“There’s a door at the top of the steps—locked. Mansel’s reconnoitring the terrace and then coming up.”
I confess that my spirits sank.
To enter by some window seemed now the only way: and we had already decided that, if we were put to such a shift, we must essay some window that looked upon the terrace below. What windows looked into the courtyard we neither knew nor cared, for anyone at work in the courtyard would be working in a four-walled trap and could be observed and commanded from any side.
Now the windows that looked upon the terrace were those of the royal rooms. They were not barred, because, I suppose, with guards upon the roof and in the galleries, no one could have come upon the King.
Again, that the royal apartments would be occupied was most unlikely. The caretakers might have been bribed, but they would certainly stipulate that the state rooms were not to be used. The last thing we wanted to do was to force an entrance into an occupied room.
Finally, the windows of the royal apartments had the world to themselves, for the towers which flanked the terrace were presenting two empty walls. Of no other side of the castle could the same thing be said.
Now which of the seven windows might be the best to essay we could not tell, but reason suggested that the one which was nearest Adèle should be the first to be tried. This we supposed to be serving the antechamber which admitted directly into the “gallery of stone.”
It was our belief that if we could reach the gallery we should have the control we sought, for, so far as we could determine, no one could enter the tower without passing through the gallery, unless he came down from the roof by the door which we had found shut. This belief we found to be just: the gallery was the key to the tower, and whoever held the gallery held Adèle. But one thing we did not suspect, namely, that there was a way into the gallery of which the bookseller’s guide said nothing at all.
A quarter of an hour went by before Mansel gave us the signal to hoist him up.
As he alighted, I perceived that he was drenched to the skin.
At once he drew us together and spoke very low.
“At the head of each flight of steps there’s a massive door: both doors are fast. The door at the mouth of the archway is shut and locked. I managed to pass beneath it, by lying down in the channel and working my way along. In the side of the archway I found a flight of steps—a very steep spiral staircase, that comes to a sudden end. I’m certain it serves a trapdoor. If the bookseller’s guide is sound, that trapdoor should be in the King’s Closet. That would be natural enough.
“We can’t go that way tonight, because the trapdoor is fast. At least, I imagine it is, because I can’t move the slab I found at the top of the stairs: but, if we can enter the Closet by some other way tonight, we can unbar the trapdoor, and then, when we come by the terrace, we shall have our way in. Don’t think I’ve no hope of tonight, because I have: but, if we fail this time, we shall certainly fail the next—unless we can turn this failure into a stepping-stone.”
With that he told Carson to let him have his shoes, because they were dry, and then to stand fast where he was, with the signal cord in his hand. George and I were to follow the way he went.
We moved as before, one by one, and, when again I found him, he was standing above the archway through which the water flowed.
I knew that below us was a window of three long lights.
An instant later Mansel was descending the wall.
This time we used two ropes, one fastened about him and the other down which he slid. When he jerked the one about him, we were to make this fast: and, if he should pull it five times, George was to go for Carson and they were to let me down.
Wet to the skin, clinging like a fly to the wall, with only one hand to help him, without a glimmer of light, Mansel worked upon that window for half an hour. I was kneeling directly above him, but I never heard a sound. Indeed, I could not believe that he was at work, but supposed that he had seen someone within the room and was content to watch them from where he hung. Yet all the time he was drawing the wrought-iron latch—a feat which, had he not done it, I would have put beyond the power of man.
At last the ropes trembled and then swung slack in my hands. An instant later he signalled that he was within the room.
When I came down, he swung me in like a baby and asked for my torch.
The room was stately and full of the smell of age. The floor was of polished oak: the walls were panelled head high and tapestried above. The furniture was rich and massive, but very stiff, and had been ranged in order against the walls. A heavy carpet, much smaller than the room, lay in the midst of the floor, but all the furniture stood clear upon the oak. The two doors were conspicuous, for their frames rose above the panelling and each of them was fitted with a box lock of polished steel.
With one consent we turned to the door upon our left.
Very slowly, with infinite care, Mansel drew the spring latch. At once the door yielded, and Mansel set it wide. Not until he had wedged it with a morsel of rubber did we pass on.
So we entered the King’s Bedchamber.
Not even the unjust light of the torch could deny the majesty of that room.
I have never beheld a chamber so
