When we had breakfasted, Mansel desired Hanbury to relieve Carson, and me to take Bell’s place, so that the two could come down and get some food, and it was half an hour later, when Bell had returned to the post which commanded the courtyard, that Hanbury asked Mansel and me to come to the staircase-turret, where Carson was keeping watch.
Admission to the turret was gained from a secondary hall, which cut the servants’ quarters from the rest of the house: like the kitchen and the servants’ hall, the turret had plainly survived, when the rest of the castle was burned, for it was manifestly aged and most solidly built: I imagine that of late years it had served as a back staircase to the mansion, for there was no other, and modern oil lamps were still hanging upon its walls; but it was a dark, breakneck place, and the servants that had to use it must have complained bitterly. The stair was winding and two feet six inches in width: the rises of the steps were high, and their treads at their broadest point were none too broad: the latter were, of course, wedge-shaped and tapered to nothing. There was, however, good handhold in the shape of a fine, deep groove cut in the outer wall and running up with the stairs. Walls, steps and all were smooth and had once shown a high polish, seldom found upon stone.
All this Hanbury showed us by the light of a torch.
“And now,” said he, “here is a curious thing.”
With that, he began to descend—for we had gone slowly up—and, when we were all but down, showed us a little landing, which we had scarcely observed, in the midst of the stair.
There were but two steps below it, between it and the hall: and the landing curved, as did the steps it served.
“But for this landing,” said George, “the stairs would not be so steep. It’s hardly a landing: it’s really the third stair up—with a very broad tread: about four feet in breadth. And the height it has cost the staircase has been regained by making inconveniently high the rises of the following stairs.”
When he had pointed this out, it was quite evident.
“And now,” he continued, “look at the handrail.”
Then he showed us that the handrail ceased where the landing began, and began again at once where the landing ceased.
“Finally,” said Hanbury, “look at this rise.”
With that, he stepped into the hall and lowered the torch.
At the top of the third rise, that is to say, two inches below the landing, were two little slots in the stone.
“By Jove,” cried Mansel. “An oubliette.”
“An oubliette,” said Hanbury. “The innkeeper said there were no cellars, and I’ve no doubt he’s right. But, if this isn’t Axel the Red’s superfluous-guest-chamber, the next time I see him I’ll walk right up to Rose Noble and ask him the way to go home.”
Then he showed us that the broad tread or landing was composed of four stones, three of which were slabs and could probably be withdrawn, as the lid of a pencil-box: but the fourth was fixed. Each was wedge-shaped, that is to say, it had the shape of a step.
“And now imagine,” he concluded, “those three slabs withdrawn. The guest is descending in the dark. Suddenly he steps into space, and, when he clutches at the handrail, the handrail is gone. What sort of a fall he has remains to be seen.”
Without a word, Mansel turned and left us, to seek some implements, while I went down on my knees and put my two forefingers into the slots. These led into two holes, cut in the broad tread, and, so soon as I felt them, I had no longer any doubt that Hanbury’s conclusion was no fancy, but a substantial truth.
And so it proved.
Mansel returned with a sponge, and was quickly followed by Rowley, bearing some tools and cord.
So soon as the landing was cleansed, it was easy to discern the joints and even the scratches, made upon the wall of the turret when the slabs had been withdrawn.
These marks were slightly higher than we should have expected to see them: but Mansel said that that showed that, before we could draw it out, we must somehow raise the edge of the first slab, for no doubt there was a fillet below, which held it locked into place.
In this he was right, and, but for his wit, we might have sought to withdraw the slab for forty days in vain: but, when we had raised it no more than an eighth of an inch, by means of a wedge, it yielded at once to our efforts and came directly away without any fuss.
Here let me say that the workmanship expended upon this devilish contrivance deserved a worthier theme, for the trap was most beautifully made. Each slab was recessed upon one of its edges, flanged on the other and mitred on either side, and each lay so snug against its fellow, the turret wall and the spindle round which the staircase curled, that, as Mansel said at the time, “only a brilliant observation would have seen anything at all in the landing but clumsiness of construction.”
We had now before us a hole, admitting to some dark place, so Mansel went off to recover and mend the searchlight, while Hanbury, Rowley and I withdrew the remaining slabs. When these had been displaced, the hole revealed was some three and a half feet long: and of all the unfortunates who ever stepped into that space I cannot think one was saved; for, as I have said already, there was there no handrail, the stonework around was polished, and the sides of the trap
