“I’ve been inside.” His voice was quavering with excitement. “Hold out your hands, both together!”
She obeyed mechanically and felt something cold drop into her palm, and, drooping her head, drank. The sting of wine took her breath away.
“Champagne,” he whispered. “Don’t drink too much or you’ll get tight!”
She sipped again. Never had wine tasted so delicious.
“It’s a storehouse; boxes of food, I think, and hundreds of bottles of wine. Hold your hand.”
He poured out another portion of wine; most of it escaped through her fingers, but she drank eagerly the few drops that remained.
“Wait here.”
She was very much awake now; she peered into the darkness toward the place where he had disappeared. Ten minutes, a quarter of an hour passed, and then, to her joy, there appeared from behind the stony barrier, revealing in silhouette the hole through which Brill had crawled, a white and steady light. She heard the creak and crash of a box being opened, saw the bulk of the detective as he appeared in the hole, and in a second he was by her side.
“Biscuits,” he said. “Luckily the box was labelled.”
“What was the light?” she asked, as she seized the crackers eagerly.
“A small battery lantern; I knocked it over as I was groping. The place is simply stocked with grub! Here’s a drink for you.”
He handed her a flat, round tin, guided her finger to the hole he had punched.
“Preserved milk—German, and good stuff,” he said.
She drank thirstily, not taking her lips from the tin until it was empty.
“This seems to be the ship’s store,” he said, “but the great blessing is the lamp. I’m going in to see if I can find a box of refills; there isn’t a great deal of juice left in the battery.”
His search occupied a considerable time, and then she saw the light go out and her heart sank, until it flashed up again, this time more brilliant than ever. He scrambled out and dropped down the rugged wall and pushed something heavy into her hand.
“A spare lamp,” he said. “There are half a dozen there and enough refills to last us a month.”
He struck the stone wall with something that clanged.
“A case opener,” he explained, “and a useful weapon. I wonder which of these storehouses holds the guns?”
The exploration of the passage could now be made in comparative comfort. There was need of the lamps, for a few yards farther on the tunnel turned abruptly to the right and the floor became more irregular. Brill turned on his light and showed the way. Now the passage turned to the left, and he pointed out how smooth were the walls.
“Water action,” he said. “There must have been a subterranean river here at one time.”
Twisting and turning, the gallery led now up, now down, now taking almost a hairpin turn, now sweeping round in an almost perfect curve, but leading apparently nowhere.
Brill was walking ahead, the beam of his lamp sweeping along the ground, when she saw him stop suddenly. Stooping, he picked something from the ground.
“How the dickens did this get here?”
On the palm of his hand lay a bright silver florin, a little battered at the edge, but unmistakably a two-shilling piece.
“Somebody has been here—” he began and then she uttered a cry.
“Oh!” gasped Margaret. “That was Mr. Reeder’s!”
She told him of the incident at the well; how J. G. Reeder had dropped the coin to test the distance. Brill put the light of his lamp on the ceiling; it was solid rock. And then he sent the rays moving along, and presently the lamp focused on a large round opening.
“Here is the well that never was a well,” he said grimly and, flashing the light upward, looked open-mouthed at the steel rungs fitted every few inches in the side of the well.
“A ladder,” he said slowly. “What do you know about that?”
He reached up, standing on tiptoe, but the nearest rung was at least a yard beyond his hand, and he looked round for some loose stones which he could pile up and from the top of which he could reach the lowest bar of the ladder. But none was in sight, except a few splinters of stone which were valueless for his purpose. And then he remembered the case-opener; it had a hook at the end. Holding this above his head, he leapt. The first time he missed; the second time the hook caught the steel rung and the handle slipped from his grip, leaving the case-opener dangling. He rubbed his hands on the dusty floor and sprang again. This time he caught and held, and with a superhuman effort pulled himself up until his hand gripped the lower rung. Another struggle, and he had drawn himself up hand over hand till his feet rested on the bar.
“Do you think if I pulled you up you have strength to climb?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“I’m afraid not. Go up alone; I will wait here.”
“Keep clear of the bottom,” he warned her. “I may not fall, but as likely as not I shall dislodge a few chunks of rock in my progress.”
The warning was well justified, she found. There was a continuous shower of stone and earth as he progressed. From time to time, he stopped to rest. Once he shouted down something which she could not distinguish. It was probably a warning, for a few seconds later a mass of rock as large as a man’s head crashed down and smashed on the floor, sending fragments flying in all directions.
Peeping up from time to time, she could see the glimmer of his lamp growing fainter; and now,
