“How is it they do not discover this hole in the wall?”
“Simply because on your side it is hidden by the picture, and behind the picture I have preserved the papering. On my side, it is hidden by a mirror; when I open the aperture, I unscrew the mirror.”
“But how did you know there was a picture on this side?”
“A person who was confined as you are told me.”
“Was he sane then? What became of him?”
“Don’t ask me. He was sane. It was a terrible disappointment when he went.”
“But did he not return to get you out?”
“You do not comprehend. He lies in the grave. It is my belief—but I should alarm you.”
“They killed him?”
“Well, not so violent as that. He died—that is it—before our arrangements were complete.”
“Then you have tried to escape with others?”
“Yes, three times, and three times accident has baulked it. For that reason I wish you to get strong speedily, lest you should be removed to another room—”
“Or the grave!”
“Let us talk on other subjects. You do not ask how the hole was made, nor why. I will tell you. In the first place, it was made because I had hopes of escaping through your room, which was then unoccupied, and the door left open. That was vain, for it was afterwards occupied; then the hole was enlarged to let me and one of your predecessors converse, and to let him get into my room, as you will have to do.”
“Why?”
“Because your window is a French one; mine has a bar or upright up the centre, which is an essential element of escape.”
“Go on—how did you make the hole?”
“With the steel and with the poker—grinding the bricks into dust, and mingling the dust with the ashes of the fire, so that the warder himself carried them away.”
“And why not escape this way?”
“Because, in the first place, the door of that room is kept locked; secondly, because it opens also into the same corridor, and at the end of that corridor is the guardroom, where there is always a warder. Your bell rings in that room.”
“How did you learn all these things?”
“How did you learn all the little traits of human nature, which the reviewers say you put in your book? By observation, of course. I had to walk along that corridor to reach the grounds, when I was allowed to go out.”
“But you could bore a hole into the corridor?”
“Yes, and the bits of broken plaster would tell the story—that would be simple. Besides, to what end? Once I thought of boring under the corridor.”
“How do that?”
“By lifting up one of the planks of the floor here; there is a space between the flooring and the ceiling, and that corridor has a kind of tunnel along under it. What for? why the hot-water pipes, to warm the cells, are carried along it—the cells of the violent, whose rooms have no fire-grates—that is of no use, for the tunnel at one end comes to the furnaces, where there is usually a man, neither could I get through the heat. At the other there is the thick outer wall of stone, and just beneath is Theodore’s own room—his ears are sharp. Useless, my friend. This knowledge of the premises seems to you wonderful, simply because you have been here so short a time. Why, I have never seen the outside of this side of the building, except a partial glimpse when I was brought, gagged and bound, in a closed carriage; yet look at this.”
He handed to Aymer a sheet of paper, on which was an elevation plan.
“I can’t see how you got at this,” said Aymer, beginning to have a high opinion of the other’s ability.
“It was difficult; but patience and observation will accomplish all things. I learnt much of the outline by the shadow on the ground. Here is another plan, more minute; this is a ground plan.”
Aymer examined it.
“Why, you have got even the locks and bolts of the doors,” he said, in admiration.
“Yes, I should have made a splendid burglar—what a career lost!”
“But,” said Aymer, “I see here ‘water-canal’ marked. I have seen that canal; why, it runs just outside the high wall just across the courtyard here.”
“Ay, and that is the awkward part of it. First, a narrow courtyard or chasm to bridge; then a high wall to surmount; then a broad and deep canal—especially broad here, for, as you will see on the plan, there is a double width of water for the barges to turn round in. Finally, an unknown maze of streets.”
“Not unknown,” said Aymer. “I can be of some use there;” and he told Fulk of his residence in Stirmingham during the family council and the election. He had a fair knowledge of the streets.
“That is extremely fortunate,” said Fulk. “You must trace out a plan for me, in case we should get separated. So you were at the family council—I read much of it in the papers which they allow me. By the by, Marese Baskette is about to marry my cousin. I wonder she has escaped the asylum so long—the common fate of us poor Lechesters. Tell me now about your Violet’s claim.”
Aymer did so.
Fulk mused a little while.
“I begin to see daylight,” he said. “I see much that I did not previously comprehend. If we only wait, and keep watching, everything comes plain in time. Waldron—I knew the Waldrons well—very respectable people, and well descended. Waldron is mentioned in Domesday—Waleran Venator—i.e., Walron, the Huntsman. Jason Waldron—I wonder if I had better tell you what I know?—he was murdered, and—but you will not rest nor eat.”
“I shall certainly not eat or sleep unless you tell me.”
“Very well, but do keep calm; we shall
