’
‘Oh, don’t be so damned noble,’ said Tony grumpily. ‘I’m all right. I just had a thought. Maybe some of this wood might make a torch. We’d have an easier time with a little light.’
‘Without oil or petrol,’ Blankenhagen began.
I interrupted him with a hoot of triumph. ‘I have some oil. I got it so I could oil the locks.’
I fished the almost forgotten can out of my coat pocket and gave it to Tony. He wasted several matches experimenting, but finally a chunk of wood consented to burn.
We looked first at the shaft. One look was enough.
A few stairs remained, at the very top. The lowest tread was five feet above my upstretched fingertips.
Tony turned the light into the passage that led out of the shaft. It was faced with stones cemented together. We could see only a few feet of its length; it turned a corner not far from us.
Tony started down the passage, but he had taken only a couple of steps when he swayed dizzily and fell back
