The ceiling was of black oak, picked out with gold. The walls were panelled head-high: between the panels stood pilasters, picked out with gold. The carving of the panels and pilasters was very deep. Above the panelling hung tapestries, very rich in colour, presenting hunting scenes. The bedstead was four-posted: each of the posts was carved into the life-size semblance of a man-at-arms: coverlet, canopy and curtains were of what seemed to be a crimson faced cloth, very fine to look at and clearly of a great weight: all the stuffs and hangings with which the furniture was done were of the same dignity. The floor was of polished oak.
We stole across to the door in the farther wall.
This admitted us to the royal dining-room.
This chamber resembled the Closet and was of much the same size. A handsome table stood in the midst of the floor.
We wasted no time but passed on.
A moment later we stood in the antechamber.
This was small, but notable. The walls were not panelled, but covered with tapestry. Two massive, high-backed chairs were all the furniture.
The door we now found before us was not at all like those through which we had come. It admitted of course to the gallery which led to the tower: and it was like a church door, that is to say, iron-studded, and Gothic in shape. A wrought-iron lock of great size was fixed upon the inside, and above this a simple latch which had only to be lifted to be freed.
If hope could but open gates, I think this door would have crumbled before our eyes: but hope cannot open gates, and—the door was fast.
Mansel stood very still.
At length he gave a short sigh and touched me upon the arm. A moment later we were moving the way we had come.
When we were again in the Closet, he put his mouth to my ear.
“Take a message to Hanbury. He and Carson will bring every tool we have to the southwest tower: then they will let fall a rope to the window of the antechamber, moving it to and fro until we take hold: when we do that they will come and take up the ropes which are hanging outside this room.”
When I returned, Mansel was down on his knees by a hole in the floor. On the carpet, now drawn to one side, lay a square of polished wood. The recess which he had disclosed was floored by a grey, stone slab: this had a ring in its midst and was rudely locked into place by a pair of hasps and staples, the pins of which Mansel had withdrawn.
Gently I lifted the slab, to disclose the winding stair which led to the archway below.
“Can you hold it?” breathed Mansel.
I nodded.
At once he replaced the square of polished wood: then he laid the carpet, face downward, between my legs.
I lowered the slab.
Using the carpet as a sledge, we drew the slab into the Bedchamber and up to the King’s bed. There we transferred it to my coat, and, lifting the crimson valence, thrust it beneath the bedstead and out of sight.
To restore the carpet to its place, close the window and take the wedge from the door took but a moment of time.
Then Mansel gave me a cloth and bade me polish the woodwork where we had stepped, especially about the casement which we had used.
When I had done so, he overlooked all with the torch.
Then we stole out of the room and closed the door.
Five minutes later we stood again in the antechamber and when we had opened a casement and found the rope, there was nothing to show, much less to suggest that we had seen the inside of any other room.
“And now the tools,” said Mansel, “and then Hanbury. Carson to stay where he is. We shall make the devil’s own noise, and he is to shoot at sight.” I climbed up and gave the message as fast as I could.
The time was now half past three: the stars were no more to be seen, and rain had begun to fall. This to our liking, for now any footprints we had made above or below would be wiped out: but the wet was against our foothold, and, as I came back, I slipped on the windowsill.
We had received the tools and were awaiting Hanbury, when some door within the castle was sharply closed.
It was some door behind us—not very far away.
Called upon to say which, I would have named the door of the Closet. The clash of a heavy, spring lock was unmistakable.
Mansel put out the light, and we stood as still as death, straining our ears for footsteps and hearing none.
A rustle without the window told us that Hanbury had begun to descend the rope.
We could not stop him, for we had no signal-cord, and together we stood to the window to take him in without sound.
As we did so, came the creak of a floorboard, faint yet distinct. I would have said that it came from the Dining-room.
It was now as dark as pitch. I could not even see Mansel, two feet from where I stood.
Something swayed at the window. …
Then we had George in our arms and Mansel was unfastening the rope which was holding him up.
Again I heard a board creak—somewhere at hand.
With the greatest care we lowered George to his feet. As we did so, the dais upon which we were standing tilted suddenly forward, and, with nothing to save us, the three of us crashed to the ground. As we fell, the massive step resumed its proper position with a deafening clap.
There had been nothing to show that the step was not fixed, and, indeed, it was so solid that I do not think it would have moved under ordinary use:
