“It’s going to be a very costly business, it seems,” Elfrida heard her father say to the engineer, “and I don’t know that I ought to do it. But I can’t resist the temptation. I shall have to economize in other directions, that’s all.”
When Elfrida had heard this she went to Dickie and Edred, who were fishing in the cave, and told them what she had heard.
“And we must have another try for the treasure,” she said. “Whoever has the Castle will want to restore it; they’ve got those pictures of it as it used to be. And then there are all the cottages to rebuild. Dear Dickie, you’re so clever, do think of some way to find the treasure.”
So Dickie thought.
And presently he said—
“You once saw the treasure being carried to the secret room—in a picture, didn’t you?”
They told him yes.
“Then why didn’t you go back to that time and see it really?”
“We hadn’t the clothes. Everything in our magic depended on clothes.”
“Mine doesn’t. Shall we go?”
“There were lots of soldiers in the picture,” said Edred, “and fighting.”
“I’m not afraid of soldiers,” said Elfrida very quickly, “and you’re not afraid of anything, Edred—you know you aren’t.”
“You can’t be or you couldn’t have come after me right into the cave in the middle of the night. Come on. Stand close together and I’ll spread out the moonseeds.”
So Dickie said, and they stood, and he spread the moonseeds out, and he wished to be with the party of men who were hiding the treasure. But before he spread out the seeds he took certain other things in his left hand and held them closely. And instantly they were.
They were standing very close together, all three of them, in a niche in a narrow, dark passage, and men went by them carrying heavy chests, and great sacks of leather, and bundles tied up in straw and in handkerchiefs. The men had long hair and the kind of clothes you know were worn when Charles the First was King. And the children wore the dresses of that time and the boys had little swords at their sides. When the last bundle had been carried, the last chest set down with a dump on the stone floor of some room beyond, the children heard a door shut and a key turned, and then the men came back all together along the passage, and the children followed them. Presently torchlight gave way to daylight as they came out into the open air. But they had to come on hands and knees, for the path sloped steeply up and the opening was very low. The chests must have been pushed or pulled through. They could never have been carried.
The children turned and looked at the opening. It was in the courtyard wall, the courtyard that was now a smooth grass lawn and not the rough, daisied grass plot dotted with heaps of broken stone and masonry that they were used to see. And as they looked two men picked up a great stone and staggered forward with it and laid it on the stone floor of the secret passage just where it ended at the edge of the grass. Then another stone and another. The stones fitted into their places like bits of a Chinese puzzle. There was mortar or cement at their edges, and when the last stone was replaced no one could tell those stones from the other stones that formed the wall. Only the grass in front of them was trampled and broken.
“Fetch food and break it about,” said the man who seemed to be in command, “that it may look as though the men had eaten here. And trample the grass at other places. I give the Roundhead dogs another hour to break down our last defense. Children, go to your mother. This is no place for you.”
They knew the way. They had seen it in the picture. Edred and Elfrida turned to go. But Dickie whispered, “Don’t wait for me. I’ve something yet to do.”
And when the soldiers had gone to get food and strew it about, as they had been told to do, Dickie crept up to the stones that had been removed, from which he had never taken his eyes, knelt down and scratched on one of the stones with one of the big nails he had brought in his hand. It blunted over and he took another, hiding in the chapel doorway when the men came back with the food.
“Every man to his post and God save us all!” cried the captain when the food was spread. They clattered off—they were in their armor now—and Dickie knelt down again and went on scratching with the nail.
The air was full of shouting, and the sound of guns, and the clash of armor, and a shattering sound like a giant mallet striking a giant drum—a sound that came and came again at five-minute intervals—and the shrieks of wounded men. Dickie pressed up the grass to cover the marks he had made on the stone, so low as to be almost underground and quite hidden by the grass roots.
Then he brushed the stone dust
